AFTER GRADUATING FROM university, I started my first full-time job as a lawyer. The role provided only the tiniest salary uplift from the part-time paralegal role I’d been doing previously, but the real perk was getting my very own office. The space came with its own bookshelf, which I promptly lined with books and files and a large glass lolly jar for when my colleagues dropped in for a chat. I decorated the desk with cards and funny photos and memes, filling its drawers with snacks and a motley collection of stationery; beneath it, I stored a blazer and a pair of sensible black heels for tribunal and court appearances. Best of all, as a Muslim who’d spent years of my casual working life praying in awkward locations, like fire exits and deserted corridors, I was finally able to shut the door and do my daily prayers in the comfort of my own space.

If I’d known that this would be not only my first office but my last, I might have lingered in the job a little longer. Within just a few short years, the phenomenon of Activity-Based Working (ABW) had spread across Australia like wildfire, replacing offices and cubicles with gargantuan open-plan spaces with seemingly endless, unpartitioned rows of computers. Rather than allowing people to focus and retreat into their own spaces, ABW offers them a bewildering number of options for doing work and conducting conversations, from sitting and standing desks to sofas and individual pods to phoneless phone booths. Employees are expected move between multiple workstations instead of having a permanently assigned desk.