Design like Thomas Keller cooks: “Cooking is not about convenience, and it’s not about shortcuts. Take your time. […]
How to Design
Compassionate Design
Designers have all had the mantra of user-centeredness beaten into them. But how many apply that same understanding […]
Consistency is a Tactic
Often, when critiquing a design, I ask how a designer came to make a certain decisions. Too often […]
The Law of Conservation of Complexity
The next time you are having a big argument about design with fellow team members, and decide to […]
Why You Should Speak
At conferences and meet-ups, I spend a lot of time with young practitioners. And every time I chat […]
Lolly, Lolly, Lolly Get Your Adverbs Here
One of the most flumoxing issues I encounter when reviewing design work is misplaced interface objects.
When you craft a sentence, you’d never think to write something like “Fluorescent, she picked a red.” Somewhere or another you learned that — unless the lady in question was glowing faintly — “fluorescent” should be placed next to “red” to modify it.
Yet over and over I’ll see a design where a filter or an undo button is off in a corner, far from the thing it is supposed to filtering or undoing. I’ll hear a designer say, “well users can be trained.”
But think about that sentence again… you were able to guess the red was fluorescent, but it stopped you in your tracks, didn’t it? Design’s job is to disappear into the pleasure of use.
Next time you review a design, consider treating interface objects as if they were verbs (or adverbs) and figure out what word they affect. Then read your sentence out loud and see if it makes sense!
Imitation is Suicide. Insist on yourself; never imitate. — Ralph Waldo Emerson
I signed up for the 30 day RWE writing challenge, but have been remiss on acting on the […]
Worlds Easiest Way to Critique a Design
I just read a lovely article on how to critique design, and it was insightful and all that, […]
The Shuffle is a Robot
When we think of robots, we usually envision something with wheels for feet, and arms spinning like the Lost and Space guy […]
The Unbearable Lightness of Travel
“Up in the Air” came out at a funny time for me. I had just taken a job with Myspace that required me to fly to LA every week. This didn’t really bother me at the time. I have always had a bizarre affection for hotel rooms, and an easy relationship with flying. It seemed to fit my new lifestyle (or at least, was no more weird.) I already had to drop my daughter off at school every Wednesday knowing I wouldn’t see her again until Sunday morning. Why mope around my Palo Alto house, sleeping with Felina and Little Fifi when I could be living the highlife on a travel stipend in Los Angeles?
So every Wednesday I wake up amidst love and squalor, enjoy a long snuggle on the couch, pack a lunchbox and suitcase, and drive to the school and the airport, in that order.  And somehow, as I take off my shoes and coat and remove my laptop, I also shed myself.
They say travel is dehumanizing. We are nesting creatures. Walk around the office. Do you see a cube that hasn’t been marked in some way? A few books, a diet coke can pyramid, a picture in crayon pinned to the low wall: all marking territory and making home.  But travel refuses you the ability to make home happen. Sure you can pack candles or a photo to put by the bedstead, but knowing a few days later you’ll have to put them back in the suitcase makes it almost worse.  Gestures of home are futile and uncomforting in the face of the housekeeper’s ability to wipe away every trace of you. I find human connections a better comfort.  I’ve squandered a lot of opportunity to explore in exchange for the pleasure of a waiter who knows I like my steak rare, or the chance to teach the parakeet in the lobby to whistle a sequence of notes. The desk clerk worries over my cough, the night watchman offers me tea.