In the future of Idiocracy, Carl’s Jr.’s slogan becomes “Fuck You, I’m Eating”… which isn’t really a stretch from the attitude expressed in their current ad campaign.

David Armano’s Logic+Emotion blog today discusses a tacky new ad from Hardees & Carl’s Junior, in which a pair of smarmy white high school kids rap about their stripper/teacher’s “flat buns”, intended to introduce the world to their new “Flat Bun Burger” product. The ad really is just too stupid to describe, and I won’t even bother put the video of the ad here, since David has already (and reluctantly, by his own admission) put the ad up on his own site for you to see.

The commercial seems like a scene right out of the excellent and wildly-underrated movie Idiocracy (directed by Mike Judge, of Office Space and Beavis and Butthead fame). In the not-so-distant future in which Idiocracy is set, Carl’s Jr. is one of the dozen or so corporations who essentially control a world populated entirely by people with below-50 IQs and whose culture has devolved into shameless gluttony, juvenile sexuality, and crass violence. A professional wrestler is President, law degrees are sold at Costco, slot machines are in hospitals, and lounge chairs have food-dispensing hoses and toilets built into them.

This ad only helps to cement the movie’s profound prescience about the reality of our rapidly-dumbing culture and the overall downward trajectory we often seem to be heading towards, often hand-in-hand with corporate consumer marketing. In fact, every day I see a dozen commercials or products that seem right out of the future world of Idiocracy — but I see them right here in 2007 America. The movie is a satire, of course, but as with all the best satire it frequently and repeatedly hits shockingly close to home. (Happily, you can go ahead and view lots of hilarious scenes from Idiocracy on YouTube right now.)

On Human Dignity

I work on interactive marketing for some major consumer brands, but I am perpetually grateful that I never have to work on ads like this. Behavior’s clients are almost exclusively blue-chip brands with deep respect for their customers, users, and audiences. But many designers are sometimes presented with the option of either doing something classy or doing something crass and degrading. We have a choice between treating the customer with respect and treating them with contempt. The makers of this ad are either morons (which I doubt) or people who think of their customers as moronic assholes ripe for exploitation.

In fact, in the comments on David’s blog there is much speculation about the creative meetings in which this ad was hatched. I can only say that if I were working at a company producing ads like this, I would fight hard to do something classier, or I would quit and go work for someone a little less cynical about respecting human dignity. I don’t want to be one of the architects of the Idiocracy future.

As designers of experiences and shapers of brands, we do have a choice in this matter, even when working for clients who may have an inclination to “go negative” and tap into this poisoned well. Even if you suspect that an ad like this would actually work, that it would actually succeed in bringing millions of people into Hardees/Carls Jr. to buy these flat bun burgers, you have a responsibility to the inherent dignity of the human race to NOT produce ads like this.

Note: It’s not the sexuality of the ad I object to. I still think Van Halen’s “Hot for Teacher” (the obvious inspiration for this spot) is cool. The music’s kinda catchy, too. There’s just something about the whole thing, maybe it’s the over-the-top glorification of juvenileness and stupidity, that makes me sad for everyone involved with this ad and the millions of other cultural products like it that crowd our media landscape more and more.

Do you work on marketing that relies on these themes of disrespect, selfishness, immaturity, and stupidity? If so, how do you justify it? Do you have a choice in the matter, or do you feel that you have a higher obligation to give your clients or your customers what they seem to crave?

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As I was subtly hinting at in my last couple of posts, I have changed my Windowy ways. I have switched (back) to Mac. Finally.

This is the first in an ad hoc series of articles documenting my experiences with this transition, looking at it from many perspectives: personal and cultural observations, usability and user experience design inspirations, and technology and business considerations. And, not least of all, I hope that it will also serve as my formal introduction to the Mac community that I have for many years only been able to observe from the outside.

How I Became a Windows Addict

After college, when I landed my first real multimedia-industry job in the early ’90s, I was required to use Windows (version 3.11) as my day-to-day work machine. I had never used Windows before — in fact, I’d never even seen Windows before. I instantly found it awkward to use, and I immediately recognized it to be a lower-quality imitation of the Mac OS. Still, it wasn’t long before I owned a Windows PC at home.

Little did I know that this would be the beginning of a thirteen-year relationship with Microsoft Windows.

Earlier in my life, between the ages of twelve and twenty-three, my computer platforms were very diverse, including the Apple II, the TRS-80, the TI-99/4a, and the only computer I actually owned myself before the age of twenty-five, the Commodore 64. My father had a Mac SE, and I experimented with Hypercard on it in High School. Later, as I made my way through art school at Cooper Union, the professional platforms of the Mac and the Commodore Amiga became my tools of choice.

At college, I focused on conceptual installation and sculpture. I didn’t take any design courses whatsoever. I was cutting steel and casting plastic and reading about Marcel Duchamp, not learning how to use Photoshop or manage Suitcases. As a result, my exposure to the Macintosh was unusually light compared to that of most people who would become design professionals. What’s worse, back in the early 90’s Cooper Union’s design department owned all of the art school’s Macs, and they were very strict about who could use them. For several years you were literally not permitted to use the computers in the Mac Lab until you had completed several prerequisite courses in setting movable type in a medieval letterpress! Very old school policy, one that pretty much put the Mac out of reach for me.

And then Windows entered my life.

In all the intervening time, over a dozen different computers, four jobs, and starting my own company, I never went back to Mac. I just kept renewing my vows with Windows. Has it really been thirteen years? It’s hard for me to even believe it.

Why I Waited So Long to Switch

Computer ownership involves a lot of inertia, a comfort with the status quo that’s hard to overcome. You become invested both in your own expertise and in the tools you own. In my case, I became a bona fide Windows “power user”, and a pretty decent Windows system administrator to boot, and I accumulated an extensive collection of PC components and peripherals, piled up in drawers and toolboxes all around my home office.

My reasons for sticking with Windows for thirteen years are pretty simple:

Games: My career began as a computer game designer. Naturally I was also a player. And all of the best and most innovative games in the mid-90’s were PC-based (this was in the console “dark ages”, the lull between the NES and Playstation eras). Desktop PCs were miles ahead of everything else, and the Macintosh was barely on the radar at all. One can only play so much Sim City, after all. From the classic graphic adventure games from LucasArts, to the great isometric sims and strategy games from Warcraft to Civilization, to the thrilling genesis of the first person genre with Doom, Quake, Half-Life, and Unreal, I was up to my knees in pixilated blood thanks to the smokin’ PC platform. The Macintosh offered me nothing.

Now, of course, the Mac has plenty of games available for it. And honestly I have less interest in games than I did five or ten years ago. And the best gaming, of course, is on the Nintendo Wii anyway.

Tinkering: One of the things I liked most about PCs was how easy and cheap it was to open them up and experiment with the hardware guts, and how much software there was for further mucking around. It wasas if I owned a fancy sports car that I could trick out in the garage every weekend. Over the years, I’ve built dozens of PC computers from scratch, scavenging parts from older computers, discount stores, and even from the trash. I’ve also accumulated a lot of software: apps, utilities, hacks, tweaks. But in the last couple of years, I have retired from my hobby of tinkering with computers. The first step was realizing that the amount of money I save by building a PC from scratch was not worth the hundreds of hours I’d invariably spend dealing with hardware incompatibilities, OS glitches, and assorted Windows and PC bullshit.

At some point I decided that I should be using my computer for things besides playing with my computer. Getting a Mac is definitely part of this philosophy.

Cost: In 1997, before the iMac came out, I could build three smokin’ Windows workstations for the price of a single low-end Mac. Even after the low-priced iMac came out, I really never saw the Mac as an affordable computer given my budget and salary at the time.

I’ll be frank here: The Macintosh has always been a luxury product, targeted at the higher ends of the American economic class scale. And even now that Apple’s pricing gets comparatively lower and lower, there are still millions of people who cannot justify the cost of a Mac when a powerful new Windows machine can still be had for half the price. It’s a Wal-Mart mentality, making significant sacrifices on style and even quality in favor of price, but it’s an approach that I can hardly begrudge millions of Americans for taking when the other option is economically impossible.

As much disdain as I have for the Windows PC platform, I will not stoop to berating people just because they cannot afford a fancy Macintosh computer. I’ve been there, and I know how it feels.

Which brings me to probably another reason lots of Windows users resent the Mac: It’s a class thing. For a long time, I didn’t want to identify with style-conscious and wealthy computer buyers who were willing to pay twice as much for something just because it carried a certain cachet. Conversely, there’s a certain admirable asceticism to using a PC, like wearing a hairshirt. I’ve gotten over it.

Visio, Project, and Outlook: At various stages of my career, Microsoft Project and Microsoft Visio have been the centers of my professional computing life. As a project manager, MS Project is the essential project planning tool in the business world, and as an information architect, Visio has always been the industry standard. And Outlook has always been my dashboard for my business PIM needs. I am an expert power user of all three of these programs, and all three are only available on Windows.

The emergence of windows-compatible Intel Macs have made all of this obsolete, since now Mac owners can run Windows on the same machine via Boot Camp, Parallels, or VMWare Fusion. In a pinch, I can always run these apps in a Windows partition on an Apple machine.

But more importantly, I have come to have faith in the emergence of alternative, non-MS tools for every single application MS currently has a stranglehold on. Tools that are not only just as functional as the MS products they seek to replace, but that are already achieving an astonishing amount of adoption momentum. People are using non-MS apps more and more every day, including, surprisingly, many people within our enterprise-level clients. OmniGraffle is fast becoming the preferred alternative to Visio among my fellow information architects, for example, and tools such as Merlin and are viable MS Project replacements.

But more generally, tools that go beyond the desktop and aren’t mere feature-by-feature replacements. Google Spreadsheets, for example, is superior to Excel for much of my spreadsheeting needs: I can share it over the internet, it saves versions automatically, and it’s far easier to use than Excel. 37Signals‘ Basecamp and Backpack do a lot of things that no project management or PIM software does. Google, Yahoo!, AIM, Twitter, and Wordpress comprise a great deal of my day-to-day computing tools. None of these are anything like what Microsoft is developing for the desktop.

Down with the People: Finally, since I am a web user experience designer, it’s important that the tools I use allow me to understand and empathize with the tools my end users are using. Getting a Mac will surely decrease this empathy, but you know what? My Windows usage is so idiosyncratic that this empathy is probably minimal. Maybe I’m rationalizing, but again, I’ve gotten over this reason, too.

Why I am Switching

So clearly there are very few good reasons for me to stay with Windows, besides pure inertia. So why should I upend my entire computer life and adopt a whole new platform? That’s for next time, Why I am Switching: What I Expect and What I Fear.

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In a recent interview, Michael Beirut noted that wine labels are one of the purest branding experiences: All wine bottles contain the same basic product (wine), so if you don’t know anything about a particular bottle of wine the graphic design of the label and the shape of the bottle are quite often the only methods you have (besides whatever knowledge you might have of the intricate and faceted namespace of wine metadata) to decide whether or not you should buy that Burgundy.

In other words, packaging is a fundamental part of the overall customer experience (aka the user experience). Whether contemplating, holding, carrying, opening, or unpacking a product, it’s “packaging” is everything between (a) the time the customer didn’t even know they wanted it to (b) the first moment actually using what they’ve bought.

And the best (and worst) practices of physical product packaging are, I think, applicable to the digital/virtual product user experience, too.

Here’s an example from the physical world: The other night I opened a bottle of Rioja with a rather unorthodox cork, and I was reminded again of just how much the experience of merely opening a product is one of the most powerful opportunities available to a user experience designer.

The Rioja’s actual cork was perfectly traditional and conventional, but the plastic seal enveloping it so closely hugged the bottle’s lip, and was made of such stiff, thick plastic, that it took me several profanity-laden minutes to finally wrestle the plastic seal from the cork. The whole time my excitement about tasting this new wine turned into resentment towards the brand. A perfectly good branding opportunity utterly ruined by thoughtless user experience design.

Hostile Packaging

Sometimes packaging goes from mere thoughtlessness to downright hostility towards the customer. The day after the Rioja nightmare, I purchased a new USB PCI card for my computer, and was again confronted with a packaging nightmare.

Yes, it’s one of those dreaded clamshell blister packs deliberately designed, it seems, to slice customers’ hands open. I at first took the product here just to show another familiar example of user-unfriendly packaging. But then I started opening it and the example proved itself spectacularly. I tried scissors and an X-acto knife before I finally had to grab a powerful box cutter to cut through the steel-like plastic.

Look, I’m fairly skilled with my hands. I majored in sculpture in college, for crying out loud. How in the world do people without my kind of skills, and presumably without the necessary cutlery tools, actually open these packages without cutting themselves in the process?

Turns out the answer to that question is moot: I cut my finger opening the package — which suggests to me that a very large percentage of other customers must do the same. Is this possible? Can a brand survive when their products spill their customers’ blood? Apparently so, since this packaging is still in wide use. But do I have anything positive to say about these brands? Nope.

In fact, it’s probably no coincidence that I cannot even name any brand whose products come in this style of packages. If holding and opening a new product is a branding moment, shouldn’t opening that product be an opportunity for me to feel good about the brand? Instead of me writing them off as no-name, second-tier junk?

Compare these packaging nightmares/experiences to (naturally) any Apple product, where the box is easy to open, the first exposure to the item itself feels like a revelation, and most importantly the product itself can be touched and admired within seconds.

There’s even a word for this: unboxing. Technology review sites like Engadget and Gizmodo make sure to specifically evaluate the unboxing experience as part of their overall product reviews. In fact, many consumers are so enamored by the unboxing experience of their products that they have created web communities centered around sharing their unboxing experiences with the world, often in obsessive compulsive detail.

Opening the Software Bottle

It’s easy to imagine how these very different modes of thinking about the hardware customer experience translates into interactive and software user experience design. There are just as many risks to absolutely ruin your customer’s experience through careless design, and there are just as many opportunities to enhance the experience, and your brand, through deliberate positive experience designs.

• Is the product easy to install?
• Is the sign-up or registration process easy?
• Does the setup process actually make you excited to start using the product?
• How quickly can you actually start using the product in your life?
• What risks must you take (with your time and your privacy) to get set up? Does the setup process feel intrusive on your privacy or your finances?
• How quickly can you complete your first intended task (e.g., create your first document or make your first phone call)?

Think of your next interactive user experience design as analogous to designing a piece of hardware that comes in a box — and then imagine that you have the power to design the box.

Or imagine that your web site is a bottle of wine, and that the first user’s visit is like uncorking the bottle: Now design the bottle.

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Ceci n’est pas les useurs. (Is the use of little iconic, anonymous, faceless, android-like icons even more dehumanizing than using the word “user”?)

There’s a huge debate going on in the UX community about the use of the word “user”. Some argue that the word demeans the people we are trying to help, that it distances us from them, and that it makes us unable to truly empathize with their wants and needs. Words like “people” and “humans” are suggested instead, reminding us that our users are, in fact, human beings just like us.

I am at best bemused by the arguments, honestly. They feel a little phony, like a way for traditional usability and HCI folks — or marketing people for that matter — to feel or appear a little more folksy and less clinical about their approach to understanding their, um, users. Calling them by a new, friendly-sounding name seems like an effort to undo a possble perception that one may be out of touch with the emerging power of social media and user(oops, I did it again)-generated content.

Jim Drew on the IxDA List said it best, I think:

I find the push to avoid “user” as parallel to referring to employees as “cast members” or any of the other terms which seem clever the first time and make you roll your eyes thereafter. Some weird combo of branding and political correctness.

Does replacing “the user” with “the person” really an improvement? Does using “the person” endear the user (or person) to a product’s designers any better? Does the word “people” engender more empathy than the word “users”? I don’t think so. To me “the person” is equally dull and abstract than user. It’s more awkward and contrived, too — I mean, who actually talks that way?

Besides, the word “user” is a perfectly decent and useful word for when you want to describe an interaction design in a general sense, such as when describing the way a combo box works. I intend to keep using it. I also intend to use other words whenever they are more relevant and appropriate, such as “customer”, “player”, “reader”, “viewer”, “employee”, “renter”, or whatever other term most accurately describes the person or type of person I am talking about.

I call this kind of description “engagement specificity” — articulating the user’s mode of engagement by using the correct word to describe that engagement’s fundamental nature. This is basic English here: just use the right words at the right time, and don’t resort to buzzwords and catchy truisms. In other words, let’s simply try to write accurately and write well.

And besides, we already have the perfect word, and we use it every day in our informal conversations: It’s you.

The Second Person

When describing how to use something to a friend, you (there I did it) will usually say things like “You press the button on the top, then you slide your finger across the slider at the bottom” or “You enter your name and password in the upper left corner”. This is how we already talk about user experiences and indeed about almost anything descriptive, and it is an immensely empathetic manner of speaking. It is the linguistic manifestation of pure empathy: Me imagining what it’s like to be you, and describing my own knowledge through your eyes and actions, using (in literary terms) the second person perspective.

But the weird thing is that we hardly ever write this way, especially not professionally. In fact, in contemporary writing the second person is limited almost exclusively to Choose Your Own Adventure books. The construction has a juvenile, unsophisticated ring to it. It’s seen by many as overly informal, treating the reader a little too familiarly and casually.

But what if we wrote our documentation with the word “You” instead of all of those other euphemisms for users? A very compelling interface specification technique, suggested by Don Norman among others, is to write the user’s manual first: Document all the features as if you were writing the final instructions for the end user, then build the product described in this pre-emptive manual:

Want to know what designers of manuals should do? They should design and write the manual before the product is designed. Make the manual simple and elegant. Then insist that the designers build it the way they have described it. Then we might actually get usable products. and simple manuals.

The best designed products won’t even need manuals.

And why not take this method one step further: Before designing anything, write the product’s manual in the second person as if you were simply speaking informally to a friend about how to use the product, or describing how it works to a colleague or a family member?

I may try this on an upcoming project. Should be interesting, at least.

(Next User vs. Tron)

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We recently stopped for coffee at an urban intersection where a Starbucks and a Dunkin’ Donuts sat on opposite corners, facing off in a classic retail rivalry like Macy’s & Gimbels. Deciding to avoid Starbuckian yuppiness (okay, we drink there all the time), we walked into the Dunkin’ Donuts.

But something seemed wrong… the DD looked a little, er, fancier than normal. The lighting was dimmer and less antiseptic, the signage and typography more upscale, the furniture made of wood instead of plastic. Even the logo had a playful little twist to it.

Turns out we had walked into one of DD’s new experimental brand environments, where the traditionally downmarket store is aiming for a more upscale clientele, or at least to catch up with the aspirational brand feeling of Starbucks. This experiment in environmental design was recently featured in ID Magazine (illustrated above).

We walked out with three medium iced coffees (and please note that the DD medium is equivalent to Starbucks’s biggest size, venti – and the DD large looks like damn near half a gallon of coffee) plus three donuts for $5.81, probably 1/3 what we would have paid across the street. The upscale decor and merchandising apparently does not translate into upscale prices. And the coffee was great.

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I am speaking at two upcoming events sponsored by several New York-based information architecture organizations. When my wife asked who the organizers were, I said “It’s the IA Union!” At both events, I will be delivering a version of my informative, fast paced, and fun IA Summit presentation, “Interaction Design Style“.

July 19: IA Summit Redux

This Thursday, July 19, the NYC IA Meetup is throwing an “IA Summit Redux”, featuring six New York-area presenters from the 2007 IA Summit, sharing abridged versions of their Summit presentations. Avenue A|Razorfish is hosting at their midtown offices at 1440 Broadway (map).

The evening’s presenters will include:

• Chris Fahey (me!)
• Garrick Schmitt
• Joe Lamantia
• Lou Rosenfeld
• Michele Tepper
• Victor Lombardi

Doors open at 6:00, speakers begin at 6:30, wrapping up around 9:30. Refreshments will be served throughout. Seating is limited, and the event may well be fully booked up by now, but if you would like to attend, the RSVP address is rsvp-UX@avenuea-razorfish.com. Make sure to send your name, company name, and job title (so when you arrive you don’t have to indignantly ask “Do you know who I am?!?”).

This event is sponsored by the IA Institute, the NYC IA Meetup, and by Avenue A|Razorfish.

July 26: NYC IxDA

This is a solo show for me, a full hour of speaking and a dazzling display of all 250+ slides. It’s the extended epic story of Style and Interaction Design. All the essential information is here, more details coming soon…

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A few months ago during an intermission at the 2007 IA Summit, Christina Wodtke and Bill Wetherell accosted me in the hallway of the Las Vegas Flamingo hotel. The next thing I knew, Christina was interviewing me for a new series of Boxes and Arrows podcasts.

The 16-minute interview has just been published, and I’ve just finished listening to it. While I can barely handle hearing myself speak, I think you might find our discussion pretty interesting, especially if you want to know a little more about the challenges facing practicioners who want to head down the entrepreneur path or if you want to learn more about how Behavior came to be and what we’re up to. Enjoy!

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Several bloggers I know have confessed to me that occasionally they’ll compose and publish articles or posts that they don’t feel especially passionate about, writing things that they aren’t particularly proud of or inspired by, simply because they know that certain topics, ideas, or opinions will give them an easy and predictable traffic boost.

For example, they may sometimes “dumb down” or oversimplify their normally nuanced perspective, or they will overly sensationalize their opinion, or maybe they will take a firm position on something they don’t actually feel very strongly about at all, almost out of a sense of obligation. They will do this to reach out to a broader web audience, to attract new readers, to fire up or inspire their regulars. They will, in short, “write down” to their audience.

I have no problem with this, by the way, since I do it myself now and then. It’s something every blogger has to grapple with: Write for myself? Or write for the people who I want to visit my site?

Jakob Nielsen’s latest AlertBox, “Write Articles, Not Blog Postings” (in which he suggests that a writer’s biggest audience consists largely of people dumber than they are) makes me wonder just where I stand with respect to you, my own reader. Do I want you to look up to me? Do I look up to you?

The Bell Curve

Nielsen’s essay opens with the following short summary:

To demonstrate world-class expertise, avoid quickly written, shallow postings. Instead, invest your time in thorough, value-added content that attracts paying customers.

(Okay, this is a perfectly nice and pithy insight, something to take into consideration when devising an editorial strategy, I suppose. Still I can’t help but laugh at the double irony that follows this abstract. First, Nielsen spends the next several thousand words defending this “no duh” thesis not only by violating Steve Krug’s elegant “Omit needless words” web copywriting strategy, but also by trampling all over his own admonitions to online brevity. And in an almost comical measure of Nielsen’s attempt to avoid hypocrisy, this edition of the AlertBox seems to be packin’ a higher word count than many of his usual, shall we say, “quickly written” AlertBox postings.)

The essay also includes a diagram that seems to capture Nielsen’s core idea that a good content creator must look down on his or her readership. The diagram explicity suggests that bloggers should try to “dumb down” their ideas to reach the broadest possible audiences, the same big audiences that less qualified writers are reaching.

In this diagram, Jakob asks us to imagine that we are a leading expert in our field and that our content has immense value to our audience (an important assumption for any writer or publisher to make!!). He puts “You” at the head of the class, on the right side of the graph. He then plots out other writers — your competitors — and shows that many of those writers who are “less expert” than You clearly draw a far bigger audience than You do.

Notice how this diagram implicitly assumes that the most valuable audience (that is, the biggest audience) for any given content producer are those readers whose “expertise” is half that of You, the publisher/producer. If You want to reach the broadest possible audience then, according to Nielsen, You should aim not for the thin dimwit end of the scale on the far left, nor should You aim for your own immediate peers in the slender expert end on the right, but You instead should aim for the big fat mediocre center of the bell curve.

Of course those who are more expert than You simply don’t show up on Nielsen’s chart at all, which probably speaks volumes about Nielsen’s self-image. If you read between the lines, then it becomes clear that the more expert You are in the world of usability and user experience design, then the less useful Jakob Nielsen’s AlertBox will be to You, since presumably Nielsen is following his own advice and generally writing for an audience half as “expert” as he is. (Note: All of the following diagrams have been altered from Nielsen’s original.)

Bloggers and their Readers are Equals

But this is where I think Nielsen misses the mark the most: If there is any real social innovation to blogging, it is the fundamental destruction of the age-old (and IMHO baseless) assumption that simply by virtue of being a content publisher you are automatically superior to the people who merely consume what you publish. Now anyone can publish anything they want to a broad audience, and the lines have been blurred: between formal and informal writing, between fact and opinion, between institutional and personal perspectives.

Of course, many great blogs make deliberate decisions to gain or retain popularity by, for example, publishing often on topics their readers seem to enjoy most, or avoiding alienating readers with controversial content (when was the last time Signal vs. Noise posted something about politics?). But in the world of blogs this is the exception, not the rule. Bloggers generally have the freedom to publish primarily for themselves when they want to, and most of us exercise this freedom fairly often.

Bloggers Want to Reach Upwards

What’s more, bloggers publish aspirationally, hoping that people smarter than us will notice us and read what we have to say. This may not be how Nielsen sees his job, but that’s how I work: I write graphpaper.com assuming that readers of all kinds will reach my site, some less expert than I am, some more. I know that people at the “stupid” end will stumble into graphpaper.com now and then, but at the same time I am always hoping that people at the “expert” end will find something they enjoy here as well. Assuming that my audience is entirely “dumber” than me is not just arrogant, it’s simply not an option.

And because I have the freedom to publish on whatever subject I wish, from user experience design to art criticism, from politics to my personal life. The subjects of my posts will even sometimes land me way over my head on a subject I know little to nothing about (see “Me”, left, below), which can be at best amusing and at worst humiliating.

But this freedom also allows me to occasionally write about something I think my professional peers might find interesting and useful (see “Me”, right, below), something that I genuinely have “expertise” in. In other words, I can be all over the bell curve.

As is clear, there is no real “juicy center” to my audience at all. In all honesty, my audience, in my mind, is generally (a) me and (b) certain people I know and respect. My editorial capriciousness is hardly a good example of user-centered design, and it’s probably also bad business (in that it probably doesn’t help grow graphpaper.com’s loyal readership base). But it’s how blogs work, it’s an essential, fundamental dynamic of today’s user-generated/self-publishing culture.

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