So at one point or another, you might have found yourself making the F5 Fishface. For those mac users or those who didn’t grow up knowing old, stupid shortcuts like that, F5 used to refresh your browser (with my machine at least, it does no longer). And the fishface part looks like this:
The design process isn’t always an exciting snap-your-fingers-this-way-and-that brainstorming explosion of awesomeness. It can be, but it can’t be all the time. Like when you’re waiting on hearing back from volunteer potential users to do usability testing and poke at your wireframes. Or potential investors and partner affiliates to hear if they agree that yes, what you’re making is indeed going to Change the World. You shouldn’t push forward and continue designing without many points of feedback (see this post on my tendency to do just that), and when you’re the project’s founder/manager/designer/marketer, it takes time to get all the ducks in a row. So how can we use this time? Let’s explore. And keep in mind that I have no intention of being brilliant. I simply wish to impart a few humble opinions from my dandalion-weed-like-growing experience.
There’s other good ideas besides the ones I illustrated here. Expand your software knowledge by learning a new prototyping tool. Explore the hurdles you think your dev is going to run into so when they say “uh that’s kinda hard” you don’t reply “why? google does it and it looks totes easy”. Figure out your company name and vision, run it by people, figure out how to get an LLC without paying a lawyer a few fingers. Get a “real job” so your parents will stop wringing their hands in (not so) quiet anxiety. Ha, that last one was a joke. But you could put in some extra hours at that part-time job you’ve got.
Now for the other side…
This list continues as well. For example, don’t network with the wrong people, meaning people who go “UX? oh, that has to do with them computers, don’t it?”. Don’t sit back and do nothing, because I can guarantee the more ‘nothing’ you do, the bigger the shit will be that hits the fan when you wake up and look around. Don’t get bogged down in tiny details when you don’t have your big picture nailed down. Don’t re-watch all your favorite Buffy episodes on Netflix.
But most of all, don’t sit in front of your computer (or carry around your phone) hitting the refresh button on your email every three minutes (especially since having to refresh your inbox for new messages to appear is, ah, slightly outdated). It will drive you closer to going insane than being fourteen did. If all else fails, leave your technology behind and go sit on a bench in a park for a few hours. Or actual nature, if you’re near that stuff. Clear your head.
Bam. There’s twenty-something wisdom for you.
There’s a certain kind of nostalgia that we have for the shitty times we lived through… whether it’s bad relationships, bad living situations, bad jobs, it happens all the time. Just talk to anyone who’s been in the military. “Ah, remember that time we were in that ditch pissing ourselves thinking we were gonna die? yeah those were the days, man… they were REAL.” Okay, I admit, I’ve never heard anyone say that, but they say it in the movies. And it always makes me think “wtf is wrong with you?”
But I get that nostalgia too. And I can’t wait to have it about where I am now.
It’s a bit crowded in the current place I’m living. Like… overflowing crowded.
It’s easy to get frustrated (especially when I come back with groceries and am trying to fit them in the fridge or when I need to use the restroom or use the stove), and there’s little sense of privacy. But the things that are bad now…
…really don’t compare to the places I’ve been.
I’ve lived in places with poisonous bugs crawling under our doors at night, with spider bites that turned into fungal infections, shaking cockroaches off of pots and pans, getting my food devoured by crackheads and zombie girlfriends in the middle of the night… and for all those places I have a bit of that weird past-tense-masochistic nostalgia. I’m not sure what it’s a mix of. “I survived that shit” mixed with “hey it could be worse” and some sort of weird bragging rights. They make good stories.
And right now, a budding entrepeneur (or bootstrapper, Seth Godin’s term which I rather like, as it sounds more appropriately flying-by-seat-of-pants-ish), with only meager paychecks from a part-time job, there’s nothing glamorous about my living conditions. Maybe Gates and Zuckerberg get inglamorous nostalgia for “those days when we were surviving off of pizza and making shit up as we went along”… but then again, though I’ve heard the media talk about that nostalgia in an odd vicarious way, I’ve never heard of any interviews with them about that period of their lives. Maybe they can still remember how unnerving it was (is), to not know if they were (I am) going to succeed or fail, how terrifying and thrilling and crazy it all feels. I’m betting everything I have on the belief that if I bust my butt hard enough on this project I’m passionate about, I’ll somehow come out the other end alive and financially sound.
There’s nothing safe about it. But maybe that’s why we do it. We know it’ll make one hell of an inglamorous nostalgia story on down the line.
I used to be a criminal.
I used to go online and use those “FREE BUSINESS CARDS” ads (which were so not free, beeteedubs), and then get 300 pre-designed cards in the mail and use those. Ugh! How could I?? It was terribly embarassing. It didn’t come up much in corporate world though.
But no longer! In a couple hours I whipped up a design, had them printed, and spent a twiddly hour cutting them out. Tedious, yes, and while designing I was being a moron and not thinking of bleeding colors, but hey, it’s a STEP FORWARD.
Still, business cards gives you such great ideas! How can I integrate hand-made elements into it next time? Could I double-layer the paper and cut out the top layer in my name? Need a laser cutter for that, but still.
I’m out of prison, though still on parole. As my job progresses further, I’ll have to knock out a whole day and just make something so totally badass it’ll blow your mind.
So I include these because I always get a kick out of seeing other artists’ notes:
As I mentioned at the end of my previous post, I realized my big weakness was typography. So I did some quick searches as to what would be the best resources to consult and found what turned out to be a fabulous book: Thinking with Type by Ellen Lupton. It was a great deal of what I had been vaguely aware of for some time now, but had never clarified into principles. Not only was there a brief history of typography to put the different styles in context, but she added in “Type Crimes” of not-to-dos which were very helpful. I also liked the guidelines of mixing fonts… ok, I liked the whole thing. I’ll leave it at that and go to the more interesting parts: the questions it rose.
Studying the letter though is only a tiny portion of the work; How to lay out text on a page? Naturally this question led me to grabbing books on grid systems in design, specifically that of Josef-Muller Brockman. I found his text a thorough investigation of grid designs in print, rich with examples. Yet that led to the next question- when to use one grid system over another? And when you choose a grid system, how do you choose which variant to use? These questions were starting to lead me outside of graphic design, for in design for print, a designer will usually know how much text there is, what photographs there are, how the guiding thread of narration needs to lead the reader across the page, etc, and these will be the guidelines they’ll use. But what about for dynamic content?
This question led me to Karl Gerstner’s Designing Programmes, a collection of essays that I had hoped to gain more out of than I did. There are, of course, flexible design models that allow for a great deal of variation even when the content is dynamic… newspaper designs, for example. Yet… it still wasn’t quite what I was looking for. I wasn’t just thinking dynamic content in that the content changes from one page to the next, or one issue to the next, but from moment-to-moment, depending on dynamic information.
Of course what I would think to go to next would be website design resources, and there are a million of those. And though I still plan to check out some books I haven’t already seen, I feel as if I already know a great deal of what they’re going to say: Have a navigation pane, use a grid system to communicate clearly, always provide a home button… etc. But there are two things wrong with that sort of guidance:
One: it’s only elements. It’s like saying “to make an animal, you’ll need limbs, a brain, and innards.” Putting aside the fact that those elements were completely arbitrary, it doesn’t tell you anything about how the animal should act. For example, how should it interact with its environment? Let’s put it back in digital terms: How should an app or software interact with a user’s dynamic environment? Or how should the app interact with the other apps and software already on the device?
Two: this ‘limbs, brain, innards’ guidance points to only two design principles: first, clear information presentation (this goes back to traditional graphic design). And secondly, a clear navigational structure (linking).
Yet where does motion design fit in? Already designers in companies big and small are finding ways to make the motion design of a piece of software not only be elegant and pleasureable to use, but contribute to the ease of navigation and the user’s understood structure of the program. Look at Windows 8- for all I might pick at their interaction methods, the motion design is fantastic and quite unique. Yet you wouldn’t know it unless you actually picked up a Windows phone or tablet and started using it (and made it past the learning curve to actually be able to enjoy and admire the motion design… but that’s a different issue).
Undoubtedly, in regards to these questions, there are already long discussions and detailed blog posts by design professionals much more along in their careers and experience than I. And it’s clear I need to find them.
…..SIGH. Is it ridiculous of me to complain that there’s too much information available and I get tired of hunting it all down and the guilt I feel if I don’t?
Oh well. Off to google.
One of the things I’m always learning more about is the early design phase. It’s my favorite part, the place of boundless possibility. You have an idea, you say “okay awesome I’ll go talk to my potential users and find out everything I need to know about them!” but you can’t just show up on their doorstep with nothing, right? Otherwise they’ll give you all their hopes and dreams and you won’t know what the hell to do with them. So you make a quick mock-up of what you think it could be structured like. Just some wireframes. But since wireframes inspire no one, you make a few aesthetically rendered ones so they get it.
This is the part I get carried away with. I start doing the entire wireframe storyboards in this aesthetic style. Why not, right? I mean, you already have the aesthetic ones made, you’re just saving yourself work that you’d have to do later… right? (no.)
What happened next is completely natural, of course: as my user research began in earnest and I began meeting with many great, intelligent people, the scope of the project widened tremendously. Perhaps I’m wrong, but I don’t see this as a bad thing; by entertaining other’s ideas by saying “huh, yeah, it COULD go that direction, couldn’t it?” I can make a list of all the possibilities. Then, once I have a good idea of the possible scope, I narrow it down to a small list of must-haves for something small, simple, with a big punch. Not a big scope- I’m not looking to nuke it. I’m looking to snipe it.
Inevitably however, the design now needs a complete revamp. “But wait!” a part of me wants to wail. “I’ve just spent so long on this beautiful design!”
…Actually, that’s a lie. There is no part that says that in me. Call me a masochist, but I get a kick out of crumpling designs and tossing them over my shoulder. They weren’t wasted- nothing’s EVER wasted. I learned a lot through creating that first iteration. But it’s back to the drawing board.
Part of that learning process is discovering your own weaknesses: and I’ve found a big one, one which was hidden during my time at Microsoft Research because I was working solely in the Windows 8 metro style. No, I’m not talking gradient meshes, although those are a pain in the ass… I’m talking about typography. So after I tackle that weakness head-on (Helloooo Ellen Lupton) I’ll post about that. Nothing like facing your fears right?
…I’d totally rather face a shark than face typography.
…..then again, that’s a poor comparison perhaps, because I like sharks. hm.