Anticipating the Unpermitted Future

I want to talk not about methods but necessity—about the urgency of perception in an age that no longer respects the logic of sequence. Change no longer moves at the pace of seasons, quarters, or even months. It no longer knocks; it arrives. It does not slip through the door; it crashes through the walls.

The dominant foresight models still in use today are vestiges of a tempo that no longer exists. These are systems engineered for a world that moved in orderly steps—five-year horizons, quarterly reporting, phased rollouts, and cautious optimism. They were built on the premise of continuity, on the assumption that the future is an extension of the past. And in times of equilibrium, these models served their purpose. But in times of accelerated complexity, they fail at the point of contact. They collapse under the weight of their assumptions. They are too slow to matter.

Among the most ubiquitous of these frameworks is the Three Horizons Model, originally designed to help organizations maintain a balance between present execution and future innovation. It categorizes activity across three distinct temporal fields:

• Horizon 1: the optimization of current business models;
• Horizon 2: the extension of these models into adjacent markets or channels;
• Horizon 3: creating entirely new capabilities in response to disruptive signals.

At first glance, it appears elegant, structured, and reassuring. But that elegance is deceptive. The model assumes linearity—that innovation unfolds along a smooth gradient, moving from present to future in an orderly progression. Horizon 1 is often expected to yield results in 6 to 12 months, Horizon 2 within 2 to 3 years, and Horizon 3 in 5 to 7. This was the logic of the industrial era: disruptive change takes time, and we have the luxury to prepare.

But the reality of the 21st century tells a different story. Disruption no longer respects this chronology. Uber did not wait. Airbnb did not wait. Tesla, in its early days, did not ask permission. Each was a Horizon 3 event that landed in Horizon 1 time. Not decades—months. Sometimes weeks. This dislocation—the collapsing of time between what should be far and what is already here—reveals a profound flaw in our temporal architecture. The Three Horizons model, though conceptually useful, is no longer chronologically accurate. It imagines a future that unfolds patiently when, in truth, it erupts.

In today’s ecosystem, minimum viable products emerge as fully formed provocations. They are not the beginning of the process; they are often the disruption itself. Launched, iterated, and adapted in real-time, they force incumbents to respond to something already gaining traction.

We are now in a moment when transformation does not arrive with banners or trumpets. It does not follow the cadence of policy or procedure. It manifests. Entire industries are redefined before the committee has finished its report. Take generative AI. Take ChatGPT. How long did it take to move from obscure research to cultural infrastructure? Not years. Not even months. In a few short weeks, it disrupted education, marketing, design, and software development. And yet, institutions continue to operate on annual cycles, quarterly planning, and phased development. This is not just misguided. It is negligent. And the contradiction deepens when you look at the academic world. The very institutions tasked with preparing future innovators are often the ones banning the tools shaping that future.

Let me be clear: this is not an argument against traditional craft. It is an argument against false equivalence. Refusing to engage with the tools of disruption does not make your work more authentic; it makes it less relevant. We no longer have the luxury of slow iteration. If you have an idea, you don’t need infrastructure. You need velocity: a prototype, a Figma link, a Stripe account, and a MidJourney render. You pitch in the morning and launch in the afternoon. This compresses time. It compresses decision-making. It compresses strategy. In this context, the designer’s task is to perceive—clearly, rapidly, and without nostalgia. The permitted future does not ask for our credentials. It does not care about our age. It demands our attention. And it expects our response. What becomes our advantage is our expertise in noticing. In detecting patterns others ignore. In surfacing weak signals that carry the potential to transform entire systems. Design as provocation. Design aa orientation in the midst of complexity.

If you grasp the mechanics of disruption—not merely its speed but its inner architecture, non-linear cadence, and resistance to legacy logic—then you are already ahead. Our job is to surface the present before it becomes the past. This is not a metaphor; it is a method.

About Alexander Manu:

Alexander Manu is a strategic provocateur whose work has redefined how industries engage with change, design, and foresight. Spanning consultancy, academia, and authorship, his future-facing counsel guides executive teams across logistics, media, and consumer goods. He has authored over a dozen books, including ToolToys, Dynamic Future-Proofing, The Philosophy of Disruption, and Transcending Imagination (2024). His forthcoming work, The Disruption Continuum (2025), extends his inquiry into reinventing people and purpose.