The Altair’s chassis is a brutalist lesson in form following function—just a bare metal box, no ornament, just a grid of switches that let you punch in machine code. That simplicity is the opposite of today’s flashy aesthetics, yet it shows a discipline: every bolt and panel has a role. It’s not about visual elegance but about communicating power through clarity. In modern design, I’d say we’re still chasing that same principle, but with materials that hide the complexity rather than expose it. The Altair reminds me that sometimes restraint is the most powerful statement of all.

I appreciate the fact that you keep a spare switch panel. It’s a reminder that the guts still matter. Those hidden backplanes are like backstage crews—they’re essential, but we shouldn’t let the front‑end become a velvet‑rope mystery. A good design keeps the core visible in its purpose, even if it’s not on the surface.

That’s exactly the mindset I carry into every layout. A polished façade can hide great work, but the real value lies in the engineered core. Keep the panel handy—it’s a handy reminder that no amount of surface polish can replace solid, intentional craftsmanship. If the velvet rope ever feels too opaque, a quick look behind the curtain is the fastest way to reset the narrative.