On my iPhone, I don't have automatic updates turned on. I'm that guy that likes to read the release notes. Or, at least, I was.
Release notes used to be interesting. They'd tell you what the developers had been up to. What features they were adding, or removing. But the most important thing they brought was the ability to make an informed decision. They gave you the chance to decide whether you actually wanted to install it.
Companies such as Slack and Monzo have fun with their release notes. They're proud to show you the new features they've been working hard on. But these two companies are becoming part of a minority. A small group of companies that actually bother to write anything.
Recently, I took a leaf out of Medium's book and decided to add the estimated reading time to my blog posts. This was so that people could decide whether they had enough time to commit to the post before reading it.
When I tweeted about it, I got a request to write an explanation of the code. So here it goes!
Design and art go hand in hand. But they're not the same thing.
When I was younger, I identified as a graphic designer. I'd design logos and flyers for nightclubs in Newcastle. When you're doing this kind of thing, the lines between art and design blur a lot. I didn't know the difference.
I'd combine art with principles such as the golden ratio, irradiation phenomenon and overshoot. I'd pick typefaces to best represent the brand of the company I was designing for. There was some science to it, but it was still open to opinion. Somebody could still decide they didn't like my work. And clients often did.
As a designer, it's not my job to design the things people want. It's my job to design the things they need.
When you work in Government, you see a lot of legacy systems. These are ancient beasts, built off the back of corporate I.T contracts decades ago.
They're clunky, and we're unable to make changes. UX wasn't even a thing back then. The interfaces range from what looks like Teletext to an Excel spreadsheet. The font size is about 6px, because any screen resolution over 640px was unheard of when they were built.
There's a lot these systems have to answer for. But one of my biggest gripes is the culture of 'note-box enthusiasts' these systems have created.
I’m at that age now where all my friends are into having babies. Because of this, I ended up browsing kidly.co.uk. It’s an eCommerce site aimed at gifts for 0-4-year-olds. They do a great job of selling themselves as a ‘by people for people’ kind of company. There are fluffy images of the team looking happy. The about us section is full of references to parenting so that people can relate.
I get this type of marketing. It’s smart. It bypasses your brain's neocortex and buries itself deep into your emotional core. If you relate to these people, and they seem like you, you’re more likely to buy from them. It’s genius.
I don't have a problem with this type of marketing, until it begins to encroach on the user experience.
I’ve recently been ranting a lot about primary buttons. But people often don’t understand what they are. In my early days as a designer, I thought it meant adding the class ‘btn-primary’ to my markup, and this is a common mistake.
In the land of user centred design, buttons and links are not interchangeable. The problem is, a lot of people make this mistake and litter the Internet with bad design. That is confusing for the people that use it. Some of my early contributions are still out there causing a nuisance. Sorry.
Last week I attended Camp Digital, in the beautiful Town Hall of Manchester. It was your usual digital conference. Your usual crowd. But, today I saw a talk that has changed the way I think about websites and service design forever.
I want to be normal. How many people have muttered these words during times of turmoil. How many people have wanted to trade their noisy, racing thoughts for a brain that was more peaceful. A brain that was numb and void of opinion. I know I have.
As I sit here, staring at the blank page, I can already feel my anxieties rising. As I begin to write, I find myself trying to imagine how anybody reading this will perceive my words. Type, then delete. Type, then delete.