In my work as an interpretive planner, I’m often expected to assess the visitor experience as it exists today.
And let me tell you, few things come as naturally to me as criticizing things.
After forty-odd years of walking through museums, parks, visitor centres, exhibits, and programs, my brain is pretty good at spotting friction points. I notice what’s unclear, what’s dated, what’s underperforming, what’s fighting the story instead of supporting it. I can usually identify ten issues in the first ten minutes of a site visit.
Sometimes, the client appreciates that. The senior manager, in particular, will say something like: “Go for it. Unvarnished. We want the naked truth.”
And I believe them. Or at least, I used to.
Because here’s the thing I’ve learned the hard way: they don’t always really mean it. Or rather, they mean it in theory. They like the idea of unvarnished truth. In practice, most people prefer their truths sanded down just a little. Maybe even sealed with a light coat of polyurethane. Everybody does, honestly.
More importantly, even if senior leadership genuinely wants to hear it, their staff really, really don’t.
From the staff perspective, a consultant arriving to “assess the visitor experience” can feel threatening before a word is spoken. You’re implicitly evaluating how they work, what they’ve built, what they’ve been responsible for, and what might need to change. You’re pointing at things that didn’t happen in a vacuum. Budgets, timelines, politics, staffing shortages, legacy decisions — all of that is baked into what you’re looking at.
So when the critique comes directly from me, no matter how accurate or well-intentioned it is, it tends to land as judgement. And once that happens, it casts a shadow over everything that follows. The rest of the planning work gets harder. Conversations get guarded. Ideas get defended instead of explored.
The message sticks to the messenger.
So I’ve come to realize that playing bad cop is not only unnecessary, it’s counterproductive. Even when the client asks for it.
So here’s what I do now.
Instead of positioning myself as the expert critic, I ask the client to gather their community. Not everyone — just a thoughtful mix. Trusted volunteers. Programming partners. A few regular users. Sometimes a local elected official or a board member who actually shows up and listens. People with a real relationship to the place.
Then I lead them through a gentle, well-designed workshop. We walk through the experience together. We observe. We talk. We ask simple questions. We keep it light, curious, and respectful. There’s no grandstanding and no pile-ons.
And then something useful happens.
They tell us what’s working. Often enthusiastically.
And they tell us — in their own words, and usually fairly kindly — what’s not.
What they find confusing. What feels dated. What they skip. What they love despite its flaws. What they wish existed but doesn’t. What doesn’t quite line up with how they understand the place or the story.
I document it all.
At that point, I’m no longer Mr. Critical. I’m not the one pointing out the problems. I’m just leading a process and listening carefully. The comments aren’t anonymous drive-by critiques. They come from people with history, relationships, and credibility. People who care enough to show up.
That changes everything.
Staff hear the feedback differently because it’s not coming from a hired gun with a clipboard. It’s coming from the community they serve. Patterns emerge organically. Issues surface that I would never have thought to name myself. And because the critique is distributed across many voices, it doesn’t feel personal in the same way.
My role shifts from critic to interpreter.
I help sort signal from noise. I identify themes. I connect comments to design principles, interpretive goals, and operational realities. I help translate “this feels cluttered” into decisions about hierarchy, flow, and focus. I help turn “I didn’t get why this mattered” into clearer storytelling and framing.
And because I haven’t positioned myself as the bad cop, I can do that work collaboratively. With trust. With curiosity. With far less defensiveness in the room.
This approach works better for the client. It works better for staff. And, frankly, it works better for me.
I still bring my professional judgement to the table. I still make recommendations. I still say when something isn’t pulling its weight. But I’m no longer the sole source of critique, and that makes those conversations far more productive.
So no, I won’t be the bad cop anymore.
I’ll be the facilitator of constructive community feedback.
It turns out that’s a much more effective — and humane — way to be a senior consultant.
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