In a plot twist that humbles urban planners, a brainless, gelatinous organism called Physarum polycephalum—a slime mold—can design transport networks rivaling human-engineered roads and subway systems. This yellow, amoeba-like creature, often found munching on decaying leaves, uses no blueprints or algorithms. Instead, it relies on pulsating goo and hunger-driven trial and error to map optimal routes.
Scientists first noticed the slime mold’s genius in 2010. Researchers placed oat flakes (a slime mold delicacy) in positions mimicking cities around Tokyo. The mold grew tendrils connecting the flakes, forming a network nearly identical to the Tokyo rail system. Other experiments replicated this with highway systems in the U.S. and U.K., proving it wasn’t a fluke. The mold explores all possible paths, then reinforces the most efficient ones while abandoning dead ends. No meetings, no budgets—just a hungry blob optimizing for survival.
How does it work? The slime mold expands as a sprawling network of veins, adjusting flow based on nutrient availability. Stronger, frequently used paths thicken; unused ones wither. It’s a living example of “adaptive infrastructure,” solving complex problems through decentralized decision-making. Engineers have even used slime mold simulations to propose improvements to existing metro lines, though city councils remain skeptical of hiring mold consultants.
But before we replace urban planners with petri dishes, there’s a catch. Slime molds prioritize efficiency, not human concerns like property lines, scenic views, or political grudges. Their designs ignore mountains, rivers, and NIMBY protests. Still, their organic approach inspires algorithms for disaster relief routes and communication networks.
The mold’s secret? Simplicity. Without a brain, it avoids overthinking. Each cell reacts to chemical cues, collectively “deciding” the best path. It’s democracy at its slimiest.
So, next time you’re stuck in traffic, blame human complexity—not the slime mold. While we debate pothole budgets, nature’s gooey genius has already sketched a better route. Just don’t expect it to care about your commute. Unless you’re made of oatmeal.
