Illustration by Fraser Hudson

THE idea of “open source” software is familiar to many computer users. Enthusiasts get together on the internet to create a new program, and as well as giving it away, they also make available its source code—the software's underlying blueprint. This allows other people to make additions and improvements, and those are made available, in turn, to anyone who is interested. You do not have to be a programmer to benefit from the open-source model: many people use the Linux operating system or Firefox web-browser, for example, both of which have been developed in this way.

Now the same approach is being applied to hardware, albeit in a modified form. The open-source model cannot be directly carried over to hardware, because software can be duplicated and distributed at almost no cost, whereas physical objects cannot. Modifying source code and then distributing a new, improved version of a program is much easier than improving and sharing the design of, say, an open-source motorbike. Some day, perhaps, fabricating machines will be able to transform digital specifications (software) into physical objects (hardware), which will no doubt lead to a vibrant trade in specifications, some of which will be paid for, and some of which will be open-source.

But until that day, the term “open-source hardware” is being used in a narrower sense. It refers to an emerging class of electronic devices, for which the specifications have been made public, so that enthusiasts can suggest refinements, write and share software improvements, and even build their own devices from scratch. This is not as daft as it sounds. Even if all the details needed to build something are available, few people will have the tools or the inclination to do so.

A good example is the OSD, a “media fridge” made by Neuros Technology of Chicago which acts as a repository of video from DVDs, camcorders, cable boxes and so on. Neuros made the OSD's technical specifications available, and a group of users then wrote software to add a new feature that many users had requested: the ability to stream video from the OSD to another device across the internet. To access this new feature, users simply had to download a software patch. “It's harder for my device to get antiquated,” says Aaron Crum, an OSD user, “and I don't have to buy another $200 device next year.”

This opens the way to a new model for product development, suggests Seth Talley, the owner of a Chumby, another open-source device. “The destiny of the product has been turned over to the user base,” he says. “You're talking the wisdom of crowds with the control of the corporation.” Companies, for their part, say an open approach can help them get to market quickly with products that give customers what they want—without the need for market research. Such advantages, they say, outweigh the drawbacks of exposing what are usually seen as corporate secrets.

The origins of open

In some ways, open-source hardware is a throwback to the 1970s and 1980s, when early computers were sold in kits or shipped with schematic diagrams to make it easier for users to customise them. But the open-hardware trend has been reborn in recent years, thanks to the rise of the internet and the success of open-source software. Some enthusiasts point to 2005 as a crucial year: that was when work began on devices such as the RepRap (a rapid-prototyping machine that will, its makers hope, be able to replicate itself) and the TuxPhone, an open, Linux-powered mobile-phone. It was also when Sun Microsystems, a computer-maker, decided to publish the specifications of one of its microprocessors, the UltraSPARC T1. The open-source hardware trend is now growing fast, says Adrian Bowyer, a mechanical engineer at the University of Bath and the inventor of the RepRap.

Now companies, and not just internet-based enthusiasts, are embracing the open-source hardware model. Neuros is one example; another is OpenMoko, based in Taipei, which has an open-source mobile-phone operating system and a mobile phone, the Neo1973. Chumby Industries, based in San Diego, has the Chumby—a sort of computerised cushion with wireless internet access and a small touch-screen, which can be reprogrammed as an alarm clock, weather station, photo album and so on.

There can be limits to open-hardware companies' openness. Gumstix, which sells tiny computers to put into other devices, publishes the hardware specifications of all its products except for its motherboards. “The motherboard is our intellectual property—we have a secret sauce to make that,” says Gordon Kruberg, the firm's chief executive. “My philosophy is: I really like to publish as much as I can, but my gut feeling is that this is what we want to keep this in-house.” Some firms publish just enough information about their hardware for it to be reprogrammed, but not replicated. This is the approach of iRobot, the maker of the Roomba robotic vacuum-cleaner, based in Bedford, Massachusetts, for example.

Enthusiasts enjoy tinkering, and other users like being able to upgrade their devices with new software. But what is in it for companies? One advantage is being able to draw upon the expertise of their users. “We get a question that has stumped our developers for days and we push it public and get a suggestion within five minutes,” says Sean Moss-Pultz, OpenMoko's founder and chief executive.

Even so, making a business out of open hardware is a notion that baffles many people. “They wonder how you're going to make money with it,” says Mitch Altman, president and chief technology officer at Cornfield Electronics in San Francisco. It makes the TV-B-Gone, an impish gadget for turning off televisions (whether or not they belong to you), and also sells kits for consumers who want to build their own.

Open-hardware business models are difficult to understand, because by turning users into product developers, they turn tradition on its head, says Eric von Hippel, professor of innovation at the MIT Sloan School of Management in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and the author of “Democratizing Innovation”. That makes it necessary for companies to consider the users' motivations too, he says. “The users have a built-in business model—they build to satisfy themselves,” he says. “The business model is ‘I can get stuff for myself, I can get a better design and I can benefit.' The innovation is paid for within the activity itself.”

Illustration by Fraser Hudson

As well as tapping a valuable new source of ideas, an open approach can also lead to savings in market research, as users act as focus groups, indicating what new features they would like (and then helping to develop them). An early model of OpenMoko's phone had no Wi-Fi, for example, because Wi-Fi chips were expensive and the firm could not find a chipmaker willing to go along with its open approach. But once OpenMoko posted its plans and schematics online, enthusiasts told the company that they really wanted the Wi-Fi function—and then found a chipmaker willing to supply a chip and to go along with OpenMoko's unusual model.

Going open-source may also help to keep customers. “Once you've opened the guts of a machine, you're a much more loyal customer,” says Mr Talley, who got a Chumby for Christmas. Sun says the primary advantage of open-sourcing the designs of its processor chips is an elusive marketing boost to its other products, such as server computers. “It builds a community that will buy our hardware,” says Sridhar Vajapey, who runs Sun's OpenSPARC program. “Is Sun making money on open-source hardware? Absolutely. We can't measure it directly, but we do know the vector is going in the right direction.”

An alternative approach is to make money from something other than the hardware. Chumby Industries, for instance, expects to make most of its revenue by piping advertising to its devices. “It's a traditional media model, only with user control,” says Steve Tomlin, the firm's founder and chief executive.

Difficult to open

But open-source hardware poses difficulties, too. In addition to publishing all the software code for a device, for example, makers of open-source hardware generally reveal the physical information needed to build a device, including schematics, materials and dimensions. This is not something manufacturers normally do, and takes time and effort. Supplying open-source hardware is necessarily, therefore, more time-consuming and complex. “It can't be as simple as open-source software,” says Peter Semmelhack, the founder of Bug Labs, a company based in New York that sells open-source hardware modules to put into other devices. “It has chips, schematics and things coming from many sources.” And suppliers of those many parts are not always interested in going open source, which further complicates matters. OpenMoko tries to use chips with open specifications, says Mr Moss-Pultz, though some chipmakers are reluctant to play along. “It's like they're taking their pants off in public,” he says.

Working with a zealous open-source community can be like negotiating with a stampede. “Too much feedback makes it so you can't work any more,” says Mr Moss-Pultz. A company can easily lose focus when it is deluged with unprofitable and obscure ideas from fervent users. “In open-source hardware there is a great deal of flexibility,” says Joe Born, the chief executive of Neuros. “But at the same time, that can be more rope to hang yourself with.” Another worry is that by sharing plans for future products online, along with schematics and software, firms may jeopardise sales of existing products, says Mr Kruberg.

And even if open-source enthusiasts like your product, are they representative of the wider public? Open devices “tend to be geared more toward technology-oriented people, with products you might not see at Best Buy,” notes Lance Lavery, a systems administrator and self-proclaimed “uber-geek” who owns a Chumby. As James Staten, an analyst at Forrester Research puts it: “Consumers don't tinker.” So open-source hardware could turn out to be an obscure niche.

But Dr von Hippel disagrees. Even those who do not tinker can benefit from the work of those who do, just as ordinary consumers can still use Firefox without having to know anything about programming. Mainstream consumers will benefit from open hardware, he says, “by having a wider choice.” The analogy with software is informative in another way, too. Open-source software has resulted in new products such as Linux and Firefox, but it has also been embraced by many big names in the computer industry, such as IBM, Sun and Hewlett-Packard. Even Microsoft, the company that has been most vociferous in its opposition to the open-source model, has lately conceded that in some situations, at least, it has merit.

All of which suggests that open-source hardware will really start to make a difference when big hardware makers and consumer-electronics firms begin to embrace the idea. “It's a new day for consumer electronics,” says Chumby's Mr Tomlin. “The community makes suggestions and shares hacks. And we don't try to sue our innovators. We make heroes of them.”