Hindsight Is From Being Too Quiet

There’s got to be some higher order of creating things than waiting on a team or their masters to figure out the right answers. Granted, no one is expecting right answers. What we may all be wanting, is to not design by guessing or what feels like guessing. And we don’t want pure decisiveness — that may come only by way of ego and then why would I or a team be needed?

So how do we not wait? How can designers not just be honest in their critical thinking, but timely in its usefulness?

Sounds strange to say, as this is the joy of collaborating and I don’t believe not collaborating is a solution. On my own I’m not the best — I need these folks around me. But one major time suck or obstacle is not saying honest things at the right time. This is my flaw I care to remedy.

For instance, sometimes I have an insight or idea in the middle of a strategy session, some piece of design research that could flip the coin of a decision — rightfully. And I cannot be the only one with this experience. But what I do is gloss over the insight. I squirm in my chair, my chest gets tight, and I keep my mouth shut. Why? Sometimes decisions have to be made yesterday. Sometimes we have experts in the room. Sometimes we love a design drum circle.

Designers have a habit, now, to move too fast for critical thinking and shouting about it if necessary. And only later, after a lot of time and work in a different direction, we find the result is what should have been shouted before. So, we have gained hindsight. We learn. We iterate. That’s the designer’s way, right? We are sometimes afraid of being right. And we find our position too many times in hindsight. Losing lots of time and using lots of money.

Of course, what’s happened is my own fault. But now, I’d rather get to less hindsight moments and design critically up-front. And what’s funny is that I may have leaders that expect this of me, and I’ve failed. I should be a voice. I get paid for something.

This may only be possible with training (for myself and a team) — literally reiterating or by example, speaking up to the critical decision that should be made now and not later. I must pay attention to context and the people around to know how to effectively speak my mind. And finally, talk less, listen to the room so what I’m sure to say will be informed and not reactionary or ego driven.

Who knows how much time I can find to design pretty things instead?

Should Research Be About User Friction - Only?

Many times in my short life, even several times throughout a day, curiosity of language drives me to think a change in the description of a problem or title of an exercise can change the perspective of a thing. Here, I’m talking about research, which I do all the time and a task I get plenty of feedback on — as to what I should be researching/testing, how I should ask questions. And that feedback or direction changes if it’s industry research, user research, UI, behavioral, etc. And I find, throughout many of those possible research spikes, these questions I must ask deal with “how much a user likes this or that” or “how likely are you to….?” That quantitative stuff is all well and good (NPS can be important). But it doesn’t illuminate a design problem or point of friction to design for — all of which I’m finding to be more important and illuminating a topic, every time. I need to know why — and I don’t suggest asking qualitative questions only.

Then, I think it’s simple enough, possibly, to change how I view research. If I am to design a thing (problem solve) then from a user’s point of view, all I need to understand are their points of friction within any topic.

So, the royal question becomes, “If we only look at user’s friction through our objectives’ lens (the things moving the business forward), will we be designing the best thing?” We wouldn’t need to know what’s already being done well (otherwise, there would be friction, no?). Therefore, iterating on the friction points while quietly/simply polishing the successful pieces gives a different perspective on priority and process.

“Without first identifying friction, you’re just making your design different, not better for your users.” — DT

After all, when someone tells us what we do well — what does that mean? “Keep doing the same thing?” “Don’t change this, thanks?” When we complain about changes to our iPhones, we are typically asking for them to do the same things, yet bringing up a friction point. I’m curious when we aren’t in the secret rooms with Apple, we assume they are changing things on a basis of making us hate them. But I believe they are more thoughtful (just like us) and have better data to work from than our own opinions suggest. I could be incorrect (quite a real possibility), well, then we know their designs are failing and that’s always possible. We can all loose our mojo. This digression is making feel I’m losing mine. Anyway….

Sometimes we (designers) will change all kinds of things just because we feel we must change something/anything to prevent stagnation.

Always finding the friction points and prioritizing them can only mean betterment is possible - smarter decisions are made and clearer design direction will happen, every time. And the things we do well won’t need praise (though who doesn’t enjoy a pat on the back?). We now know the parts to not change, but polish instead — these are the littler details to keep and enhance.

Ack! And now I just realized how many beautiful questions emerged for a Monday meeting. I should write them down before I forget. Back to work.

Building Design Confidence

In Your Users and Oneself

This is an honest story about losing one’s own confidence as a designer.

When I worked for Aetna, in an industry we tend to loath but pay for monthly, our big digital-team tried to always be Good. Growing up in a medical family made it clear; patient care and education are the highest standards of practice. And at Aetna, I noticed two things.

1. More than ever, understanding the complexity of the system patients are in, changes their ability to act or react to good medicine. Thus, creating bad patients which returns higher costs for all.

2. Learning to build confidence as a designer made patients confident in managing their own healthcare. Making healthier patient outcomes and lowering costs for all. (Don’t worry. I’m not saying patients can manage their care all alone without their care team or individual doctors. I’m not reckless 😊).

I finally noticed that first lesson spans across design experiences — 8 years later! 🙄 Let’s look at commerce-customers, not patients. Say hello to Dan Lewis. You may not know you know his work, but every single person reading this has experienced his work. Amazon reviews and star ratings are his ubiquitous gift to the commerce world. Copycatted and used as a gold standard to measure product quality and user sentiment….but it shouldn’t be. Dan says so. Back then, Dan thought he solved for one thing, while he actually created another. That was Social Influence (letting the world tell you it’s a good idea) as a game mechanic to justify buying now. Here’s his quick story.

Dan Lewis spoke about how he started five star reviews to solve the problem that customers can’t touch smell taste products before they buy. So, how does one gain the confidence to buy? Peer Reviews were the start. But they held too close to their solution rather than solving the problem with better technology over time.

Amazon’s Dan Lewis, now Convoy’s founder and CEO, discovered this upset from his pioneering days of our ubiquitous 5-star reviews. And now uses that redefined focus as a value of Convoy's.

Biases Exist Everywhere. Learn Which Ones Rule Your Behaviors.

Now, let’s look at patients. There’s a big ol’ study (actually lots of them) that show what drives better behaviors of patients — see the likes of Kahneman and Tversky’s Thinking Fast and Slow. Patients’ prospective outcomes don’t drive their behavior, usually. Meaning, every patient knows what will make them better. “Take two pills and call me in the morning.” But patients have a difficult time doing the smallest things.

This big ol’ study showed us a few things (which I will over-simplify here). One, what causes the behavior. Two, that it’s common and repeatable. Third, we can do something about it. One solution is generating patient scores that predicts the likelihood of good patient outcomes based on the confidence level patients feel about managing their care. The Patient Activation Measure (PAM) measures a patient’s confidence. If one measures high, not only do they feel confident, they are more likely to act like a good patient and take those two pills.

Part of that confidence journey started at Aetna as a question we all have, “what’s wrong with me?” Typically, until something is real bad, we don’t seek out care, because the answer is time consuming, expensive, and part of the scary unknown. Luckily(?), the gift of the internet provided us with private companies that created services to help find our way, and mostly for free. See Google and WebMD. From there, Aetna knew the general public had difficulty sussing out accurate and trustworthy results. Though I’m sure information coming from a private insurance company can easily feel suspect, Aetna is afraid of being sued. Sounds amoral, but that’s the only motivation. And it’s a good one. A great one. The outcome is good information for patients! Aetna must provide us with quality medical content, period.

How’d Patients Get Here?

Back to figuring out what’s wrong with you. One can Google or try the old WebMD site to dive down rabbit holes all day, ending in sometimes scary results. Another time, look up something similar and get non-scary results. That inconsistency is terrible. Why does it exist? How does that affect users’ trust? Unfortunately, people will stop learning when they confirm for themselves. Stopping when they find answers most comfortable with. Which can be at best, a false positive and at worst, a false negative. Yikes!

Those scary results easily perpetuate the ideal that medicine is scary, unknown, and medical practices are predatory. So you stop being a good, informed patient. At Aetna, we wanted to know if and how we could make you feel confident in what you were learning. To make better, rationale, healthier decisions. We knew, measuring your level of confidence over time determines good patients from bad ones. If we knew which, we’d provide each with a differentiated experience! Because no two patients are the same. Just ask your doctor.

So we started with a patient’s first step — asking the question, “what’s wrong them me?” This is the well known and well used, Symptom Checker. Try it. Try something simple. Like “Cough”. You’ll get 100s of results. The running joke was all things led to brain cancer. 😬 Not a good reputation.

Back in the day WebMD didn’t ask to clarify very important information that drastically changes results. Simple questions like age or sex. Aetna had an advantage. We could essentially “know” our patients and use their health data for Good. We could cater results to your medical history, current meds, etc — which is THE gold standard for practitioners. But how does a patient know how good those results are? Effectively, how do we raise their confidence as they search?

We made 4 Googles. I showed users a Google search bar because it’s the go-to mental model of searching anything. Then I showed users more and more granular search result categories that group answers together. The hypothesis was, “Oopf! More granularity looks like more work/clicks/reading, Ben!” And by most UX accounts, that rule of thumb is accurate. But it was not in this case. Patients trusted the results of the specifics (far right)! So I went a step farther. I wondered if patients would do A LOT of work to find better answers.

A Way to Grow Confidence.

So I made a new symptom checker. I called it Guided Search (I think, it was implemented years later, YAY!). It allow one to continuously refine a search as results are found. We used a series of qualifiers every diagnostician (nurse or doctor) asks. Any symptom or condition one looks up, Guided Search ask four qualifiers (all optional). First, are you currently experiencing it? If so, how often (frequency), how long you’ve experience it (duration), and how bad is it (severity)? After each added qualifier, the results could go from 100s of results, to only 5! The patients watched that number get smaller and smaller, making it obvious why “doing more work” was worth their precious time.

Lesson Number Two.

Guided Search lead me to my second realization. As a designer, working on any important, life-changing designs (dramatic flare intended), requires knowing if you’re on the right path. I required a confidence that allowed for a growing sensibility or intuition so others could say, “Hey Ben, you’re a designer and I’m not. So, I’m gonna trust you.” What a great feeling to be needed.

Today, I noticed this in all my use cases, but I’m losing it, myself. The necessary user confidence at Apple, was knowing if you (sales people) were truly teaching a customer how to solve their problems with Apple products. At Riot, it wasn’t just to make a game fun, it was making sure users feel good spending money on objects that brought them joy. At Amazon, users needed Alexa’s voice to provide accurate answers and perform tasks correctly. At Mattel, children needed to feel in control of their play and imaginations without shame or judgement.

Back to Dan

So I’ve noticed through just about all my experience since Aetna, that the product or process was static. And this causes problems for myself because I cannot stop trying to find something better. A better way. Better thinking. Better file structure. Better communication. Better strategy. Etc. All that could be considered “solutions” at a place of business and particularly at places of business that are long standing. Which is why Aetna was such an anomaly. Our little design team did all that work at a 169 year old company!

Stepping away from being in love with the last solution they created frees people up to disrupt themselves instead of protecting what they’ve built. — Dan Lewis

What’s interesting, looking back at Aetna where most would think any good thinking goes to die, we were actually able to practice Dan Lewis’ value before we knew to preach it. (We’ve all been wrong about Aetna!) And ever since, I’ve yet to work somewhere that allows one to practice and preach said value. I rarely feel the freedom to build confidence in my design journey.

I cannot tell if I’m making an impact anymore. I’m at this place of feeling too old, whiplash hurts more. Being treated like a new energetic, tableau rasa designer focuses on the wrong skills set. I’ve worked at so many companies, I’m exhausted from needed to re-learn their status quo when the same outcomes can be produced. Or worse, to conform to a process that cares about short term outputs more so!

In fact, I care more about the people I working with than the products I’m creating with them. We all have skills. I don’t need more fancy resume gems and sparkles. I’m losing confidence because micromanagement of the status quo makes me feel like a robot. It has me missing that feeling when we changed patients’ lives for the better. All with ugly prototypes. All while adapting how we could get work done. Because the outcome was always patient confidence.

Conclusion

This might be my own pep talk. By the end of this article, I’m giving advice I have a hard time practicing. But still, think about the times you felt like you just nailed it. How’d that happen? How come it’s not always happening? Don’t stick around some place that doesn’t build up your design confidence. At Aetna, patients were king. Of your career, you rule. Any place that says otherwise is uncaring and likewise lying about how they care for you. They are either there to teach you to be better or they are not.

If you’re unhappy, leave. It’s a great-scary feeling. That freedom of your own power. I want to figure out my own PAM score again. Because my confidence got lost in the years of shining up a resume that’s not built on as much happiness as one might suspect.

Trust yourself.

Ugh! I Don’t Trust Designing with Empathy

I'm going to get so much sh*@ for this.

Hey all you design-types! Are you sympathetic or empathetic? Without using IDEOs definition, could you define each or either? Which word is older and where’d they come from? Which has changed its meaning? What should matter when designing? I’ll answer all these.

But Ben, “What’s your beef with empathy?” Great question, caller. My beef is how dishonest tactical-empathy sounds. I believe, when designers feel the need to employ empathy for users, empathy sounds dishonest because no matter how much empathy one employs; products, services, and solutions must and will always discount someone or some group.

While I do appreciate a simple rallying cry that helps designers learn how to discover all the scenarios for an audience that generate better products, the double edged sword exists. Empathy takes a ton of energy (Is often used as a means to argue a solution or critique another without having a conversation. I find empathy as a weapon, stops creative discussion) and when deployed, we feel we’ve done something special - we've tricked ourselves. We can all say we’ve been a good person and a good designer, today. Hi5 🙌.

Honestly, do we care that much? I am genuinely curious. And if one is genuinely empathic, one may become paralyzed to help the users they’re meant to feel for. Instead, I’d much rather learn how to solve best within the constraints of the group I’ll be solving for.

Then you might ask, “Ben, in your constrained group, can’t you use empathy to solve for them?” Well, yes I can, but I don’t care. Tactical-constraints make more sense to design for outcomes. Needs, motivations, attitudes, real life experiences formulate constraints and are still discovered through our user research. And designing for those constraints, is the job and even better, are measurable. No more excusing failed experiments because one wasn't empathetic enough. No more arguements that a designer is better than another because of empathy. Empathy is an extra step filled with unknowns and biases that, at best, creates blindspots.

Why not empathy? It makes us feel we’ve learned compassion, but what has changed? We’ve used empathy to talk about complexity. Instead of solving airline congestion problems, we've listened to the story of the girl sleeping on the floor on a yoga mat. Is her problem an uncomfortable mat or should we add beds at the gates? Empathy as a starting point strips away the complexity of the person or people (opposite of compassion) down to a feeling.

Even after the research one can do (at some point we have to get to building) we must leave behind other variables of human emotion and experiences to make our product for said humans. Human behavior is full of idiosyncrasies—understanding where they come from and how they manifest is a complex challenge. Thus, only so many solutions can fit into a single product.

We all say that “empathy helps us figure out what problems users are trying to solve.” To me, that is a tired phrase and one we counter the very next moment. We actually only look for problems after we have a product idea that we must then refine into product market fit. At best, the phrase assumes users know what they want. And that becomes the flip side of the argument for empathy. How or when does a user know what they want? During research one should never asks what users want or what users will do. We learn to never ask a user for a solution to a problem. Our job is to find solutions ins service of outcomes.

My point is that design doesn’t need empathy to learn what problems users face. Observation is fine. Listening works. Asking questions helps. Those are not empathetic actions. They are scientific ones. And we’ve employed them well before IDEO.

Back to the questions

Which is older and where’d they come from?

Sympathy means to walk in someone else’s shoes. And we believe sympathy requires one to have a similar experience to relate. Wrong. Yet, our newer word of empathy comes from German to mean, “In feeling”. Which is how we use empathy today.

Which has its meaning changed?

We rarely use sympathy being afraid of shame. We’re told sympathy requires pity of someone else. Wrong. It’s noble, but unnecessary in our case. Empathy has become the emotional connection du jour that means one must feel what another feels. But this is what sympathy means. We’ve added empathy to our lexicon to produce a result that may even harm how we design. A case against empathy, summarized by Vox in 2019 based on Paul Bloom’s book from 2016, coins “rational compassion” as a healthier and more realistic behavior humans should elicit.

What should matter when designing?

“Rational Compassion” is a remedy to the boringness of mainstream-design-guru phrases. Rational Compassion is not a call to action, but a natural behavior that disassociates from design skill levels. It’s something everyone already does when trying to learn a subject matter, about user, a problem, or solution. The “Rational” is scientific and obvious. It’s against the irrationality of emotional empathy as the rationale drops the emotional baggage or reactionary biases of feeling.

Compassion is simple too. It’s the act of understanding others are different - differences are those constraints I talked about above. It promotes curiosity as a state of being vs. a tactic of design. In this case, Rational and Compassion go together. The humanities and the scientific. The Rational and natural behaviors of Compassion already exist within good designers, friends, parents, therapist — humans. We observe, listen, ask, and learn from our own experiences and from others’. This defines compassion — the recognition of others and the differences from ourselves.

In this case, empathy feels made up. It feels like we changed the definition to suit our needs when other words already existed. It feels like a means to a selfish end (we feel better if we employ it). Instead, I find we don’t need a new fangled term to describe how to be better designers. Our better natures already set us up for healthy, viable, caring, and thoughtful actions aimed at others. Why not teach that? A life skill versus a design skill.

I don’t care if you use the term empathy to describe your methods. It doesn’t impress me. It doesn’t show me how you think. We don't like buzzwords because they make one seem thoughtless or disingenuous.

Can we concentrate our natural ability of Rational Compassion as a means to transform our human condition and foster diverse experiences? Let’s not only think of our design jobs.

Have I Always Done The Same Work?

UX and Product Management Are Fraternal Twins

UX and Product Management are like fraternal twins—nearly indistinguishable down to the fingerprints. Their genetic makeup is so closely aligned that I can’t separate my responsibilities or the outcomes I’ve driven in either role. Why? Because they both chase the same goals. Sometimes, as a UXer, I’ve paved the road to those outcomes. Other times, as the product lead, I’ve brought them to the table for the team to shape and execute.

When a PM handed off problems to me, I’d respond with designed solutions. Now, as a PM, I still lead with design—but I write a lot more. My thinking comes to life on paper: wireframes, user flows, SWOT charts, complexity quadrants, and broad functional specs that go well beyond redlining a UX doc. But hot damn—if I’m not still doing at least 50% of my UX job. And honestly? I love the combo.

I don’t feel overwhelmed or stretched thin. I feel empowered—like all my skills finally click into place. It’s the kind of synthesis that helps teams trust me. I thrive at that intersection of business goals and user needs. Even when others are contributing to a PRD or helping with the roadmap, I still get that rush from being asked: “So, what should we do?”

And in that moment, one of two things happens: I’ve already asked myself that question and mapped the answer, or I think on my feet. I deal with ambiguity. I check my gut against business acumen and user understanding. And I decide. Prioritize. Speak with conviction. And you know what I often notice? “Wait—I’ve been doing this my entire career.”

In 18 years of UX, I’ve constantly made strategic choices. Sure, they may have been on a micro-scale—designing features, weighing usability, comparing directions. But the question was the same: Which direction do we take? And I answered confidently. Now I’m zoomed out, doing that at a product level—but I still zoom in too. I can wrangle stakeholders and pair with a designer. Collaborate with engineers while shaping vision. And I say again: I’ve been doing this all along—just without the title.

So, have I been a UX designer for 18 years? Or a product manager? Maybe the better question is: Have I always been a product leader delivering different outputs based on title and context? The answer is a big, bold yes.

When I start doubting myself—“Do I really know how to do this?”—the voice in my head answers back: Hell yes, I do. Somehow, I’ve always approached problems like this. Maybe it's a soft-skill superpower. Maybe it’s from constantly throwing myself into the mix. I know this about me: I’m an idealist. If I see an obvious, meaningful solution, I don’t want to debate it for weeks—I want to build it. But I also know that change management is slower in bigger orgs, which is probably why I love startups.

At Riot and Amazon, I learned how to do my job better. But I also got into trouble when I spotted simple changes and tried to make them happen. Not just process fixes—sometimes design patterns too. Take the time I proposed a horizontal nav for a landscape mobile app. Not standard for Riot at the time, but it made sense for the experience. My UX lead (not my boss) hated it. Not because it didn’t work—because it was different. That fear of change became a judgment on my thinking. But why should design sensibility be rigid when users themselves are so diverse?

That’s why Metwork felt like home. I joined as Lead UX with a 40% product focus and, slowly but surely, shaped the product side. I redesigned the foundation. Helped hire a design lead I trusted. And because of that trust, I shifted 100% into product management—steering the roadmap, still designing in my head, but through a business lens.

Now I wasn’t just designing subfeatures—I was prioritizing across 100 potential ideas to move the needle. Constantly asking: Why this? Why now? What’s the scope? The complexity? Will this help us now or later? What’s the tech lift? Can we drop this dependency or upgrade another? Then stitching all of that together into a process the team can run with—without me prescribing how. Just the order of operations.

And it worked.

I was managing product, leading with UX instinct, and doing the same job I’ve always done—just under a different label. UX and product management aren’t two different tracks of my career. They’re the same aesthetic. The same wiring. The same me.

So now I wonder… should we come up with a new name for this hybrid? Whatever we call it, I know it’s where I belong.

Beyond the Cynic

Pause, Breath, Think

I’m a positive person. Ask anyone. Read the recommendations from my colleagues on LinkedIn. Everyone looks like the best version of themselves in those snapshots. You’ve probably seen the same. Can you relate?

But when I write, responding to life during times of stress or anxiety, my default voice is often a cynic. I analyze. I dissect. It’s simple to sound like a critic. Can you relate?

Some suggest I frame things with a brighter lens. Others say my constant critiques sound like complaints. But I believe people react from emotion first, then think. Don’t forget to think, Ben.

This story is about learned helplessness and rediscovery. It revisits the first time I got fired without explanation. Years later, I was laid off again except this time the company folded. Twenty people, including me, lost their roles. It wasn’t about performance. The company ran out of money. We were all like deer caught in headlights.

If one gets to thinking, learned helplessness doesn’t linger. It creeps in, for a moment, before experience pushes it aside. Still, I catch myself feeling overtaken, like I’ve lost control. That’s what helplessness feels like — power stripped away. Let me tell you very first true experience with helplessness. You’ll learn where my aversion and rebellion to this position comes from.

Freshman year in high school, I joined show choir. I auditioned playing guitar while in the eighth grade. Freshman year felt like the launch of a rockstar life. We had real talent — six singers, a full band. The density of skill felt surreal. I had a Guild acoustic. It was a thin bodied guitar to mimic Dave Matthews as closely as possible. I had a white Stratocaster, a Laney amp to pretend Eric Clapton played through me. Our room filled with drums, violins, keyboards, mics, mixers, speakers, and rat’s nests worth of cables.

In 1997, our school hosted the state choir festival. Students from across the state came to rehearse. One evening, someone left the back door propped open enough for no one to noticed. After rehearsal, strangers broke in and stole everything — tens of thousands in gear and personal instruments. Our lead guitarist had saved for years to buy his Les Paul. None of it came back.

I remember crying in my sister’s arms. I didn’t feel sad — I felt powerless. There was no action to take, only anger and imagined revenge. My parents could replace my guitar, but that didn’t matter. That instrument had a story. So did Lee’s Les Paul.

That feeling returned when I lost my job. Even with thoughtful managers and kind farewells, the moment hits like a punch. And you can’t cry or complain and expect to keep working. No one at this company failed. Still, job loss triggers doubt: Can I do this again?

Of course I can. I’ve done it for 20 years. If I couldn’t then I wouldn’t have 20 years experience now would I? But rejection emails say the opposite.

That’s where my inner cynic takes over.

The job hunt strips away humanity. You apply to machines. Networking still works, but it’s slow and only benefits those with large ones. Yet to feel responsible, we flood applications. In truth, all I’ve ever needed was one real conversation. That’s how I’ve always gotten hired — through people. Not arrogance. Just fact.

The process dehumanizes just as being laid off does. You get a rejection like this:

“While we were impressed with your background and qualifications, we have decided to move forward with other candidates at this time. We encourage you to check our Careers Page…” — every rejection email ever

Ummm, as the hiring team wouldn’t you know a role I’d be perfect for, already? Of course not. A human didn’t assess my application.

Don’t say you’re impressed if you won’t talk to me. Don’t pretend a person made the decision if no one gave real feedback. What was impressive? What wasn’t? Feedback matters. If Customer Support can respond to every complaint, recruiting teams can offer more than silence.

So that’s my rant. Cynic, sure — but honest. Now, let’s go deeper.

Rejection stings fast. If you’ve ever designed something, then had a boss or customer shoot it down, the first instinct is to snap back. Sometimes a nice, “F*#k off,” would feel nice. That reaction? Raw emotion. It’s the same instinct that powers social media outrage.

Learned helplessness works like that. It shuts down the next move. You doubt your future in the space of a sentence. Success suddenly feels out of reach. “If I couldn’t succeed today, how can I tomorrow?”

But here’s the part I believe now.

Losing a job doesn’t mean you lost your value. Learning from failure makes you better. But the job hunt gives no space for failure, growth, or recovery. It demands perfection. Then it vanishes.

That’s not your fault.

Your experience will fit somewhere. Don’t water down your language to match keywords. Make us laugh. Make us think. Don’t turn yourself into a robot. Be human. Wait. And if waiting hurts, do something that feels alive. Read. Walk. Cook. Play a game. Write. Pet a dog. Complain in a notebook. Burn it. People-watch. Make something. Spend money on your favorite coffee. Meet someone new. Build a story worth living.

Anything but job hunting.

We will work again. Of course we will. Look at us — we’re damn good at what we do.

Accidental Legacies and Being Creatively Confident

Working against the meritocracy of design.

I’ve never been a designer who needs to be knee-deep in several projects or work every waking hour. I don’t believe greatness requires obsession. Hustling to build a reputation might sound admirable, but effort doesn’t always equal quality.

Design isn’t meritocratic, yet we still celebrate our celebrities. I follow those with strong perspectives to think them through myself. The design leaders I admire work hard and have more experience than me. That explains their influence — but does it justify their worship?

Maybe I’m overstating it. But social media looks like worship. We copy their books, retweet their quotes, like and share their posts, hoping others will see we’re learning “the right way.” Platforms full of hearts, likes, and requests for subs make it feel like meritocracy distorts our self-worth.

We want to learn. I ask myself: How are they so good? Can I be like them? Is it repeatable? Will their years of experience distill into something that fits where I’m at today? Can I CMD+C this process?

Designers often latch onto absolutes — philosophies we follow with religious adherence. At worst, we collect books and artifacts as proof we’ve done the work. But the systems and advice often skip the full story. Personally, I need the details — the when, why, and how something worked (or didn’t) because copying Apple or Google doesn’t make it good or right. We aren’t allowed to pull from a mix of methods. For instance, saying UX “solves problems” doesn’t fully reflect my work. Sometimes I audit existing solutions. Sometimes I question whether we even understand the problem. And even then, we shouldn’t take forever to define it. I prefer to analyze systems — structures that help explain why people act irrationally.

And that satisfies me. I’m not bored. There’s no simple metric to measure this effort. No silver bullets. Too many variables. Infinite user experiences. Each situation feels unique. The process a designer follows doesn’t matter unless the solution creates a real behavior change. The only judges that matter are users — not critics assigning merit. It’s not the review that counts. Is the comedian great? It’s whether the audience laughs.

When did we decide success in design — or anything — requires burnout? Why does effort guarantee quality? We listen to professors, mentors, TED talkers… but why? Shouldn’t our work be judged by the users? If so, then hours spent are irrelevant. What matters is whether the work disproves our assumptions.

I don’t believe that “only the work” is enough to make a difference or change the world. I’m not creatively fulfilled when I’m just asked to execute. In design, outcomes matter. Yet, we praise the process. Companies and teams fixate on how we worked. But that’s judging the process, not the results. I get that large orgs need structure. They can’t start fresh with every new hire or idea.

But I’m not critiquing the process itself — I’m critiquing how we assign merit to those who conform best.

My Own Worst Enemy

I’m a constant self-critic. A walking contradiction. I understand how someone can feel confident in their worth while I immediately doubt my own outcomes — despite affirmation. I love the advice, “What you ought to do is what you should be doing.” When I can’t do what I think I should, something’s off. Like hitting a dirt road and realizing, “This isn’t going smoothly.”

There was no lightning-bolt moment where I found my calling. Honestly, I wanted to make games. I even had the privilege. I didn’t study at a university. I fell in love with skills that were useful in a job, taught by an unwitting mentor. Over time, I developed new ones. Some I reused — never the same way. Different projects molded those skills into different tools.

It sounds like fate. But it’s not. It’s just time. Too many variables, too many little moments brought me here. I’ve had peaks and valleys in effort across jobs. None were failures. Some I regret — I could’ve been better.

My Own Short Story

Here’s more of that story. I share it in hopes that, by the end of my career, I’ll have built a legacy I’m proud of.

One day, a friend and I wanted to make games. We never did, but we designed a few. That meant writing and doodling. I didn’t understand game mechanics or player psychology. I just asked, “What’s fun to Ben?” I didn’t know that was a biased, narrow lens.

My effort didn’t equal quality. The value wasn’t just in my ideas, but in how I was learning to think and work.

We registered domains and LLCs. Made websites for fun. Launched a wireless internet company. I learned to sell Apple products by building relationships. I helped my cousin start a medical supply company, then asked LEGO for a job — told them I’d wash floors just to be in the building. I walked into a robotics startup. I worked in health insurance, voice assistance, toys, gaming, and blockchain. Every step added variety.

What skills did I learn? I couldn’t list them all. Not because they weren’t valuable — but because they layered into everything I did next. I didn’t stop to record each learning moment. But those experiences collided — like atoms forming molecules — shaping a mindset I use to design whatever’s in front of me.

It all sounds scattered. I sound like a goof who just chased fun jobs.

You won’t find a drawer full of genius ideas when I’m gone. Sometimes, I don’t even feel like a designer. I’m not Jony Ive or Will Wright. No one should be. They’re singular — and so am I. What I am is confident. I could walk into any place and help. That’s the designer I am.

Why? Not because of books or mentors. When I want to grow, I research deeply before I act. I learn first. That takes time. Some teams don’t like that. I’ve learned not to care — unless they let me do my job right. That honesty has made me leave jobs I loved. There’s that tension with merit and process again.

I don’t believe showing up makes you brilliant. I don’t believe copying others is the only way to learn. You have to love what you’re showing up for. Life isn’t just a slog. That’s too depressing. I’m too idealistic to accept that. Most of the time, we control our circumstances. So, no — motivational quotes aren’t enough. We need to name the real problem. Sometimes, it’s us.

I’m not my best when I’m bored or frustrated. I rebel against the slog. Tedium is pointless. But don’t mistake it for detail. I love detail — because it serves the outcome. Tedium is busywork. It’s filler. It’s hot air. And it’s everywhere in big companies.

I need to balance initiative and discomfort. That’s a skill. Some call it persistence. Others, discipline. I get in my own way when I should be making space. We don’t need to mimic celebrities. Owning books we haven’t read, posting anecdotes, or overachieving for applause won’t make us more worthy.

The Difficult Finality

That’s the sacrifice — my ego wondering if I’m good enough. Every motivational poster echoes that feeling. That learned ego gets mistaken for confidence. Worse, for merit. The same applies to doubt, risk, criticism, and hard work. Give us a break. Doubt can teach. It can be a red flag. Risk has value. Managing it is better. Why are these things treated like flaws? Because inspiration sells? No. Because people love the slog. They romanticize struggle. They sell the myth. It’s like Photoshopping success into your life.

The legacy I want? Teaching someone — my kids, a friend — to help themselves. To think in the gray space. To see the world and their role in it as nuanced. Not copy-pasted. If you can connect those dots, you’ll not just be ahead of the game — you’ll help make it better for others.

That’s a legacy that changes the world. You plus others — that’s the change. It’s not up to just me or you. Merit is ignored. It’s not effort. It’s not the path. It’s the outcome.

It’s an accidental legacy I strive to achieve. But, who the fuck am I?

Why do I care about the things I care about?

““Be agnostic to the greatness of your idea so you are able to see the greater affect it will have on the world.” ”

— Experience Design

Good question. I’m not sure why I fall in love either, but the immediacy of its feeling draws one’s effort to caring and understanding. I care because what I care about means something to me. Somehow the illogical part of this answer relates to the idea that makes it’s affects personal. Meaning, if I didn’t care, I literally wouldn’t feel anything. “Why” is thus a bit undecernable. But what I care about seems to stem from a need to have others understand, see, recognize, learn what’s important beyond their idea. And maybe that their idea isn’t the best place to start caring. Perhaps learning about people and users helps our ideas become greater. In fact, I know this is the case because it works every time. I haven’t seen Experience Design not work. It’s Science. Science is a process or the idea; not a unit for measuring judgement over this or that. Science is agnostic to the thing in which it is tasked to learn. Which is also why it cares not of your beliefs. Though, we can start there (just like an idea). But every single person can do Science, to some degree. Same goes for Experience Design. If that’s true, then it’s inherent that your ideas can and should get better with Experience Design vs. having an idea or belief sit on a pedestal by itself waiting for recognition or use.

Being specific in matters of the heart

Working through team retrospectives can be frustrating. Designers love to talk, a lot. And by default we jump to solutions right away more often than pausing to respond. I notice I do the same in my real life when my wife comes home and needs to vent - it’s Ben to the rescue!

I want to ask more questions, but one must listen a little longer, first. So, let’s talk about the two concepts here as they build on one another.

It’s not enough to say I love you all the time. Quantity looses the gravity of quality and meaning. If you’ve ever been broken-hearted you know that words don’t mean as much compared to action.

I believe that listening and asking questions is the best way to be a partener.

As designers we constantly ask people all the time for their feedback while other times we get it without asking at all. Now I’m not asking people to say they love me too, like I ask my wife (I could write a book about my insecurities elsewhere). But I do ask workmates, “what do you think?” Which is a problem. It’s vague. It gets answers like “it feels weird to me”. And perhaps it elicits more comments like, “can we try this…?” And then I get re-design feedback from anyone and everyone. In other words, it’s confusing and not very meaningful when any opinion can now, sound relevant.

Let’s be more pointed with our questions so we can receive more pointed answers.

When I’m talking with my wife and she’s having a hard day, sometimes she just needs to tell me how bad the day was. If I’m listening, she’s empowered and in control. When I jump to solutioning, she’s weak and unheard. Questions become instant help.

“What can I do to help you right now?” He asked, head tilted down and to the right, waiting.

She can now answer me specifically with, “I just need you to listen, smile and nod.” She says smiling to continue.

There is no ambiguity there. She gets what she needs and I am relieved of my duty to be the hero.

In design, I can ask different questions to an engineer or project owner that gets me answers I need. This way they don’t need to search for answers for the sake of feedback. We are less confused and more aligned.

My specific questions could be, “how much effort do you imagine this interaction would cost us?” Then I listen. Depending on the answer I can follow up with, “Can you imagine what might help decrease that cost?” Or “What native interactions am I missing that android users feel more familiar with?” It would be easy to receive a pointed answer. There’s a stop-and-think moment provided.

Try it with project managers. Try it with your partner. Try it with your kids.

This way, listening, then asking specific questions, helps “I love you” save my partnership and turns my design life into a more efficient and productive relationship.

Deliberately Tousled and Deliberately Perfect

Thinking isn't our fault.  How we think, is.

I’m here as a fellow designer to explain that we are all designers, sometimes without knowing it.

If we are honest with ourselves then we are all arrogant enough to notice when either are faked (I’ll consider myself deliberately perfect), it’s an autonomic feeling, a judgement call when the little lightbulbs of our minds flicker to an obvious ON state and exclaim, “That’s a little ridiculous!” The problem with this reaction, sometimes, is this system-of-thought can be quite wrong sometimes and without our knowledge. Though, not wrong as often as you’d like — we all love judging the world outside. (When you can, read Daniel Kahneman’s, Thinking Fast and Slow. Discover the glorious ways our brains actually behave) And if you or I were to be brave enough performing an experiment, we would walk up to the deliberately tousled or deliberately perfect-person and let them know how ridiculous their plaid shirt and thick rimmed glasses are, how faked their intention really is. Yet, if they don’t punch us in the face first, the involuntary participant could easily justify their deliberate decisions of tousled man bun or deliberately shined yet rough motorcycle boots, unlaced and oil treated.

It’s a problem with Irony being used as a first resort opposed to the last. You see, irony is a way for our attention starved and distraction rich culture to keep the outside world at a distance. There isn’t much we need to explain, thoughtfully, when we can say things like, “ this object reminds me of a simpler time.” Oh yeah? What time is that? A nostalgic greeting to a time and place we romanticize, but have never experienced? Let’s imagine China 1000 years ago when medical science didn’t exist, but herbs did. Or maybe a time when engineering could build some thing, but you had an axe, a forest, and muscles, instead? One immediately talks of the retreat into nostalgia and the new Alanis Morisette definition of irony used today as methods for coping with the confusion of attention starved and distraction rich timeline. But believe it or not, I’m interested in the design aspect of this phenomenon. Here’s my premise….see if you agree….

So, now we have something to recon with…ok maybe only I have something to recon with, but I’m curious if any of you feel similar. One, is our sometimes misfired judgement call and then our (my) issue with unaware tousledness or perfection. *read as sagging pants, strange smells, less bathing, or torn up consumable objects like jeans, backpacks or even a vehicle like an old school bus, VW van, or fixed-wheeled bikes.*

I am sure, throughout some amount of history I can’t recoloect — I only go back to 1981, but I’m going to assume there has always been a trend of humans curating themselves to seem a certain way to others. I’m not sure I’ve met anyone authentic enough or unaware enough to not care what others thought of them, even with the reliance of loved ones. We are too social not to care, it’s survival of the fittest (sometimes) and if we could flip that switch to an OFF state, we wouldn’t have things thoughtfully created, tastefully worn, deliberately cared for, or be visually attracted to. We wouldn’t have been able to call a rounder object more feminine or a sharp-cornered object more masculine if we didn’t create automatic associations. Those associations turned into tastes, those tastes became things others concerned themselves with, and opinions were formed and disseminated across time and geography. Commodities were created and cultures went to war over opinions of what’s more grand and who could attain the most — Chinese silk, Indian spices, or Italian sculpture. Our inherent need to be better begets wars of mediocrity over grandeur. In a way, this needs to happen — perhaps it could be the timeline of progress.

Now, why, do we judge things of my (our) history? In the latest Kinfolk magazine a long form article discusses the idea of the commoditization of the home with two lovely scientists — one from Austin and the other, Berkley. And during their amicable agreements and disagreements, they address the change in who gets to see what, of our lives. They use the idea of home, this place that you “[invite] people through the front door” and thus into your life. The home has spaces only some may see — those of quiet intimacy and others more public and social. And then, here’s the big shift we may not realize that has changed our idea of personal space and privacy that in turn, has made us adjust our judgements of and our actions to be deliberately tousled or deliberately perfect. Ready? You’ll think me cliche — but I’ll blame Kinfolk this time for being smarter than me. It’s social media.

Do you remember that intimate place you allowed only a certain someone? Now, you may have snapped a selfie under the covers showing your bed head. Perhaps, you got new curtains and needed your friends to care? What about that knew outfit in a mirror that shows me your entire space? You chased your dog or cat around not even realizing I received a map of your home through a feed of your pictures or videos.

We now must chase the differentiation of me versus everyone and this in turn flips another switch. Now, we wrestle with the idea of deciding to sag our pants or not give two shits what hipsters think and show them our underwear anyway because now, if I want to be that deliberate about why I’m dressed the way I am, carry the tote with a Kinfolk magazine, Space-Gray Macbook, and some high thinking book on behavior psychology, I can’t just be interested in things myself, I have to justify your judgements and you must judge me so the war of silk and spices can continue. You may come up to me and ask why I have these things looking all smart and put-together, and I may give you any old excuse without being genuine and more likely the wrong kind of ironic. While I sit at this corner table, watch all the others worrying “how am I to others?” or confidently feel “how little I care of others” and laugh silently and cruelly that they are trying so much harder than me — so I’m the fool.

But we are both ironically wrapped up in the hipster war with the designer’s affections with the businessmen’s acumen with the rebel’s savor faire — all to describe our ability and need to be more deliberately unaffected by the other’s deliberate comparisons.

I love when others might see the bag I hold. It’s an incredibly well made leather product, built by an old man that just wants to “make great things”. I instantly made my purchase when he described why he felt compelled to craft it and I did so well before I worried how others might see it. I wanted this object to hold my things, to hang on my side, and cherish for as long as I’m alive so my children may have it — because I’d like them to recognize and appreciate works of quality, the thoughtfulness of good design, so they may integrate those traits into their lives more readily than I ever have. Does that sound deliberately perfect? Yep. It’s an uber romantic ideal. But it’s not faked and yet no matter what, you might see me at the corner table, sitting here pretentious and thoughtless, laugh, then walk to work.

We can’t stop our judgements as easily as we’d like (they are quite automatic), but you are able to stop reacting to make your deliberate decisions while you care what others think. I believe the strong fight back is against the “when” and “how” we share our reasoning and photos and text updates of our lives, all when privacy will do. The wars of simple things — of personal things — go away when one is able to care and articulate their reasons of being deliberately tousled or perfect. The wars go away little by little when we actually enjoy our own curated personal brand — the homes we keep, the spaces we make, the objects we attach ourselves. In fact, it’s the only way we can design anything.

Be deliberate. Just do so without the war.

I Was Never In Boy Scouts and I’m Fine With It

I was never in Boy Scouts. I live with a hint of remorse as I feel I’ve missed something important, but one must never live with regret. So, now I love other’s stories. I remember in 5th grade simply liking the decoration of it — the cool neckerchief, badges, uniform, sitting amongst a group of cool kids. My Uncle Charles has been telling me stories of his time in the Scouts and how it truly shaped his life, particularly from his Scout Leader, Mr. Lassiere (who had such an impact on my uncle and is community in South Louisiana, Uncle Charles gave his eulogy). Aside from that great man, the 12 words that code their behavior and perspective: Trustworthy, Loyal, Helpful, Friendly, Courteous, Kind, Obedient, Cheerful, Thrifty, Brave, Clean, and Reverent come up often, at least once in every story. Of course, in the 1950s my uncle grew up very Catholic, yet his Christian Boy Scout values were never measured religiously. And today, as a non-believer he sees the world in his own perspective enmeshed with these values even if never expressed explicitly. Which I find very very honest and just plain cool.

So I started looking at my own life, here. Not within these values, but in the less conformist way my Uncle experienced his boy-scout-days. I think I’ve found how I love design, in as much as I can’t help but look at problems to solve — like a tick — but don’t necessarily take some hard and fast tradition from the dogma many seem to connect. I don’t own and read all the design books. I don’t go to conferences. I can’t listen to every podcast. I don’t know the celebrity names that people drop, often. I glean. I listen. I like the cool neckerchief and badges of design, but I don’t follow the Master Chief. I take the pieces — maybe the 12 values that connected with me — and I use them all on my own. And I can’t be the only one…I’m nothing special in that regard (though I’m sure my mother would say otherwise).

I was trying to figure out if this makes me an amateur and if that matters. I was wondering, this morning, if others might be better than me (because of course many are) because of their dogma and if that matters. I sat worried if perhaps I am naive in the art of getting things done and if that ideology matters. And I thought of Uncle Charles.

And I heard his voice, “Who cares”? Yep. Outside of myself, who cares? I find myself happier doing something I believe, in taking the pieces of design or routine or philosophy or dogma that I find natural, and use it. I’m curious if we all do this and if/when we become aware, we either stop it, to be more professional/self-conscious or if we stop it because it sounds lazy, somehow less academic and refined.

Well, perhaps it is just that, a little less refined, but wide open to fresh creativity. Perhaps we are not all as blind as we fear — hazardously doing anything from entitlement or prestige. In our sanguine temperament we contemplate and adjust rapidly and often because we’ve gathered information outside the normal. We’ve taken values from the Boy Scouts and implemented their relevance to friends, to cleaning our homes, to making dinners, to smiling at strangers, to enjoying quiet time, to caring for our humanity, to working hard at a small task, to changing diapers, to lazy strolls, to listening to a loved one, to laughing at jokes, to reveling in our favorite desert, to staring back at the future.

Tell me if you’ve noticed this — but over a period of time, throughout some span of serendipity, you’ve found more timely and necessary wisdom from reading or experiencing different thoughts all outside design thinking or methodology or theory? Here’s a quick list of things I can see from the point of view of my desk, this morning — @kinfolkmag magazine, Superbetter by Jane McGonigal, Essentialism, anything from Neil Gaiman, Stumbling on Happiness, Every Time I Find the Meaning of Life, They Change it, Reality Is Broken also by Jane McGonigal, Understanding Comics, The Art of Tidying Up, my journal, this bowl of grapefruit, early morning quiet.

So, to all the other boys and men who missed being a Boy Scout, never fret. There’s plenty of ways to bring the purpose of other experiences to life, through your own perspective, to hold value in the work you do, even outside the norm, because “who cares”? — it makes you happy, you learn from any place you can, and the world should be better for it.

Don't Be A Pusher →

We all work; for a company, a client, a friend, a boss. I’m hoping we all read quite a bit. And I don’t mean fiction, only. What about your ideas, how they sit amognst your industry, your craft, your peers? How do you generate ideas without reading? No one has thought of anything, from nothing. Which in our surprised egocentric western-world means, we’ve never thought of the idea ourselves — we all stand on the shoulders of giants, as it’s been said.

Reading into Kevin Kelly’s new book, “Inevitable” (sorry Kevin, I wasn’t screening), a few moments have struck me within my current workspace — feeling a little child-like, curious, confounded, and sometimes out of my realm. And my task(s), in work, have been to “discover new ideas” or at least take what leadership or stakeholders find important and try to make a real world constructs of said idea(s) — implementable and sellable constructs, mind you. Now, because of Mr. Kelly’s book, I’ve realized something interesting, particularly inside the healthcare space and pertaining to a few chapters on “Accessing”, “Interacting”, “Tracking”, and “Cognifying” — these being our ability to search/find/sort anything ever, interacting is what it sounds like, but imagine anything that isn’t interactive as “broken”, tracking is also what it sounds like, accept about everything, and cognifying is how we but all kinds of different brains into, anything (forget the unfortunate concept of the Singularity here). I’m not sure technology wants us to advance at the pace we’d normally expect from start-ups, connected devices and all things Internet Age.

We can devise as many ideas as we’d like. Mainstream newness (say, for the passed 60+ years) Science Fiction has lead us to believe in the idea of possibility — a beautiful reaction. Humans have contemplated the impossible forever, but think on a more current context. We can only implement new ideas by manipulating the stock of tech we have now, otherwise it’s all expirement. There’s nothing wrong with experimentation — that’s how we validate and invalidate those SciFi possibilities. But inside a company, when you’re tasked with making up new ideas, one can’t just will the product to happen, will it to be successful, and coming from User Experience — I can’t make a person do a damn thing.

What I’m finding is unless you know enough (however much that is to create something worthwhile + make it successful), you’re always experimenting and learning. I’d love to do that for my company, but there’s literally no time and budget for it (as is always the excuse, right?). We are a software company and we don’t have a science devision that can wait to crack codes and behaviors and institutions stuck in healthcare. What’s complicated, and maybe you felt this too (so I’m very curious how to change minds), is keeping leaders excited about problems to solve, today, when those ideas aren’t as sexy or excitingly or seeminly less revolutionary than Hyperloop or Snapchat. How can we continue to show them the future of our work with babysteps into that future — when technology will finally and obviously allow us to “do what we want”?

So what are better questions to ask ourselves and our teammates? What are products worth making because, today, we can solve a problem with what we’ve got — and truly be ok with those small wonders?

I apologize for not being specific. I cannot discuss my ideas here — we aren’t a pubic company, but I am very curious how the world goes from experimenting to the real thing? Can I track that in my own company and help guide them?

I feel as though I’m asking more questions, here, than providing answers. But I want to spark the discussion. I’m tired of having ideas pushed on me as though I can just “make a thing”, when these higher thinking questions need answering today. I’m not seduced by the blue sky ideas as immediately as some — if anything, like with Mr. Kelly’s book, blue sky helps me see what’s in front of me now and what can be captured as problem solving, today. All the while, seeing that North Star in the timeline waiting to be encapsulated in a tiny test tube of light showing the world that it was never science fiction to begin with.

Should Research Be About User Friction? →

Many times in my short life, even several times throughout a day, curiosity of language drives me to think a change in the description of a problem or title of an exercise can change the perspective of a thing. Here, I’m talking about research, which I do all the time and a task I get plenty of feedback on — as to what I should be researching/testing, how I should ask questions. And that feedback or direction changes if it’s industry research, user research, UI, behavioral, etc. And I find, throughout many of those possible research spikes, these questions I must ask deal with “how much a user likes this or that” or “how likely are you to….?” That quantitative stuff is all well and good (NPS can be important). But it doesn’t illuminate a design problem or point of friction to design for — all of which I’m finding to be more important and illuminating a topic, every time. I need to know why — and I don’t suggest asking qualitative questions only.

Then, I think it’s simple enough, possibly, to change how I view research. If I am to design a thing (problem solve) then from a user’s point of view, all I need to understand are their points of friction within any topic.

So, the royal question becomes, “If we only look at user’s friction through our objectives’ lens (the things moving the business forward), will we be designing the best thing?” We wouldn’t need to know what’s already being done well (otherwise, there would be friction, no?). Therefore, iterating on the friction points while quietly/simply polishing the successful pieces gives a different perspective on priority and process.

“Without first identifying friction, you’re just making your design different, not better for your users.” — DT

After all, when someone tells us what we do well — what does that mean? “Keep doing the same thing?” “Don’t change this, thanks?” When we complain about changes to our iPhones, we are typically asking for them to do the same things, yet bringing up a friction point. I’m curious when we aren’t in the secret rooms with Apple, we assume they are changing things on a basis of making us hate them. But I believe they are more thoughtful (just like us) and have better data to work from than our own opinions suggest. I could be incorrect (quite a real possibility), well, then we know their designs are failing and that’s always possible. We can all loose our mojo. This digression is making feel I’m losing mine. Anyway….

Sometimes we (designers) will change all kinds of things just because we feel we must change something/anything to prevent stagnation.

Always finding the friction points and prioritizing them can only mean betterment is possible - smarter decisions are made and clearer design direction will happen, every time. And the things we do well won’t need praise (though who doesn’t enjoy a pat on the back?). We now know the parts to not change, but polish instead — these are the littler details to keep and enhance.

Ack! And now I just realized how many beautiful questions emerged for a Monday meeting. I should write them down before I forget. Back to work.

Hindsight Is A Result Of Being Too Quiet

There’s got to be some higher order of creating things than waiting on a team or their masters to figure out the right answers. Granted, no one is expecting right answers. What we may all be wanting, is to not design by guessing or what feels like guessing. And we don’t want pure decisiveness — that may come only by way of ego and then why would I or a team be needed?

So how do we not wait? How can designers not just be honest in their critical thinking, but timely in its usefulness?

Sounds strange to say, as this is the joy of collaborating and I don’t believe not collaborating is a solution. On my own I’m not the best — I need these folks around me. But one major time suck or obstacle is not saying honest things at the right time. This is my flaw I care to remedy.

For instance, sometimes I have an insight or idea in the middle of a strategy session, some piece of design research that could flip the coin of a decision — rightfully. And I cannot be the only one with this experience. But what I do is gloss over the insight. I squirm in my chair, my chest gets tight, and I keep my mouth shut. Why? Sometimes decisions have to be made yesterday. Sometimes we have experts in the room. Sometimes we love a design drum circle.

Designers have a habit, now, to move too fast for critical thinking and shouting about it if necessary. And only later, after a lot of time and work in a different direction, we find the result is what should have been shouted before. So, we have gained hindsight. We learn. We iterate. That’s the designer’s way, right? We are sometimes afraid of being right. And we find our position too many times in hindsight. Losing lots of time and using lots of money.

Of course, what’s happened is my own fault. But now, I’d rather get to less hindsight moments and design critically up-front. And what’s funny is that I may have leaders that expect this of me, and I’ve failed. I should be a voice. I get paid for something.

This may only be possible with training (for myself and a team) — literally reiterating or by example, speaking up to the critical decision that should be made now and not later. I must pay attention to context and the people around to know how to effectively speak my mind. And finally, talk less, listen to the room so what I’m sure to say will be informed and not reactionary or ego driven.

Who knows how much time I can find to design pretty things instead?

Baby Steps Around The Office And Other Strategies Learning to be An Adult

When I was a younger, let’s say 18 years old and about to uproot my life and move to Boulder for college, I never felt the risk. There was no lump in my throat or butterflies in my stomach. At least, I have no memory of feeling scared to fail, get lost, make friends, lose them, kiss a girl. I was still a virgin, so that was on my mind for sure. But now at 34, after school, trying to start some interesting companies, finding my Jesus moment in video games and play-psychology, falling in love twice, getting fired once, being unemployed for a year, and the list goes on, I find the option of taking risks so immediate and profoundly difficult from my younger days that habit and mediocrity is easier. Meaning, I’m quite paralyzed most of the time. Now, what the hell is going on with that sensation? Why now? I’m older, more mature, look at all my experiences I listed above. I should have more of my shit together. Yet somehow, I don’t. Do you? Is it just me? How normal am I? God, I hope this is normal.

I wonder, now, if more experience actually manifests this new road block. As with children, the world is open, they feel everything, their experiences move right through them and affects them openly, yet they keep going without knowing a damn thing. Now I “know a bunch” and that makes me cautious? What a fucking gyp.

Well, obviously reacting to such a realization is a normal adult thing to do. Actually, that’s quite the childlike thing to do if I think about it. Is that it? Is it that children and my younger self could just react to things without having to think so damn much, but as adults, me, you, us, we have to think and then respond? Now, our parents voices come into our heads (at least mine do). Mentors, teachers, other tiny voices of advices and caution creep in from the peanut gallery.

So whether I see hard work on the horizon or even something good coming along with it, there seems to be a risk that pauses the hustle.

I’m working myself backwards through The Great Discontent magazines. FYI they are amazing. *plug* Issue 2 is about “the hustle”. And of course you’ll read of the artsy-fartsy types, the folks rising up from nothing, the metamorphosis that turns on a different light bulb. And at moments I’m inspired — hence me writing this little personal thought experiment. And at other moments I’m disenchanted because, “why the fuck can I not do this, this thing they do, jump, leap, change?”

So, I had an idea. Let me know if you’ve done this — or found another solutions. I’m taking baby steps. I’m literally performing What About Bob’s therapy around my life. I try to make a plan first. Such as, weekend mornings: go walk, take your reading and writing things, sit for as long as you want (you is me in this internal monologue) at Lucky’s Bakery, drink your coffee, make a hipster Instagram photo of your progress and learn something. If I want to be a designer of sorts, and teacher of other sorts, then I need to keep learning something if I don’t do the normal risky thing and move to New York or some place all the artsy-fartsy live. At work, I with ask questions and find ways to learn from everyone, even learn the things not to do or the behaviors I don’t like or agree with. I am going to continually immerse myself in something I love so I concentrate on my life and not all the outside shit that truly can takes over most of the time. I am baby stepping around my life now and I already find it rewarding. There’s a confidence to a plan, an integrity to taking your time, and a pride in not judging one’s ideas.

Afterwards of Being Good Enough

If you remember, my last consternation welled up from a lack of self-esteem, and affected my ideal of what it means to be a good designer. Am I the tireless entrepreneur? Am I the non-stop designer that must be creating something? Can I be happy by simply loving what I’m doing when I’m doing it? And if that’s not design, so be it.

I sat down and talked with Kelly again (someday we’ll talk about her - the best - my favorite). She seems to find a way to get passed my esteem issues when I’m unable - and ironically this goes the other way. (how silly are humans?) She brought up a very poignant observation how I exert my design-Self without realizing it’s significance. But it wasn’t part of the equation of grading one as a “good enough” designer. And it’s about the ability and constant method of design thinking no matter where or when or what I’m involved. I do it with everything. The things I love, the things I own or want to consume, the products/offerings/services/apps/watches/pens/computers/UIs/games/satchels/cars/architecture/on/and/on are based off of some criteria, like some benefactor of art school’s Gestalt theories, some theory of play, some observation of feeling and style, form and function, depth psychology or just simple utility. It depends on the “thing” I’m looking at, the problem I’m solving, the conversation I’m having and who’s with me (the audience).

So, what’s the problem here? Well, I suppose there isn’t one, now. I seem to step back from any random problem, hear the points from the issuer, and “do something”. What may take someone weeks of meetings with hands full of people, and previously even too much thought, I seem to help in an hour (I’m not a know-it-all, and I’m not always right - I don’t want to exclaim some high-ability). Granted, the work could be simple sticky notes, but sometimes that’s all that’s required. I’m not a machine - I don’t create everything I’m involved with single-handedly. We have established I am not the type. Maybe being someone with ideas and solutions is enough when one understands one’s own shortcomings and instead, loves bringing people together to implement and ideate. I don’t need to subscribe to the ever-working entrepreneur or non-stop designer or one-stop thought leader (I’m not sure I’m cut out for management). I write, I think, I sketch, I read, I listen, and I love what I do when I do it. Vague, yes, and I’m sure not ground-breaking. But for my own story, it’s a deeper realization. And I’ve needed it for a long time.

What I now see in myself is not just a sadness of self-esteem. It’s not just confidence peeking through either. Always having the critic whispering in my inner ear harms creativity - the thinking part of designing anything. I may not fight for a solution I’ve found to work best. I may change my mind too easily, too often, moved by anyone. I find this dangerous.

Now, I hope you can recognize some flaw in yourself - the bits you don’t do well. Maybe the struggle itself is what holds us back. So, when we are not able to retaliate, internally, we are sub-par externally. And that feels cheap. It feels like something too easy to get over because it’s affecting something much more important - not just my sense of being good enough, but loving how good I know I am. That’s not arrogance. That’s paramount to the process of growth we all sometimes feel powerless to pursue (perhaps with no pursuit at all).

I’d like to craft things, not simply work on things. Shall we care for ourselves so we then care for the ultimate outcomes of what we make (as those shape us too)? Well, until the next problem, we can see if it works out. So many things are new to me, no matter my experience, my age, or the stories I read. Thank god.

On Craftsmanship and Being Good Enough

A beautiful way to, at least, describe what we’d like to experience with our work or job is “Craftsmanship”. I believe Frank Chimero defined this simple concept as, “[the] desire to do a job well for its own sake.” At the time I feel comforted by this ideal, anxiety creeps in just as quickly and easily. Because I ask myself, when? What are the conditions of one’s moments or work-life when this can be experienced? When do we feel this in our hearts? I believe in the theory of “Flow”, we exerience something similar, in that we lose time and find pure enjoyment and even happiness. But particularly for work, Craftsmanship, reminds me of the experienctial, Flow, while Crafstmanship requires at least 2 things - one my hands doing work (not to mean the traditional wood work or furniture making or knitting), I mean my work takes my body (almost wholly) and I’m not playing or just experiencing a feeling passively - this is up to me. And two, a better environment. I have a feeling we’d all want to perform a craft so romantically and many higher-brow entrepreneurs would tell you, without a doubt, you can do it anytime anywhere. Yet, we do not. And I believe real-work blockades are put in my path. While at the same time, it’s up to me to knock them down, move around them, or ignore them as an entrepreneur would, oh so simply.

I may be my own worst enemy here. Kelly would tell me so. Between my idealism and sense of fairness - it’s harder for me to conform to another’s process for the sake of learning, only because it doesn’t feel like learning. Not that I hate learning - all I seem to do when not working is reading and writing and learning from others. Plus, it should feel like learning. Meaning, I shouldn’t experience this frustration as, “I’m above this,” but more as a chance to learn what I like, what I can do better, and how to get involved and even change my own situation. I believe the bigger sense of being told what to do drives me crazy and furthers my rebellion to becoming a pro-designer. Because that’s really what we may all struggle with, how to become amazing? And is it enough to just become amazing in our own right? Meaning, can I be great no matter where I am, for myself, and enjoy the job for it’s own sake?

Raise your hand if a negative story-line enters your head almost instantly, when you feel you can blame anyone else for impeding your intended greatness? I can easily blame the place I work today. It’s slow moving, risk adverse, far too large for the product it cares to produce, doesn’t focus well, and most of its inhabitants are more worried about keeping their jobs than on excellence and the paramount user is denied or ignored in the name of quantity.

So, it’s everyone else’s fault, no? Didn’t I tell you my idealism not only runs parallel with my experiences, but typically veers left, jumps the curb, and runs right into my stupid vehicle knocking me unconscious almost instantly - and regularly. The question is, do I want to be great with articles written about me or can I find the nirvana of Craftsmanship sitting alone in a cabin in the woods - for myself? I think the answer is, I must do the latter. And the only way to afford such things is to learn everything everywhere. I may not be a designer that draws all the time, or “just has to make something” (those types designers can so easily make everyone else feel like worthless piles of lazy designer shit) or am I one that simply has all the ideas all the time and “must be working”. But when I have a task to do, a problem to solve, no matter if my friend’s asking for advice through casual coffee or when my job requires my brain and a little skill - I must love doing it when I’m doing it. And what I find is, that is actually the case. I can talk and make things for hours when I need to, when I want to and otherwise, I have other parts of my life to build up. And I believe that is good enough.

I supposed a passion doesn’t have to consume every other part of my being. Would you agree?

Though, how often do we hear the opposite? Nothing else should take precedence over your passion because only when one is engrossed with it, will they be happy. And I wonder if engrossed can be binding. I worry that if I am not engrossed, I’m not good enough. Or I worry that we are being taught incorrectly. Perhaps, these stories of influence, success, and inspiration are all too subjective to be relatable. Tugging at heart strings doesn’t make for personal relevance. Sure, the feeling is quite personal otherwise, one wouldn’t feel the connection to their bodies. What I mean to say, is that the emotional quality of someone else’s experience doesn’t make it a part of you. It doesn’t have to be set in stone - something you could or must reach. I believe we will feel more let down throughout our lives when we don’t know ourselves well enough and it takes other’s lives to inspire or feel relevant to our own. That’s bad teaching. It’s scarily like Hollywood.

A high school teacher once told me that “good enough never is.” I’ve never agreed with that statement (though coming from a teacher, the hearts was in the right place) because good, bad, better, best is subjective in so many cases. Granted a cure for cancer is better than not a cure for cancer. But there must be degrees of all judgements. Therefore, in my personal sense of Craftsmanship, I must learn to love the kind I am, not compare to the other kinds there are, and love being a designer when I get to be one.

A Visit When I Need It

The Seventh in a series of discussions about games with Gods

It was a calm weekend inside the mountains between Colorado and Wyoming. The famous aspens changing to meet winter in their new and dying golden treasures maybe guarded by ancient dragons, but their contrast against the evergreens set the hills on fire simmering in the wind holding on to their thin stems, falling like rain as silent as snow. A place of solitude. A break. A small trailer settled into granite with an uneven floor. A short walk down to a temperate fairyland with a small cold creek giggling along the small rocks and granite shards nourishing freezing plants and algae. A nice man-made fire ring ready to warm its small communal area of possibly dozing campers tired from the trek down the hill and gathering of beetle-kill pine. A quiet warm wind the night before a full moon. I didn’t even need a headlamp. I could still see my shadow bouncing off moon light letting me know I couldn’t hide, even in the woods. I wasn’t hiding though.

In the strange silence of the air and the uneven breathing of the aspen leaves I still heard something ringing in my ears. Even in the silence, there was none, like the anticipation of a bad horror flick when the expected still makes you jump. I sat and waited. And he showed up. And I jumped.

“How in the hell did you get here?”

“I have two legs too. They just move faster than yours.”

“So, how long have you been here?”

“The whole time actually. I saw you used the poop bucket.”

“Man, that’s gross and private. You know, in our world, you’d just get arrested or beat up for pulling that shit.”

“Pun intended?”

“God, no. Just…never mind. Won’t you get into trouble leaving your little rocky perch?”

“Like I said, my legs move faster than yours. And the eagle isn’t due for another 12 hours.”

We both sat around the fire ring. Prometheus kept it ablaze. He didn’t even use the wood I gathered. It just remained there, hot, bright, infinite. How the hell did he do that? He didn’t eat, but I did. I was hungry. I think when I’m bored I get hungry and eat. I could eat the entire bag of chips in one sitting. Or maybe the bunch of trail mix I brought. Either way, but stomach seemed empty the whole time. So, I laid down on the cold worn grass as it help make a small pillow for my neck and back. I let Prometheus talk.

“You know what I was thinking on the way up here?”

“Nope.”

“That you never do this.”

“Do what?”

“Drive to the middle of nowhere, cut down trees, make fires, sleep under stars.”

“You’re right. I have never done this on my own. Maybe only three times if invited.”

“Right. So, I was thinking, there must be something on your mind.”

“As often as there is something on yours?”

“Touché, sir.”

“Care to enlighten me?”

“Well, I have my own idea, but I thought I would just ask you first.”

“Why am I out here? I wanted to see if the dragons really guarded the gold in the mountains. I wanted to see it for myself. I wanted to see why dragons stay in hiding. Why they love to live alone. And why when they come out, they devastate without prejudice.”

“What do you think you’ve found?”

“I think they are protecting themselves. From us. Their treasure, our nature, it’s the box of things they keep all for themselves, the only things they have, the One-Ring if you will. They protect their inner selves with a mask of gold and riches. And we’ll destroy ourselves when we feel run over, when someone or something else comes to steal from us. Wouldn’t you?”

“Of course. I have done these things for a long time.”

“But not anymore?”

“No. Not for an even longer time.”

“Why not.”

“It was the fire. As obvious as that might sound. Everyone knew I stole it. And the dragon rained down trying to put me out. But the fire continued. He was too late to take it back. You can see why a dragon would be angry. When you steal a treasure that lights the minds of consciousness and self-reliance, there is no need for the dragon. The humans could survive when before, they didn’t know their potential. The grand power of fire is it’s inexhaustible potential energy. As long as there is fuel.”

We both forgot about the fire ring. I shivered with little spiders scurrying up my spine. Prometheus blinked at the hot coals and our little fairyland burst into light once again.

“But here’s the rub. I never feel like I’m conquering much. A lot of people don’t. We’re settled in habits and comforts.”

“And I think the dragons are having a harder time moving you.”

“What now? We make things up? We try to relive something we may not be able to ever again? I mean, not like you.”

“It happens in stories all the time. The amount of dragon myths floating around sequel after sequel of games, the ideas of magic — another unseen force we’d love to make real. You struggle to create a fix all the time. Let’s say you keep up with the trend of zombies, the undead. What’s so intriguing, do you think?”

“Well, I know what intrigues me. I am fascinated by the hardship of survival. I don’t know why. Sometimes I think of those habits and comforts. We just don’t have to fight hard and I think, maybe, we all want to, until it kills us.”

“Until the zombies win.”

“In a way, I guess.”

“Games are an interesting new way of reliving what may have been lived before. Started by a generation that didn’t worry about the inevitability of war, but instead, always getting to discover what in the world they could give right back, improving anything about life they could imagine. Almost without limits.”

“It sounds so materialistic then. Like it’s a flimsy bandaid.”

“Do you think so?”

“Let’s say, I don’t want that to be true. I want real purpose.”

“Who says the stories you’ve read were any better? The Bible improved literacy, maybe by force, but on a grand scale, people wanted to hear about something out of this world. And millennia ago, out-of-this-world wasn’t a concept people struggled with. But they wanted to read the stories anyway. Games get to bring to life the stories you may want to live with. It’s a new way of doing something humans have always done. The grand myth you say you don’t have anymore is coming together in pieces. I believe.”

“So, why do you think I came out here?”

“Oh, well, people love solitude even when it’s scary and quiet. But there are too many reasons you may want to be out here in the cold. But that’s for another time.”

The white slender trunks of the aspen grew from the moon light like spindly fingers reaching out of the ground to gather whatever fall air they could, sucking in the mist. Prometheus walked around them letting the fire die down and the coals smolder with their own radiant heat. I don’t remember when he left. But I woke up to a blood orange sunrise glistening once again through the aspen leaves saying their good byes to the humble blue moon. I wasn’t cold at all and the fire ring was still burning hot as I laid down looking straight up wondering, what dragons that live right inside our hearts, forcing their wills through our limbs, and calling us to action?

Momentary Lapse(s)

The Sixth in a series of discussions about games with Gods

How does one come up with a game? Which game should one design and make? How am I to know the best?

“It’s hard to perpetuate a streak of confidence you know?”

“I suppose I do. Though, after a while, habit doesn’t feel any more exhilarating or novel.”

“Hmm. Good point.”

“So, what’s really the issue?”

“I hear, so many times, several different ways to approach what game one should design. ‘The one you’d play.’ ‘The one you feel is important.’ ‘The one that will change everything.’…”

“Wait wait, that last one seems a little too romantic. Do you believe, in the games you’ve played, that hypnotize you, that may even provide such a unique experience, were thought of right off the bat as, ‘this will change everything’?”

“Well, I suppose not. But don’t you ever have a gut feeling that whatever that thing is, that idea is hiding deep down?”

“Dreams are always deep down. But I don’t believe just anyone gets right to them. It always takes time.”

“Yes sir!”

“Don’t call me sir.”

“Err, right.”

I walked slowly along the beaten path kicking around loose dirt and smashing down small grassy patches. It’s much more green with all the recent down pours. I miss the rain. The clouds have stuck around keeping the air softer and cooler, waiting a bit longer to gather more moisture before the next release. Probably just in time for my walk back home too. But today has been strange. The cool storms reminded me of Fall, when seasons change once again, preparing the ground and the rolling foothills for winter. Except it’s Summer. Where is this feeling coming from?

“When did you figure you needed to steal? Why fire? Why then?”

I turned around with my hands in my pockets, like a shy kid, wondering at the same time, why can’t I have his freedom? If I did, what would I do?

“That’s a bit more complicated. And feel free to answer your own questions first.” He smiled wryly knowing full well I was thinking inwardly, hardly paying attention to what I even asked him in the first place.

“You heard that? Well, sorry, again. I don’t mean to feel sorry for myself. I work, and that work requires I try and create things that maybe aren’t ground breaking, at least not compared to the games I know and love. But I still feel like I should be doing something extraordinary.”

“Yes, so the confidence thing is just something you’ll have to get over. I understand that’s perfectly vague, but until you understand bravery, you won’t get much further.”

I stared at Prometheus, without blinking, wondering if I should laugh a little or cry a little. It always seems as though my confidence comes in waves, like maybe each iteration is a bit more learning, like the bravery will stick this time.

“Ok, I can handle that I suppose. But when did it hit you, that what you finally did was extraordinary?”

“Look, it’s a little easier for us Gods to create a little more meaning in the things we do. We may not pay much attention to the affects on humans like we used to — just doesn’t seem to matter anymore — but there are moments when one realizes that the world needs to actually stop and change.”

“And that’s your story? Something snapped and you changed it?”

“In the most simplest terms? Yes.”

“But I just want to be recognized for something. I hear my dad talk all the time about a legacy. I wonder if it’s something only father’s think of, or men really. But maybe mothers too.”

“A very long time ago, most humans rarely thought for themselves. It’s hard to do so when most things are decided for you — say your father tells you to learn, who to marry, what field to plow. And if it wasn’t your father, it was superstition. Whether we exist for your benefit or not, Humans took us way to seriously. Instead of failing constantly to learn something, they failed constantly and imagined reasons for it, with no responsibility. The Gods laughed. I hated it. So I changed it.”

“And I appreciate it.” I almost gave a ridiculous thumbs up as though stealing Zeus’ flame was no biggie. But he smiled anyway.

“Why, you’re quite welcome Sir.”

“Don’t call me Sir.” We both started laughing and continued to walk along the cold dirt path. The sun was bright and the clouds moved farther down the flat land. We ended up sitting atop a large sun drenched boulder. On top of the world? Sure. Our own little world at least.

“So, do you think you can survive and figure out what games to make or that the games you are making are just fine?”

“I think so. Have you ever started something, and it’s great. You worked hard and maybe began something else at the same time. Then, someone, so easily takes a simply idea, creates something, and it makes what you were doing disappear?”

“It’s funny that you want this recognition for things you’ve done, yet you don’t have the ego to appreciate it yourself. How do you expect someone else to give a shit? Listen. There are people that are better than you. There are people that get some free passes to great things that usually don’t last. And there are people that just get by, but they never really try hard enough or care, for that matter. This is what I find fascinating. Games are playful. Without defining playfulness, let’s define games as playful. All children play because they have no reason not to fail. They can’t see anything bad coming from failing so BOOM, they fall down, they get up. And why should they think otherwise? They also love recognition for the things they’ve done. It’s like getting answer to their questions, through validation from the people they trust — usually good parents or maybe even good teachers. And what do children do with games? Anything. Children can do just about anything and it’s typically imaginative and playful. You are doing something that allows you to play, but then create things with your imagination. This is the fire I gave you. This is the whole reason I live up here now.”

“I want my games to mean something. So, I should put meaning in which ever I make.”

“That’s a great place to start. Think harder to why you create anything. Then it’s not just for the sake of it. Children play with intent. If you ask them why, they will answer so honestly, you’ll probably feel like a fool for beating yourself up over this under-confidence thing.”

“I know. It’s just a momentary lapse.” I easily smiled rolling my eyes are myself. But I sat quietly for just a few moments longer.

We continued to talk for some time. Prometheus told me a story of a constant tiff between him and Atlas, always competing, maybe as brothers do, but one wanted to change the world while the other literally tried to hold it up. It was hard to figure which was the better of the two. Later, Prometheus figured they were just different and neither over powered the other. I settled down the trail finding my car in the parking lot. It was colder down here. I swear Prometheus gives me just a little more sun to keep me comfortable. So, I looked up the foothills and smile, thanking him for being patient with me.

Games are hard to create. There can be a million ideas coming from just one person and they may all see to be ‘the one you want to play,’ or ‘the one you feel most passionate about.’ So, understanding what makes a great game isn’t the only piece to study, but understanding what makes the game you want, great — that’s the trick. That makes the fire roar.

Thin lines, bold colors, cool materials — this isn’t new.

Architecture’s been Designing longer than the hip trends.

I think the only difference between online design trends and the BAMFs of Architecture and Design is typography. Otherwise, the latest and greatest of online/mobile/responsive/flat/blahblah designs can finally recognize they aren’t inventing anything. Architecture brought tangible design to us with thin lines, hip angles, bold colors, mixed materials, and novel statements of intent decades ago.

Why are we arguing if Apple sucks more or less than Google or Microsoft for their design? If you don’t like it, blame the grandfathers of minimalism. Tell Mr. Wright to take his earth tones and shove it. Tell Corbusier his French sucks. I don’t think we would. They are quite respected, no?

Instead, let’s not even focus on the trends and expecting every designer to be worthwhile if they adhere to them. Let’s focus on why thin lines, bold colors, cool materials, and novel intent may actually change how we see our digital worlds.

How do we do that? First, to know where you come from (Cajun pride baby!). Architecture isn’t the first creative design endeavor, but it’s a monolith to start studying. When walls, lights, windows, support structures all started to disappear, building interiors changed. Interior design changed. Engineering changed. Home-dwellers change how they stored food, created privacy so moms and dads could have sex, decorated nooks so nature came into the home instead of shutting it outside. Flat colors dissolved walls and structures to keep the focus on the use of a room or even just a piece of furniture.

All you need is a lamp.

And maybe you hate all this flatness. Maybe you hate the “old” skeumorphic designs of yester-year. But one thing we can know, when we understand where we came from, is that the cyclical resurgance of an idea means it’s worthwhile. We liked flat in architecture. We liked realistic in digital. We then disliked some parts of flat in digital.

What we should all realize is the obvious ligitimacy of every kind of design especially when nothing is new. So then, it’s not a trend that makes us good designers, it’s our roots. It’s the way we solve the problem and make beautiful things, period. Thin lines, thick lines, bold colors, light colors, flat or real — make a good design and no one should criticize what you make, but why!

The only thing anyone would be able to say is, “Wow, that design only works because it’s thin/thick/bold/light/flat/real. Wonderful!”