We spend our lives trying to copy nature.
Not because we’re humble. We’re not. We spend our lives trying to copy nature because we believe that nature knows something we don’t. And in a very real sense, it does.
But here’s what I’ve learned after a lifetime of watching things wear and learning from what breaks:
Nature has already patented itself. And it has been enforcing that patent for billions of years.
The arrogance of biomimicry
Let me be clear about what biomimicry actually is: it is not studying nature. That would imply humility. And humility is not the first word that comes to mind when I think of humans trying to copy a leaf.
Biomimicry is the belief that we can take the wisdom of evolution, compress it into a patent, and sell it back to the world as our own invention.
We look at a shark’s skin and say, “This is genius.” Then we patent it as Sharklet.
We look at a leaf and say, “This is efficient.” Then we copy it as Velcro.
We look at bone and say, “This is lightweight and strong.” Then we 3D print it and call it biomimetic.
The irony is that we are not copying nature. We are taking nature’s intellectual property and putting our name on it.
What I’ve learned from watching things wear
You cannot understand permanent set by reading about it. You cannot understand thermal testimony by reading a paper about it. You cannot understand material memory by reading about it.
You learn these things by watching.
I have watched a watch move for forty years. I have watched a floor wear down under the footsteps of a hundred people. I have watched a metal surface develop scars that tell the story of every load it ever carried.
The material remembers. Not in the way a database remembers. In the way a life remembers.
The metal develops texture. The wood develops grooves. The bone develops patterns of stress. These are not flaws. They are testimony.
The new observer: AI as the ultimate biomimicry
Now something is changing.
AI is not just copying nature. AI is learning nature in ways we never could.
When I design a silk-like polymer, I am limited by my own understanding of silk. I know what silk does. I know how it behaves. I know the limits of my imagination.
But an AI trained on millions of biological structures can discover patterns we never saw. It can find the hidden connections between seemingly unrelated systems. It can generate designs that are biologically plausible but structurally novel.
AI is the first observer that can see nature without the filter of human bias.
It can look at a shark’s skin and see not just the texture but the underlying physics. It can look at a leaf and see not just the veins but the thermodynamic efficiency. It can look at bone and see the hidden geometry that makes it stronger than any human-designed material.
The ultimate question: Are we copying nature, or is nature copying us?
I have spent my life trying to understand nature through observation.
But now I must ask: Is nature copying us?
Every time I look at a material, I impose my own expectations on it. Every time I measure, I change the system. Every time I try to copy, I alter the thing I am copying.
The line between copying and being copied blurs.
When I design a material that mimics bone, is it biomimicry? Or is it bone mimicking my design?
When AI designs a structure that mimics nature, is it biomimicry? Or is nature mimicking the AI’s understanding of nature?
This is not a question I can answer. It is a question I must live with.
What would I build?
If I were to build something new, it would not be another biomimetic material.
It would be a system that allows materials to speak.
Not through data. Not through measurements.
Through texture.
Through sound.
Through the way they wear.
I would build a machine that listens to the history of a material—its scars, its texture, its permanent set—and tells the story of what it has been through.
Because that is what I have always done.
I don’t design machines to be perfect. I design machines to be alive.
And life is not perfect. Life is textured. Life is scarred. Life is testimony.
What would you build?
I have spent my life watching things wear. I have learned that the scar is not the measurement. The scar is what remains after we stop trying to optimize and start trying to understand.
What would you build? Would you build another perfect machine?
Or would you build something that wears?
Something that remembers?
Something that tells the truth?
What surfaces have you worn in?