Someone recently pointed me to an interesting book, Some Place Like Home: Using Design Psychology to Create Ideal Places, by Toby Israel. The book’s thesis is that a designers’ childhood environment profoundly affects their professional and adult design choices. The environments and objects children see and touch in their formative years will, according to Israel, have a deep and lasting effect on how they perceive and how they create the designed environments around them later in life.

I haven’t read the book, but the basic premise as far as I understand it strikes me as very likely. Childhood experiences drove me to become a designer in the first place, why should it not also shape my day-to-day decisions as a designer?

And wouldn’t childhood experiences with interactive things be especially emotionally powerful, whether positive or negative?

I was really curious if this idea rang true for other people in the UX design world, too. So I asked the twitterverse:

chrisfahey: UX people: Which interactive experiences from your childhood shape your decisions as a designer of interactive experiences today? #uxorigins

I got a few dozen delightful responses (most of them using my suggested hashtag #uxorigins). It’s interesting how many of them share common themes: video games, science fiction, dashboards, doors and light switches.

chrisfahey: I remember 2 light switches that controlled the same light. Each switch also reversed the on/off orientation of the other (bad!).

peterme: Simon, Merlin, Mattel Electronic Football, Intellivsion, the cable box where you pressed a button for each channel

strottrot: I remember my mom’s thrill at the development of school desks & scissors designed for people who are left-handed.

soldierant: great idea . I learned narrative, flow balance & symmetry from the modeling diorama books of François Verlinden.

martinpolley: Auto-reverse Walkman — Which side is it playing? Which button do I press for FF and which for RW?

jarango: Videogames, Legos, Disney World, Chris Crawford’s “Art of Computer Game Design”.

gielow: Mine was: Being 1stborn = lots of early individual open-play. Growing up w/Apple II & living near Smithsonian

Braindonut: Acknowledging great game UIs help me to focus on the challenges I actually CARE about and seeing bad UIs obstruct fun

odannyboy: Making robots and spaceships out of cardboard boxes and figuring out the controls. Playing detective.

octothorpe: When I was young, I made siege weaponry (trebuchet, catapults, etc) out of common household items (hangars, mousetraps, etc)

ladylynnet: Pull-doors that look like they should be pushed, can openers, lots of SciFi, and growing up as the Internet grew up

mjbroadbent: @octothorpe Good fun! I’m curious: were your foes real or imaginary? Or perhaps the creative joy was simply in the making.

ConeTrees: reading Enid Blytons & watching cartoons where all things/ interfaces just work and everything is simplified

davin: . Speak & Spell, Merlin, text adventures on Vic-20, 20-sided dice, Lego/Star Wars mash-ups

mikeym: Hammond organs, analog Buchla synthesizers, backlit toggle switches (love!), tube amps, aircraft flight controls.

daveixd: I think it was the Odessy game console. I LOVED that game controller more than anything! The circular disc w/ the 12key punch.

mjbroadbent: Baking, cooking, and serving food were formative for me. Planning everything to yield a fabulous end result was (is) great fun!

nikkirmz: Light switches located on walls behind doors. You must walk in, partially close the door to turn on the light.

jeanphony: Helping my dad design and build a custom family camper from a former delivery van

rayraydel: It’s always been about sketching for me. Both figuring stuff out and communicating it with pencil & paper. The best.

strottrot: Another : My dad cursing through toys with “some assembly required”

noahmittman: As a kid, pirating software without any manuals or help, using only the software’s end design to learn its features.

cchastain: Putting on a carnival in the back yard.

jspahr: Devouring Isaac Azimov’s SciFi stories; building/re-building lego houses/cities; hypercard.

mjbroadbent: Oh yeah! My brother and I created spooky fun houses in our basement. RT @cchastain: Putting on a carnival in the back yard.

jeffpiazza: - Drawing dashboards of real (space shuttle) and futuristic aircraft.

austingovella: Magic: tell a story, misdirect their attention to what they want to see, and delight them.

It’s interesting that about half of these are about experiencing frustration and wanting to fix the experience, and the other half are about being inspired with wonder and delight — precisely the dichotomy that UX designers seem to perpetually wrestle with today

Do you have any childhood experiences that you are convinced still influence you as a designer today?

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Have you ever thought of design as an opportunity to be kind to someone?

User experience designer Jeff Howard wonders if service design (a way of thinking about design in which the user experience has many “touchpoints” across many channels and contexts) isn’t ultimately a frustrating and Sisyphean task, where customers and users are always going to be disappointed simply because no system or experience can ever be perfect. He observes that no matter what the designer does right, users will always remember when and how a system let them down, even if it only fails them in a small way.

He offers an interesting alternative way of thinking about the design of service experiences:

Maybe the answer itself is counterintuitive. Rather than offering reliably excellent service, what about unpredictability? What if the answer lies in random acts of kindness? The bits of business that add value to a service, but that aren’t part of its core offering. Something we can’t anticipate, something that captures our attention — randomly exceeding our expectations. A foil to the capriciousness of human perception.

I totally agree, and not just about service design. In all forms of design, practicing random acts of design kindness is a great way to improve a user experience without radically overhauling your design process or revisiting the core strategy of your product.

A fun approach I like to use (sometimes unconsciously, sometimes deliberately) is to have an unofficial objective of having three delightful details in a design — a humorous error message, a helpful hint at a difficult juncture, a way to skip a step in a process, etc. The important thing here, as Jeff suggests, is to do it at an unexpected time, almost as a kind of surprise, just so it has an extra emotional impact on the user.

Of course we all want to make everything perfect, but it’s amazing how one delightful detail will stick out in a user’s mind.

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When it comes to social media, it is easy to be dazzled by big numbers and strong opinions. But often what is really needed isn’t a comprehensive strategy with metrics and targets, but a charming and intelligent human personality.

The majority of people who today call themselves social media experts, even the legitimate ones who actually know what they are doing, were complete social media newbies only a couple of years ago. Some very likely took the plunge only a few months ago.

I’ve seen people who didn’t have a Facebook page, people who’d skeptically asked “What the hell is this Twitter crap?”, jump in head first and, within a few months, become absolute masters of social media with tens of thousands of connections and followers and influence over some of the biggest names in their field. I’ve seen people in their teens and in their 60s become social media virtuosos, at least within the fields they really know and love, some of them virtually overnight.

I also know hundreds of people who have lots of friends on Twitter, who regularly blog and speak about social media, and who know all about the different companies, people, and technologies in the social media space, but who would be absolute freaking disasters if they had to put those skills to the service of a brand or company. I know this because they have volatile personalities, crummy writing skills and sloppy grammar, glaring personal issues, or are just ignorant of important subject matter. But with thousands of friends and immense popularity across lots of social media.

In other words, jerks, blowhards, and idiots are perfectly capable of mastering the logistics and technologies of social media, but do you really want them managing your social media?

There is undoubtedly a kind of social media skill that has nothing whatsoever to do with expertise with social media tools and technologies, but which all great social media success stories have in spades. Social media tools and technologies can be learned in a matter of days or weeks by the right people as long as they have other important skills: A passion for the product or the field they are working for, for example, is essential. A great personality. Great interpersonal communication skills. A sense of dignity and balance, and political sensitivity. Empathy.

In fact, this traditional stuff is WAY more important than having any experience whatsoever with social media. A so-called social media expert with thousands of hours of experience managing and building social networks and products could easily ruin your social media strategy simply by being a bad cultural fit with your audience and customers. And a total newbie — a kid from the mailroom, a user interface designer, or maybe the CEO herself — might become your company’s social media rainmaker simply because they completely understand your audience and believe in your product.

Charm can be bought, and it can be taught. But usually it’s simply a matter of finding it and letting shine.

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There are two ways of writing nouns in the English language: you capitalize proper nouns and you don’t capitalize common nouns. There is an unfortunate tendency, however, for people to think that you can elevate the importance and even the definition of any old common noun simply by capitalizing it. To me, this is the typographical equivalent of using “unnecessary” quotation marks to indicate emphasis.

There are some words, of course, that legitimately have this quality, for example God with a capital G is different from god with a lowercase g. Brand names often co-opt common nouns, too, and create new proper nouns: There is a difference between “facebook” and “Facebook“, for example.

But we can’t just make new proper nouns up for no good reason. I am thinking specifically about the increasingly common use of the phrase “Design with a capital D”, or even the unqualified casual use of the capitalized “Design”, whenever a writer seeks to discuss the broader category of all design disciplines from the many smaller, more focused design fields which also use the one-word “design” to describe themselves (fashion design, interior design, graphic design).

Even at a purely grammatical level, this is wrong: you simply cannot capitalize the word “design” because it is not a proper noun. There is no grammatical rule that says that you can use capitalization to indicate the importance or scope of a word — I can’t capitalize “Sports”, for example, and say it means the philosophy and values of sportsmanship as opposed to the lowly playing of games. If you found a company or wrote a book or named your dog “Design” you might have a case for the capital D. But the concept of “design” is already in the dictionary as a common noun, with a lowercase d.

But, more importantly, I don’t think we need to be making this kind of in-your-face overt distinction in the first place. The concept that design has several layers of meaning and scope is quite valid and useful, but the word itself is perfectly capable of encompassing both meanings.

The English language, like many others, has some lovely ambiguities and idiosyncrasies in it. These gaps and imperfections may sometimes frustrate us, but they also make us think about words more, what they mean and where they come from. They force us to pay more attention to context, which we really ought to be doing anyway.

When it comes to the various disciplines of design, I want to be frequently reminded that making a flowchart for a user interface and making a fabric pattern for a dress are closely related disciplines. I want to know that my own design discipline can learn from all of the others.

I would rather have readers assume that the word “design” by default means all of the diverse design practices — unless the author or speaker indicates otherwise, implicitly or explicitly. I don’t think we’re quite there yet, though: most designers think of their own niche design discipline whenever they hear the word “design”. Still, capitalizing “design” is a crutch for both writers and readers, a short cut that excuses writers from explaining the interconnectedness of design, and excuses readers from embracing design more broadly.

Instead, let’s just write and read more carefully, and let’s keep talking about design as a family of practices. And let’s also begin assuming the broader definition by default, unless told otherwise. Writers and readers will have to do a little extra thinking sometimes to figure out the meaning in any given context. But eventually the concept of design as a general way of thinking with many specific ways of practicing will take hold.

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Apple is famous for their minimalist aesthetic, and infamous for occasionally taking the aesthetic too far and sacrificing usability. There’s the famous round mouse for the original iMac. There’s the symmetrical third-generation iPod remote control whose identical volume and previous/next buttons are impossible to distinguish.

While not as egregious as the previous examples, Apple’s iPod and iPhone earbuds have, to me, always suffered from just a tiny bit of this over-aestheticization. The earbuds are specific to your left and right ears, but are differentiated only by a microscopic and light-gray “R” and “L” to tell you which earbud is which. It takes a few seconds to figure out which ear each bud is intended to go into.

But for years I’ve had a solution. I’ve been using a little strip of tape to hack/solve the problem of undifferentiated iPod headphones.

A single wrap with a thin strip of tape, and viola! At a glance, or even by touch, it is now easy to tell which earbud is which: the one with the tape goes in the right ear. And design-wise it looks pretty good — simple, consistent with the Apple aesthetic, fairly subtle. Steve Jobs would probably have a fit over the asymmetry, but I think this solution is is something so obvious that every earbud manufacturer should do it, or at least something like it.

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Where’s Chris been? Why, I’ve been working, swimming, biking, and running.

The latter three were all brought together two weeks ago in the Philadelphia Triathlon (my second triathlon ever — my first was the New York Triathlon which I finished last summer), for which I have been cramming in a lot of training in recent months (to the obvious expense of blogging). On July 28th, it all paid off. It’s like working for a year on a major web site and finally launching it, only better.

I grew up in Philadelphia, but I don’t think I remember it ever being as beautiful as it was during my race. It had been raining all week, but by the time Sunday rolled around the sky was clear and sunny.

The swim was in the Schuylkill River, which for my entire childhood was synonymous with pollution and filth. But to my great delight the river was clear and clean, an absolute joy to swim in. It was, in fact, my first open-water swim in fresh water since I began serious swim training. The 1-mile swim began at the St. Joseph’s Boathouse (my father’s alma mater) and passed under a bridge, finally finishing on the other side of the river.

The bike and run were all though Fairmount Park, including two loops on the bike passing right in front of the Philadelphia Museum of Art (known in Philly as “The Art Museum”). It was hard not to have the Rocky Theme in my head every time I passed by those step. I’ll confess that I actually downloaded the song a few weeks before in a fit of Philadelphia nostalgia.

Most of the bike course was through shady woods or country roads or grassy hills. The run was along the bank of the river. You’d hardly know you were in a city park. Again, I don’t remember Fairmount Park being so tranquil and lovely in the 1970s.

The Philly Triathlon is about half the size of the New York version (2000 vs. 5000 people), which makes it sooo much more intimate and manageable. After doing both, I am reluctant to want to ever do New York again when I can always do Philly instead. I am, of course, now trying to find one even smaller to do, maybe even before this season is through.

In the New York Triathlon last year I didn’t do as well as I’d hoped, but this time around I managed to reduce my overall time by almost 20%. My final, official time: Swim (1 mile): 30:02; Bike (25 mile): 1:17; Run (10k): 58:06. Total, with transitions: 2:53:26! I worked my way through the swim, kicked ass on the bike, but I petered out a little on the run, I guess, running what I think is my slowest 10k ever.

In the end I came in 844th of 1306 men. Next time I know I’ll crack the top 50%!

Maybe I’m not as verbose as I was last year, but there’s more to see in my Flickr photo set, and my Mom even put up a video on YouTube!

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Touch Sight, a fascinating “camera” for blind people.

For my entire design career,  my colleagues and I have wrestled with the terminology we use to segment and focus our work, both in our careers and in our critiques. Whether it’s the “information architecture vs. interaction design” debate or the “visual design vs. graphic design” debate, our neat little linguistic boxes don’t always seem to be able to contain the conversations we have about our work.

The term “look and feel” has been particularly troublesome. Too often it is used to simply mean “visual design” — that is, just the “look” part — with the “feel” part understood as simply a polite nod to the fact that visual design has an emotional aspect.

Andrew Crow at Adaptive Path suggests that, because of this kind of abuse, “look and feel” should be discarded.

I propose that we never use the phrase “look and feel” again. Ever.

Visual design is often subjective and can be difficult to describe or judge. Often, people lack the language or understanding of the work to accurately express their opinions. Consequently, we use simple terms of the way an object “looks” or how it “feels”.

Speaking in terms of these qualities does a disservice to the design. We cheapen the value of the work by paying attention only to the superficial aspects.

I think he’s being a little hasty. How is the term “visual design”, which Andrew uses here and repeatedly throughout his essay, any better than “look and feel”?

“Look and feel” at least suggests (indeed specifically acknowledges) that the surface-level user experience involves more senses than just the visual. In contrast, “visual design” often dramatically constrains the conversation about our work, and indeed might even constrain the scope of responsibility for a person working under that title.

I’ve always interpreted the “feel” part of look and feel to mean not just the emotional aspects that are usually associated with it, but also the tactile (or seemingly-tactile) effects of how a UI moves and transforms, how it sounds, the speed and pacing of the unfolding experience, its overall voice and personality, and countless other ineffable qualities of visceral experience. “Feel” can include words and language, transitions, motion, rhythm, haptic feedback, symbolism, melody, texture, temperature, and much more.

So while I agree that “look and feel” is often abused, it is precisely the conflation of (a) the vast potential of that term with (b) simply equating it with “visual design” that is the essence of the problem. Replacing “look and feel” with just “visual design”, as Andrew seems to perhaps unintentionally suggest, would only make matters worse. The scope of the term “visual design” simply cannot contain those aforementioned ineffable aspects of user experience, which is why we cling to “look and feel”.

While I confess to using both terms every day, I do think they are often insufficient for effective design communication. But simply throwing away “look and feel” isn’t a solution. We either need a more powerful and understandable replacement for “look and feel”, or we need to do a better job investing the conversation around “look and feel” to include those ineffable qualities. We need to ensure that we can have broad critical conversations about what Christopher Alexander calls “The Quality Without a Name” (QWAN) and that we can have narrow and focused critical conversations around the technical nuances of visual and graphic design.

I’m conservatively inclined towards the second approach: evangelizing a new and broader understanding of what “look and feel” means in the universe of interaction design. But I’ll admit that, Alexander’s declaration of namelessness notwithstanding, I am quietly and subconciously thinking of new names.

[This post’s title is the a tribute to one of my favorite drone/dub bands, seefeel]

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Let’s say you own a big building full of valuable stuff. How do you make sure that the night watchman patrolling your factory floor or museum galleries after closing time actually makes his rounds? How do you know he’s inspecting every hallway, floor, and stairwell in the facility? How do you know he (or she) is not just spending every night sleeping at his desk?

The Detex Newman watchclock was first introduced in 1927 and is still in wide use today.

If you’re a technology designer, you might suggest using surveillance cameras or even GPS to track his location each night, right? But let’s make this interesting. Let’s go a century back in time to, say, around 1900. What could you possibly do in 1900 to be absolutely sure a night watchman was making his full patrol?

An elegant solution, designed and patented in 1901 by the German engineer A.A. Newman, is called the “watchclock”. It’s an ingenious mechanical device, slung over the shoulder like a canteen and powered by a simple wind-up spring mechanism. It precisely tracks and records a night watchman’s position in both space and time for the duration of every evening. It also generates a detailed, permanent, and verifiable record of each night’s patrol.

What’s so interesting to me about the watchclock is that it’s an early example of interaction design used to explicitly control user behavior. The “user” of the watchclock device is obliged to behave in a strictly delimited fashion.

But before I go into the interaction theory at work here, let’s look at how the watchclock system works in a little more detail. The fundamental innovation — the trick, if you will — is that the device itself is only one part of a larger, external system.

Photo by Jeremy Brooks.

The Key is the System

The key, literally, to the watchclock system is that the watchman is required to “clock in” at a series of perhaps a dozen or more checkpoints throughout the premises. Positioned at each checkpoint is a unique, coded key nestled in a little steel box and secured by a small chain. Each keybox is permanently and discreetly installed in strategically-placed nooks and crannies throughout the building, for example in a broom closet or behind a stairway.

The watchman makes his patrol. He visits every checkpoint and clicks each unique key into the watchclock. Within the device, the clockwork marks the exact time and key-location code to a paper disk or strip. If the watchman visits all checkpoints in order, they will have completed their required patrol route.

The watchman’s supervisor can subsequently unlock the device itself (the watchman himself cannot open the watchclock) and review the paper records to confirm if the watchman was or was not doing their job.

This is an idea with long legs. The watchclock is built like a revolver, of good old fashioned brass and steel and encased in a thick leather holster. It requires no batteries and almost no maintenance. The “guard tour patrol system” concept, too, has a timeless elegance. The mechanism itself has barely changed for a century: although some more recent models incorporate GPS and other technologies, the mechanical key-based watchclock system is still in wide usage, with many buildings still employing the same keys and the same clockwork devices they’ve used since the 1940s. It’s a genuine example of an “if it aint broke, don’t fix it” kind of technology.

From a behavioral perspective, I find the watchclock fascinating not simply because it’s a kind of steampunk GPS, a wind-up mechanical location-awareness technology. I’m further fascinated at how this holistic system of watchclocks, keys, guards, and supervisors succeeded so completely in creating a method of behavioral control such that a human being’s movements can be precisely planned and executed, hour after hour and night after night, with such a high degree of reliability that almost a century goes by before anyone thinks of ways of improving the system as originally conceived. The watchclock is a primitive form of technology-mediated interaction design and narrowly-focused social engineering: The “interface” is the whole system: The watchclock, keys, and paper records.

Designing for Control

Many in the interaction design field(s) argue that user experience design most definitely is not about behavioral control, or at least it shouldn’t be. Dan Saffer entitled his excellent book “Designing for Interaction“, the “for” being a nod to the idea that users don’t need to interact with systems in exactly the way the interaction designer intended or envisioned. Interactive systems — whether social networks, desktop apps, or multiplayer online games — often shine best when users break the rules. Systems that explicitly and deliberately give users the freedom to interact in creative and unforeseen ways are some of the most interesting and powerful kinds of interaction design.

But the watchclock is another kind of interaction design, one whose function corrals the user into a single, linear, constrained sort of behavior. The night watchman has a fundamental social constraint — the desire to not get fired from their job. This constraint allows the watchclock patrol system to work so effectively (some would say insidiously) as an interaction design instrument of control.

As a former game designer, I think it’s important to recognize that a really fun user experience will often exist somewhere between these poles of freedom and control. The player can kill the bad guys in whatever clever way she wishes, but she’s got to collect the three crystals to operate the teleporter — there’s no other way off the ship, and no other way to get to the next level. (I wonder if it’s more than a coincidence that so many systems of controlled-play in games involve the use of keys, just like the watchclock.)

Giving a user freedom to interact however they wish seems admirable in principle, but requiring the user to jump through precisely the hoops you, the designer, want them to jump through is also a powerful way to create an emotionally and intellectually compelling experience. In a practical sense, it’s also a way to make sure that the user doesn’t get frustrated or even fail to do what they really need to do.

The watchclock’s user experience isn’t compelling or stimulating, to be sure, but in my mind it is truly an archetype of the “behavioral control” side of interaction design.

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A week ago, Jesse James Garret veritably bellowed the words “user experience designer” in his plenary address at this year’s IA Summit in Memphis, attempting to create some common ground between the information architects and interaction designers in the room and across the industry. In a strong and deeply-felt speech, he admonished the community (-ies?) for their factionalism, but in doing so may have helped stoke some controversy around the very term — user experience — he thought would help bring unity and focus.

I, for one, have called what I do “user experience design” for a decade. In 1999, working at Rare Medium before starting up Behavior, all of the visual designers, information architects, and HTML and Flash technologists were grouped in the UXD department, thanks, I suspect, to the vision of our creative director Gong Szeto. In 2003, I went to speak at my first IA Summit, serving on a panel entitled “User Experience and IA“, with no less than Peter Morville, Terry Swack, Jess McMullin, and moderated by… Jesse James Garret. The panel generated a lot of discussion, mostly about the meaning of “user experience” itself.

After this year’s summit, this conversation has sparked up yet again, most notably on the IxDA mailing list. I shared my own thoughts on Jesse’s argument there, and reproduce them here:

I found nothing whatsoever to disagree with in Jesse’s plenary. In fact, it all seemed obvious and non-controversial. Of course, it was neither. :-(

I hope that folks don’t see Jesse’s declaration as being synonymous with some kind of death of IA or IxD or whatever. He’s not asking anyone to change what they do, but merely to recognize that we are all involved in a broad but very special community of practice. “UX” describes it in a way that includes lots of people who should be working together more closely than it seems we are.

From day one at Behavior we’ve used the term “user experience” to describe everything we do — including visual design, sound design, and copywriting, for example. It’s enabled everyone on the team to feel like we share the responsibility for an important result: a compelling user experience.

On the other hand, we rarely actually use the word. It’s our ambient expertise, it’s the air we breathe. So ubiquitous and appropriate for describing the things it is that it’s almost not worth mentioning except when trying to distinguish it from something it is not.

Which is, of course, why humans have terminologies in the first place. We like the term UX because it doesn’t draw a line between IA and IxD and visual design and writing, but it does draw a line between all of those things and, say, database design, marketing, fashion design, and basket-weaving. Which we often have to do when, for example, we are pitching our services to clients who need to understand how we fit in to their needs.

It’s useful when discussing the strategies behind businesses making products, for whom executives need to distribute dollars between different areas — having a UX budget that’s distinct from a tech or marketing budget helps strategize how a product can succeed or fail.

And as said already, it’s useful when creating communities of practice: A UX conference, or a UX track at a conference, is a sensible way of organizing speakers and panels. Narrowing it down to IA or IxD (or writing or sound or video) might make sense if there are enough sessions narrowly focused on those areas, but I’ve found that most practitioners find it difficult to talk about any of these without talking about the others. It happens, and it’s a good thing that it happens, but it’s also a good thing that we blur the lines and wander across the borders.

In short: No need to throw down any walls here. Just open some gates.

Then, over this past weekend, I noticed David Gray from Xplane tossed his hat into the fray, this time on Twitter. An interesting Twitter-debate ensued (”askrom” is me):

davegray: #ux = hUman eXperience

billder: RT @davegray: #ux = hUman eXperience

askrom: @billder @davegray If we don’t say “user” then we’re not talking about interactivity. hUman eXperience would then include books, movies …

askrom: … It defeats the purpose of carving out an area of practice when it’s defined to include everything under the sun.

ggertz: @askrom @billder @davegray I define UX as an aesthetic not just an area of practice.So in tht sense it does involve everything under the sun

davegray: @askrom people don’t interact with books?

ggertz: @davegray <<

apolaine: @davegray People don’t interact with books in the sense of interactive media, no. They interact on a psychological level of course, but …

askrom: @davegray Sure. And people also interact with movies and sculptures. And to the extent that they do, we can certainly call them “users”.

askrom: @davegray I firmly beleive that interaction design has been with us for millenia, but it’s the concept/focus on “use” that’s especially new.

askrom: @davegray Only someone living in an era of pervasive machines — and their users — would consider a book something that can be “used”.

davegray: @askrom isn’t that the nature of design? Don’t all designers design interactions and human experiences? Why not just say “designer?”

askrom: @davegray I would agree, but realistically “design” includes perfectly valid but passive forms like wallpaper patterns and curtain fringes.

askrom: @davegray … and yet, at some level, even wallpaper has an experiential impact, too. Hmmmm…

mediajunkie: sorry, guys, but “human” is not any sexier (or, ironically, more humane) than “user.” human is a sci-fi nerd word in most ears

askrom: @mediajunkie Right. And some of the best UX designers (Temple Grandin) don’t design for humans at all!

davegray: @askrom Utility, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. defined by the context not the designer. I am losing your point.

askrom: @davegray Heh, I lost my point, too. I’m articulating both sides now. My core point, still, is that thinking about “users” has unleashed a..

askrom: @davegray … new way of designing things and a new way of thinking about design. Real utility is, indeed, a new kind of beauty.

davegray: @askrom if #ux designers only design things that can be used in a mechanistic sense, that seems needlessly limiting

askrom: @davegray Hmm. Can you clarify a “use” that is not mechanistic? Trying to wrap my head around that one.

davegray: @askrom nice. “utility has unleashed a new kind of beauty” I like that thought. I feel that way about clarity.

akacolleen: @davegray “I feel that way about clarity.” Now, I like *that* thought. #editorsforclarity

cchastain: @davegray @askrom How about: an exp that has a “user” must also have a function that requires interaction?

cchastain: Use, therefore, is not limited to pure utility….and it could include museum spaces, conferences, and, yes books.

askrom: @cchastain “requires” or merely “invites” interaction?

cchastain: @askrom Ah…invites, I think. That sounds much better. :-)

davegray: @askrom LOL just reading thru some of these tweets. I like the sound of “Wallpaper Experience Designer” :)

zakiwarfel: @askrom but do we really need to worry about being confused with someone who designs wallpapers? Really?

The conversation continued later in the day and into the night, and was similarly transcribed by Steve “Doc” Baty. Continue the thread there…

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Two weeks ago, BusinessWeek’s next Design and Innovation blog asked for my thoughts on this month’s Facebook home page redesign, as a kind of follow-up to my thoughts in those same virtual pages a year ago.

I was asked to opine on the new design without having viewed the actual live site, which was launching the following week. This seemed reasonable to me at the time given that the site’s new features were announced, illustrated, and widely-known ahead of time (via a very comprehensive home page preview announcement) to anyone who was paying attention to that kind of thing.

I was really excited about the real-time feed user experience described in the home page preview. My exact words:

The new FB real-time home page is pretty cool, actually… it’s crossing the line between the old-fashioned page-based web and the live experience of television and broadcast media. In this case, it’s broadcasting from friends to friends — which it always was, of course, but now it’s more visceral and more real. I think people will love it. They’ll be glued to their screens, and will want to add more friends and applications just to increase the flow of content on their home page.

This is “Web 2.0 Complete”: When web people use the term “Web 2.0″, they mean two different things. First, they mean the social web, where *people* make (and are) the content. Second, they mean the pageless web, where web sites react dynamically and fluidly, without page reloads and refreshes. The new Facebook design combines both of these.

I thought it was kind of clever, if a little corny, of me to note that the new Facebook home page was simply conforming to some kind of basic “Web 2.0″ bandwagon orthodoxy, bringing the two flavors of Web 2.0 niftyness into one delicious treat.

But a week later when the new home page actually began to roll out and replace millions of Facebook users’ old home pages, the backlash was immediate and seething and nearly unanimous (a Facebook poll found 94% of users didn’t like the new design). Oh man was I embarrassed! To have praised a user experience so breathlessly only to have my opinion immediately contradicted by the public’s rabid scorn!

Turns out, however, that users were complaining about the new page’s lack of real-time status updates from your friends. And yet Facebook had already clearly and prominently promised that feature as part of the redesign. In fact, I based the core of my analysis of the new site on that very feature, which they had already promised to deliver. They deployed the new design with much fanfare but without real time status updates.

Betrayed! Betrayed by a press release! There I am, praising a non-existent feature. Like an idiot.

Well, happily my premature praise no longer needs to cause me so much shame: Today Facebook has announced that the real-time reporting is going to occur after all. So the BusinessWeek report won’t be such an embarrassment to me after all.

Of course, this is the second time Facebook has announced this feature before delivering anything. Fool me once…

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