So I got an iPhone

I'm not really a gadget-head. As a diehard skeptic of, well, everything, I typically meet any new gadget with the question "why would I need this?" And usually there is no compelling reason.

But after spending months with a phone that repeatedly shut itself off upwards of ten times a day, sometimes mid-phone call, I was ready to switch, and decided to just go ahead and plunk down the dollars for an iPhone. I'm so happy I did.

I knew that it would combine my phone and MP3 player into one device, which I liked. I also knew it'd allow a few more things, namely web browsing. But I didn't realize the extent to which its app store would make the device an all-in-one EVERYTHING. I can play video games, control my desktop from the phone, update my Facebook status, listen to radio stations... it's pretty cool. (I should note, for the record, that lest this read like an Apple ad I am sure that similar smartphones like the G1 and Blackberry Storm are capable of doing many of these things as well.)

But as I was browsing reviews for good apps and downloading them on my laptop, it struck me as odd that I still have to actually attach a wire from the laptop to the iPhone. A minor problem, really, but it got me thinking about the future of computing and the whole concept of syncing. We are moving further and further away from a hard-coded "this machine does this" mindset to a software-driven wireless world where you can do anything from anywhere from any machine. We've already moved past some of the typical physical limitations of the world -- I haven't bought a CD in 2 years for example, yet have bought tons of music. Virtually every piece of software people get these days no longer requires a box with a disc in it, and can be just downloaded online. And as hardware limitations decrease to the point where, in all likelihood, we are just a few years away from pretty much every new computer can do pretty much everything, the actual machines we're on may reach a point of irrelevance as well. Imagine going up to any computer anywhere, logging in with some password, and having all of the same data and programs available to you anywhere. Services like this already exist, but this is by no means universal.

We're going to just all have our own "clouds" at some point soon. An amalgamam of files, programs, software, data, etc. that requires no physical anything except for the data storage facilities of the providers.

Not to get all sci-fi on you, but this basically means there will be two versions of any of us. The physical being, and the data identity. Some people find that scary, I find it fascinating.

And to me the most interesting part of all of this is that it happens so quickly and seamlessly. Just imagine ten years ago, the whole concept of your whole world reachable by one device in your pocket was probably hard to fathom. But it has happened, and is getting more dramatically omnipresent every day.

Which is just. So. Cool.

Designing for failure

It only takes going through a handful of creative projects to realize that virtually every tiny thing is done purposefully. Very little happens by accident, and because of this, one of my mini-pastimes is looking at common designs and trying to figure out how they came to be (or, in contrast, why antiquated designs went out of style). Last night I was pondering how the anthropomorphizing of food -- a smiley face on a popcorn box or a cup of soda -- became a successful marketing technique. And I've been wondering for months about the process that led to the creation of traffic signs -- perhaps the most vital instance of usability in action, as a failure to communicate properly could be fatal.

But I'd like to focus right now on the concept of designing for failure. Of course, an ideal system would make it virtually impossible for someone to fail, but even the most simplistic and clear designs are going to stump a few people, and sometimes failure can occur due to other complexities in the system. My shining example? Copy machines.



(Okay I know that's not a copy machine but at least it involves a cat.)

Jams in the copy machine are obscenely commonplace, as anyone who has worked in an office knows, and they can be extremely frustrating. But they're unavoidable; the mechanics of these machines are so complex that the smallest problems can trigger a jam. I imagine that early copying machines broke down so frequently that calling for a repairman became an untenable situation, and the "fix it yourself" process for un-jamming a copier became a standard for the industry. You know the drill, open the side of the machine, pull out tray 3a, take out the jammed paper from some spinny thingy labeled 5c, etc. It's annoying, but it usually works, and you can get back to copying. The time and cost savings of not having to call a repairman is well worth the minor inconvenience of having to fix it yourself.

This same concept can be applied to just about any design, including a website. You can have what you think is the most sensible site structure and design possible, with a big clearly labeled button for some key task, only to find that sometimes your visitors just miss it entirely or click the wrong thing or otherwise end up lost and confused.

The keys to anticipating error involve eliminating opportunities to make a mistake (ahem), and offering alternative paths to get to the desired result if the visitor misses or doesn't understand the primary path. While a lot of web visitors will resort to the back button and try again, you have to remember that the back button may be taking them off your site altogether. For example, let's say they search on Google for something in your industry and use the word "compare" -- this may take them to a page on your site which compares your various products. But if the visitor was looking for comparisons across a variety of brands, rather than just within one brand, the page won't be what they want, and they may end up at another site altogether. But if you have a prominent link that says "Compare to the Competition," well they just may click on that and stay with you on your site.

Other suggestions to keep visitors on the right path: use logical naming conventions (e.g., "About Us" is much more intuitive than something like "Our Way of Thinking"), provide alternative paths (e.g., include a search option, and highlight relevant contextual links on key pages, etc.), and remove anything that does not hold a lot of value to the user (a page full of marketing copy may show up high on search results but will likely not actually provide the hard info the user is looking for).

Plan for the copy jam. If you do, your visitor will be able to get back on track to find what they want rather than abandoning you entirely.

A handful of basics

There are some rules of thumb ("heuristics" for you fancy types) for designing with usability in mind that are helpful to remember. These are some of the things I try to keep in mind:

• People don't read
  They really don't. Sure, they'll read your blog if it's a topic that interests them, but on your marketing site, keep your text concise and support it with other visual clarity. People love to look at imagery and photos, but they will only scan snippets of your text until they find the one thing that interests them.
  
• Make your text readable
  When your visitors do read, they want it to be easy. Use medium-to-large fonts, use high contrast (no light gray on white, please), and don't use jarring color combinations, like red text on a bright green background. Also, avoid caps - we read based not just on letters but on shapes too, and all-caps denies us this.
• Don't use "splash" pages on websites
  Hoo boy is this a big one. No one, I repeat no one, wants to watch your fancy flash intro to your site. Visitors are there to get information, and all this does is slow them down.
• Less is more
  Is it vital? If not, get rid of it.
• Good-looking does not equal good
  Very pretty sites can be horrible to use. Ugly sites can be easy to use (hello, Craig's List!). Ideally you can be both visually appealing and usable, but never assume they go hand in hand.
• Separate personal taste from your customers' taste
  This is so hard to get past -- we want things to look and act in ways that meet our individual tastes. But if you're creating something for a particular audience, make sure it appeals to them -- not necessarily to you. I once watched a project that involved a camp brochure aimed at kids go from being bright, colorful, and fun to plain, conservative, and "elegant" in order to please some boardmembers. Wrong move. What appeals to 13 year olds and 53 year olds is going to be very different.
• Be scannable
  When creating lists, particularly in navigation, keep them left-aligned, and make each line start with the most key word. For example, on a site that lets you register copyrighted material, don't start each line with "Register Your Song" or "Register Your Album." Change that to "Song Registration" and "Album Registration" -- the leading word now carries more value and is easier to scan in a vertical list.

The shackles of innovation

It's a word that has lost virtually meaning due to its constant repetition: innovation. Any number of industries must hear this word all the time -- it seems like the single most important thing to just about everyone. Is your product, or site, or approach innovative? If not, it might as well be worthless. Everyone is trying to "think outside the box" (a phrase so cliched at this point that even putting it in quotes doesn't give it the ironic distance it deserves). There is a widespread assumption that the status quo is bad, the way we do anything today is inferior to some "new" way we've yet to discover, and the search for this "new" way should trump all other efforts.

I can't agree with any of that. Striving fervently for innovation strikes me as severely misdirected effort, not because I believe innovation is bad, but because I think it is a side effect, not a goal unto itself.

The biggest problem with focusing solely on innovation, in my mind, is the assumption that current ways are bad -- it is starting with a ground floor decision to disregard all the prior work done by those in your field to get you where you are today. It is certainly true that previous work may have been done based on faulty information, incorrect assumptions, and other ill-advised decisions that could have brought things to a highly imperfect state today. But it is by no means a guarantee -- in fact, the opposite could also be true. Your product/site/whatever could be the way it is today because of highly reasoned research and testing that led to it being extremely solid and well thought-out. Unless you know all this background already, you can't really claim that innovation is necessary.

Focusing solely on innovation also sidesteps what should probably be the true goal of any project - to make the best product/site possible. A thorough process will explore the tried and true ways as well as newer, more innovative approaches. In many cases, more standard, "non-innovative" methods may prove to be the best fit.

Let's say you create a new site or product and all your testing and research leads to a conclusion that your best bet is to rely on well-established techniques. Had your goal been solely to innovate, this project would be a failure -- you've created nothing innovative. And yet, you've created the best possible product/site for your users -- the only problem was that it didn't involve creating anything truly new, just using existing principles to their greatest effect. How could that be bad?

Now let's consider the converse situation. Rather than seeking innovation, your goal at the start of a project is solely to create the best product/site possible. You do your brainstorming and research and find that the best solution is one that DOES in fact use a new, innovative approach -- it is thoroughly supported by your testing. No one would call this project a failure, and by focusing on making the best product/site possible, you've now overdelivered by also finding an innovative approach in the process. Innovation was not the goal -- it was icing on the cake.

There are a lot of reasons why innovation is still such a prized asset -- it's sexy, it sounds good, it shakes designers out of their boredom -- but these are not enough to warrant prizing it above quality. Think you've got a better way to do something? By all means, explore that new method and see if it works better -- but be willing to recognize the value in also learning that it's possible an existing method is still superior.

I should mention that this post is partially inspired by Scott Berkun, who I saw speak at the UI12 conference in Cambridge, MA, in 2007. He spoke about the "myths of innovation" and mentioned, for example, how innovations are often accidents, and he also talked about how the word "innovation" has indeed lost a lot of meaning over the years. I don't claim that this post represents his opinions at all, but his talk came back into my mind as I worked on a recent project that was driven by a client's desire to innovate. Check out his blog, it's got some good stuff.

Cut cut cut!

For many people who have websites, this is a sad but almost undoubtedly true fact: No one wants to read what you have to say.

First, let me give a caveat - if you have a blog or some opinion-based or news-based site, chances are people that visit your site do actually want to read what you have to say. But, most sites do not fall into that category. Also, this is not to say that visitors won't read anything at all -- but all most visitors want to do is find a specific piece of information very quickly and move on. Nobody sets out looking for self-hyping or vague filler, and any amount of that present on your site is an obstacle to their goal.

What I've said in previous posts about being self-aware or maintaining objectivity applies strongly here -- do you read websites? When you search for something and find a relevant hit, do you explore a site, patiently sit through a flash intro, and read paragraphs of marketing copy? The answer is probably no. So why would you expect your visitors to do that?

I've seen cases where I get the distinct impression a client is afraid that not having a lot of pages and a lot of text will send a message to the visitor that there is a lack of substance there. This couldn't be further from the truth. A trim, efficient, streamlined site that is light on fluff but clear and direct on content will send a message that you know what you're talking about, you know what the visitor wants, and you don't waste time and energy on the superfluous. Probably the only commodity more valuable than money is time, and no one wants their time wasted.

So I'm going to listen to my own advice and keep this short. Some simple rules:

• Be ruthless and be willing to edit - because your visitors are ruthless with the "back" button and will ditch your page in seconds if they don't see what they want right away.
• Every piece of content you write needs to deliver vital information that the visitor wants to read, otherwise you need to get rid of it.
  
• Be willing to delete entire pages if their content is unnecessary or so light it could easily be combined with other pages.
  
• Don't be long-winded; write concisely.
  
• And perhaps underpinning all of this: don't be emotionally attached to any of your content, or you'll cheat yourself out of making the best site for your visitors.

Objectivity is a dying art

It's hard not to notice, as the US moves into the final days of election season, how increasingly polarized a lot of people are. Making an objective assessment of anything seems to have gone out of style, and I think it's to our great detriment.

This blog isn't about politics, but I think this concept of turning every decision into a battle has carried over into many aspects of our lives, including management and design. Take, for example, a designer who believes strongly in simplicity and reducing clutter (as I do). You'd think the best way to put together a recommended design in that instance would be to analyze what's needed and suggest a minimalist design that still offers all the necessary functionality. But I've seen situations where, expecting push back from a client to add more, the minimalist-leaning designer ends up recommending something that is even more scaled back than they believe it should be. If their design were approved right off the bat, it wouldn't even be what they want. They expect an equally opposing force to fight them, and hope that they land somewhere that looks like their actual recommendation.

The end result is that rather than working as teams to accomplish the best work possible, each faction takes the core of their suggested beliefs and recommends an "extremist" version of it, believing that it will be watered down over the iteration process to hopefully land somewhere close to what they really think is best. Everyone becomes an advocate for a particular strong viewpoint, and the end result is not so much a happy compromise as it is a series of concessions. We deliberately don't look at things objectively because we think, "well, if I'm objective, and the other person isn't, I'll lose so much ground that my stance will be lost." We turn off our objectivity, and sometimes don't even know why we're fighting for things anymore, except that it seems like it's the side we should be on. Sometimes the other side does have a good idea -- a better one than you had -- and we should embrace those as learning opportunities rather than as "giving in."

This process doesn't usually end with a happy solution. It ends with something everyone feels moderately comfortable enough not to continue fighting over.

I don't have any particular proposition for how to change this, beyond just trying to foster objectivity more in your own work. I try to look at my own designs and ask, "is this really the best way?" Sometimes I'll do a full design on something and scrap the whole thing because, after stepping back, I realize my initial assumptions about the best design were off track. I try to listen to critical feedback and objectively accept when that feedback is right. If I love something, but everyone who sees it is confused by it, it's irresponsible of me to ignore that -- I try to figure out why my instinct was off and how I can adjust to avoid making that mistake again.

I'm not perfect at this by any means, but I do value objectivity and think it's to everyone's benefit to be a little more willing to stand back and take a critical look through someone else's eyes. You might see something you never thought of before.

Launched: Trinity Boston Foundation concert page

My association with Trinity Church and the Trinity Boston Foundation goes back over four years, and I'm very grateful that in the time since I left working for them full-time, I have still been asked to help with a variety of design projects. These have included invitations, postcards, brochures, email newsletters, and now a one-off set of two pages to promote their 2008-2009 concert season, which was launched about a week and a half ago.

This project was a fairly quick and simple one, as they were on a tight timeline, but sometimes "quick and simple" yields exactly the kind of bold, clear designs that get the job done.

You can see the pages here: http://www.trinityinspires.org/building/music/