Chapter Six: Judgement and Shifting Negative Behavior

Usability and Influence

A norm is an accepted behavioral pattern that's learned and that helps dictate what is appropriate and normal behavior within a specific culture or group. Often norms take the form of unwritten and unspoken rules—the guidelines that help us understand how to behave. A group may decide (used loosely, as these decisions often occur over time and without conscious discussion or debate) that it's acceptable to speak loudly on a mobile phone in a closed space, like a train or bus. This then becomes the cultural norm, and those who don't participate in or appreciate the norm may find themselves in a minority when voicing objections or disagreement.

Norms are communicated through societal interactions, including conversation, body language, and other forms of group interactivity. Increasingly, norms are communicated and disseminated by people using technologically advanced devices, resulting in the mass transfer of a form of iconic norm representation—a meme—that helps explain cultural communication and dissemination.

Most cultural critics agree that norms and memes occur naturally and spread in a similarly organic way. But Interaction Design, as the design of behavior, can contribute to, shift and shape, and even help to control the normative frames that describe cultural change. As an example, consider the gradual 20-year-long shift toward acknowledging usability as an important part of activities, from approximately 1985 to 2005. Designers focused on usability would strive to decrease cognitive dissonance, emphasizing speed and decreased time on task, with a goal of minimizing the number of errors a user might have while using a complicated system. This view grew out of a culture of software development that embraced complexity and that emphasized features and functions instead of coherence and comprehension. And this cultural shift advanced at least two cultural norms. First, a cultural acceptance of usability helped advance the behaviors supporting technological exploration. People learned that technology is not fragile and that some degree of haphazard user-exploration with a computing system will not result in catastrophic error. Second, a cultural acceptance of usability slowly began to shift the view of technology as a special thing that only engineers could control. As it became culturally acceptable for regular people to utilize computers and even write software, traditional stereotypes of geeks and nerds have begun to break down.

But for many designers, the focus on usability is the entire extent to which a philosophical methodology has been established, and usability has become the single value these individuals add to a given design problem. Yet there is more to design than usability, and there is more value a designer can bring than simply making an artifact easier to use. In many respects, and given the critical role assumed by designers in culture, there is a larger form of active judgment and criticism that can be produced in the context of a specific design problem, and in particular cases, this judgment and criticism must be produced. This judgment and criticism shift the role of the designer from one of an objective participant in a discrete design exercise to a fundamental and pivotal force in the creation of meaning.

Consider, by way of example, how a single designer of a single mobile phone interface forces a cultural judgment in the design of even a single interaction. The designer, working on a phonebook application, has already embraced particular design themes. In this particular case, the phone's thematic essence was to be a social conduit that takes advantage of new communication paradigms; the company that produced the phone wanted to take advantage of the growing trends toward social interaction design and various social networking capabilities. The designer is now performing a fairly utilitarian design activity—putting together example screens (wireframes) of how a user would interact with the phonebook application and specifically, what action would be the primary action when the user selects one of his friends or family from a list in the phonebook.

A usable solution would look at what people expect based on prior phone use and would marry this information with data related to the specific context of use. The solution would probably be to emphasize the Call button as the most prominent action a user can take. Indeed, this is what most phones offer after selecting a contact. Some, anticipating this action, even start the call directly when selecting the contact, without an intermediate menu to offer actions at all.

But in this particular example, the designer refers back to the central theme of the phone—that the phone is to be a social conduit and that it is to take advantage of new communication paradigms. The designer's interpretation of this is to emphasize new media activities and actions, such as Send Text Message or Contact via Facebook, and so the rather banal design activity of phonebook primary action becomes trickier with a lot more interesting decisions to make. What if, for example, the primary and default action after selecting a contact (and the largest action, the one at the top of the list) is Mention This Person in a Tweet? Put aside for a moment the specific use case of making a call, and consider what role the designer's judgment plays in this decision.

The designer's personal design philosophy, combined with the larger thematic nature of designing for social interactions imparted by the client, begins to compete against the traditions and norms of usability and even challenges the tendency toward common sense. What if the designer purposefully makes voice calling hard? What if they remove calling functionality completely (is the phone still a phone?)? What are the ramifications on the types of things a user will do with the phone, and how will those actions change the nature of modern human life?

The designer makes the above decision, emphasizing Twitter (a public form of communication that facilitates one-to-many communication) over telephone calling (a private form of one-to-one communication); the phone is produced; two million units are sold; for each of the millions of calls that would have been initiated each day, the users now are encouraged to tweet publicly instead. And now, with a single design decision on a single screen on a single phone, the designer has affected culture dramatically and massively, essentially inverting the established norm and making the phone a public, communal, and social device.

Arguably, the designer has made calling more difficult and has sacrificed the usability of phone calls for the cultural prioritization of public communication. Some people may not like the decision and will continue to make phone calls—and will bemoan the poor usability of the phone. But others may embrace the decision, slowly altering their behavior to make voice phone calls with less frequency than using Twitter. And this behavioral change, prompted by a design that is mass produced for millions to use, will swirl through the human-built world with incredible consequences.

Judgment, frames, and ethics

Design serves as a cultural backdrop for our world. A designer makes subtle decisions that individually seem insignificant, yet each decision is amplified in scope as they are released into society en masse. These decisions have a delayed impact, as they reach the marketplace months or even years after they are made in the design studio, and so it becomes difficult to map a cultural shift to a specific design choice.

Scope amplification

Through mass production, detailed design decisions that are made in the design studio are then propagated throughout the world in mass quantities, affecting thousands or even millions of people. The entire value of mass production is in its exacting ability for identical duplication and in the ability for decreased cost of production by leveraging economies of scale. In this way, the voice of the designer is amplified often by millions as their creative activities are duplicated and advertised in culture. A single design touches millions of people.

Invisible manifestation

Consumers have the ability for choice, and all people are relatively autonomous. Yet behavioral change happens subtly, and most people rarely have the time or awareness to understand how a complicated product is affecting their life. An oft-discussed example of this invisible manifestation of design decisions is found when examining how privacy settings in a social network like Facebook have long-term and unexpected consequences. For example, a survey funded by Microsoft of HR professionals in the United States found that “the top online factors for rejecting a job applicant are unsuitable photos/videos, concerns about a candidate's lifestyle and inappropriate comments written by the candidate [on a social networking site].” In this way, a designer can encourage a user to take actions that have deep and meaningful implications on their lives, yet the user may not be fully aware of those implications.

Delayed

A designer makes a variety of design decisions while creating a new product, and for most products, there is then a delay as the product goes through a variety of completion gates (including quality assurance, deployment, production, or distribution). This is true of both physical and digital products, and the gap between a finished design and availability in the marketplace can stretch to a year or even longer. This means that ideological and philosophical paradigms that influenced the design may have changed, and the world's social, political, and economic situation most certainly changed. Yet the old design decisions are still introduced into the world, with all of the behavioral implications already discussed.

Diffused

A product is one of thousands or millions of things that affect a person's behavior, and a single product joins social norms, genetic predispositions, and various external influences in shaping the way people act, behave, and make decisions. It's nearly impossible to indicate a causal relationship between a design decision made in the creation of a product and the way a person acts in real life, yet there's most certainly an association between these activities. In this way, the designer's voice becomes muffled and diffused, and the designer acts more as a shepherd than an authoritarian force in shifting the way people interact with products, systems, and services.

It's necessary, then, to offer a framework for creating ethical design judgment in the context of a design problem and in the larger context of design methodology. This framework would balance the subjectivity of culture with the objectivity of a human responsibility and would describe ways in which larger decisions can be made.

Rejecting Usability

Usability is usually associated with decreasing the time necessary to complete a task (and increasing efficiency), decreasing the time necessary to learn a new interface,or reducing the number of errors. Usability engineering commonly recommends a reduction of cognitive load, and seems to encourage the creation of “mindless” interfaces that simply don't require a great deal of thought to operate. Consider the cliché reference to “user friendly” as a means to describe computers: Poetry, even the most humane and beautiful, is rarely considered by the masses to be user friendly.

This is not to say that usability is not important. On the contrary, if one cannot understand a creation, this creation certainly cannot allow for a state of mindfulness or encourage creativity. However, in order to realize the state of awareness described above as critical to mindfulness, an element of challenge must be present. The pursuit of a creative solution is not an easy activity, yet the difficulty—the sense of accomplishment that occurs when completing a difficult task—can be thought of as one of the main attractors to participants in the design process. Striking the balance between usability and challenge is a difficult task informed by both experience and intuition. The poetics of art begin to clash dramatically with the fundamental need for usability, and future designers will need to make conscious choices of which to give primary importance.

There is more to life than usability. Few would characterize their marriage or friendships as usable—in fact, blatantly mean or hostile interaction paradigms may be a richer method of communication than the commonly accepted norm of efficient or foolproof. This is not to say that interfaces should be mean; it is simply to imply that interfaces must move beyond the baseline of usability for the simple fact that usability is boring.

Kasimir Malevich learned to paint in a postimpressionist technique prior to creating a white square on a white canvas; his ultimate goal, to free art from the burden of the object, was embraced only after understanding how to visualize the object in reality. So too did Pablo Picasso master proper technique before embracing the abstraction of cubism. Like other artists, these pioneers learned the fundamentals in order to reject them. We must understand usability in order to discuss the rejection of its principles. A naïve application of this text would be a blind rejection of all principles related to efficiency; that is not the goal. Instead, the synthesis of usability principles with the other elements of a true user-centered design process are necessary to accurately create complicated Interaction Design solutions.

Discursive Design

As it becomes apparent that the abnormality of a consumptive culture has introduced challenges and unexpected social and economic consequences, a growing area of cultural criticism has formed around design activities. This area of criticism is intended to provoke thought on the postindustrial world we've created, but the work, taking both the form of literary criticism as well as a new form of discursive design, does not act only as a simple layer of commentary. In the same way that artists respond to art criticism, so too do designers respond to design criticism, creating a dialogue related to human behavior and technology and offering criteria upon which to build design judgment.

Discursive design is defined by Stephanie and Bruce Tharp as “a category of product design that treats artifacts principally as transmitters of substantive ideas, rather than as mere instruments of utility.”

Of course, at some level, all products are transmitters of substantive ideas, and so a more robust definition might be “a category of design that is primarily intended to provoke public dialogue.” That's quite different from the typical goals of provide utility, generate revenue, or be aesthetic, and it positions design as a deeply culturally significant activity. The seemingly simple idea of shifting the goal of a product from utilitarian to conversational begins to describe how products can act as props in the larger context of our world, playing different roles at different times and supporting human behavior. It shifts the role of the designer from form giver, problem solver, or even public servant to provocateur—one that exists to cause others to question, to ask why, and to pursue reflection.

Allan Chochinov, who runs the design site core77, is a proponent of discursive design as a way of getting designers themselves to reflect on their profession and their work. As he describes, “While many artifacts are necessary and desirable, they need to be appreciated in their larger context; they are usually part of a greater whole. Many products are props in an experience; others are necessary tools to accomplish work or tasks; still others are totems or beloved objects. Some are just plain beautiful, or coveted, or disposable. In almost all of these roles, however, a product has just that—a role. And these days, with a greater appreciation of the consequences of mass production, the labor implications, the fuel, energy, and pollution in transporting goods back and forth around the globe, we need to be sure that when we tool up to manufacture something we're not doing so blindly, we have thought about the role of that artifact, and we have considered whether that role can be fulfilled in a more sustainable, local, respectful and humane way.”

The provocative nature of discursive design serves to show how things might be, could be, or desperately should not be. And in creating these solutions, designers actively change the role of the user from consumer to thinker.

SMSlingShot is an example of such discursion. The project takes the form of a public installation and allows users to add digital graffiti to large buildings by slinging the content onto the side of the walls. The designers explain, “Because of the increased commercial interest of paving public space with digital advertising screens the need for an accessible intervention device seemed obvious and necessary… People shall not only remain as a passive audience, they must obtain the privilege and beside that the right tools to create their own multimedia content in the streets.”

Adbusters is an example of an organization that continually uses this form of discursive design—often embodied in anticonsumerist mock advertising—in order to advance the discourse of an advertising-activism culture. They describe those engaged in discursive design as “culture jammers” and define the process as “critiquing mass media messages and their influence on culture by subverting their messages through artistic satire.”

When viewed through a lens of norms, memes, and discursion, it becomes apparent that designers help shape culture. Is it fair for us to claim success when things are going well? And much are we to blame when things go awry? We can shirk the responsibility and blame the media or the parents. After all, the whole of culture must be shaped by external forces. But if we truly consider the makers of culture and think critically about the shapers of our society, we find that the designer plays a role of utmost importance in dictating the future. A person is motivated to buy a specific item based on price, or utility, or function, or style. These attributes, integrated as a whole, speak of the value structure that the individual claims and integrates into his existence. Consumers often construct their place in the world through the products they buy, exhibiting a sense of individualism and manufacturing their sense of identity through their selection of brands and products. But the totality of these consumers is culture, and as already stated, the designer of products is a designer of culture. If we are to claim the victories of cultural resonance, we must also accept the blame and inherent responsibility that comes with such a critical role.

What We Choose to Design

Nicholas Negroponte, founder of the One Laptop Per Child initiative, has an optimistic view of our technological culture that is summarized in the epilogue of his text Being Digital: “Bits are not edible; they cannot stop hunger. Computers are not moral; they cannot resolve complex issues like the rights to life and to death. Being digital, nevertheless, does give much cause for optimism. Like a force of nature, the digital age cannot be denied or stopped. It has four very powerful qualities that will result in its ultimate triumph: decentralizing, globalizing, harmonizing, and empowering”.

This view of technology as a positive force of change is uplifting and perhaps even accurate. However, it still places digitization at the heart of the discussion of the future rather than embracing people as the focus of further explorations into connectivity. The “digital age,” in fact, cannot be empowering without empowering someone. This optimistic view of empowerment has simply not been realized. Conversations of complex product development still revert to a discussion of usability, as if “easily comprehensible” is somehow an investment of power. The Internet has not helped ease global tensions relating to religion and politics. In fact, it has possibly contributed to more censorship and the ability to spread hate speech. Cell phones have not assisted our culture in being more empathic but certainly have caused more traffic accidents. And, as Negroponte states, the Internet has certainly not stopped hunger. The potential, the vision of what this technology can do for humanity, is made understandable only when viewed from another subtly distinct perspective: What does humanity desire design to do? Humanity may desire, or even need, design to address the complex and gnarly problems that plague our culture and our economy.

John Maeda, a pioneer in creating connections between design and digitization, has created a Simplicity Consortium at the MIT Media Lab. The vision statement is itself a poetic view of design:

“In January 2004 the MIT Media Laboratory initiated a major research agenda focused on SIMPLICITY—a design-oriented program aimed at redefining our relationship with technology in our daily lives. This goes well beyond removing buttons, slimming down screens, and shrinking interfaces to fit into the palms of our hands. It is a radical reexamination of ways to break free from the intimidating complexity of today's technology and the frustration of information overload. It is about inventing a future where less is more. While a certain percentage of the population will always be gadget geeks who cannot get enough of complexity and functionality in any electronic device, most of us yearn for a DVD player whose programming is intuitive, an online newspaper that can deliver the stories we want in a quick and easy-to-read format, or a cell phone whose instruction book has fewer than 100 pages. We dream of devices that give us joy rather than feelings of inadequacy.”

To look for simplicity in technology, however, requires a deeper understanding of human wants and needs and a dramatic departure from the heralding of technological advancements as ends in themselves. Author Stephen Johnson discusses the lack of the true, deep emotional quality in the popular acceptance of technology: “We're reminded a dozen times each day that the digital revolution will change everything, and yet when we probe deeper to find out what exactly will change under this new regime, all we get are banal reveries of sending faxes from the beach” (Johnson 1999). In order to truly embrace the potentials of digital interactions, we must acknowledge the true richness of human interactions and utilize a true range of expressions relating to technological implementation.

Shifting negative behavior through design

One of the major shifts in culture that is occurring as a result of the so-called information revolution is our increased dependency on technology with regard to common, everyday activities. Many people view Google or a similar search engine as an extension of themselves; this reliance on a technical library of information to perform simple tasks creates both huge possibility as well as a troubling view of personal intellectual regression. This dependence has crept in slowly and now affects the majority of us in a silent and rather immediate fashion. Do you know the cell phone number of your wife or husband? How about your kids? The majority of us tends to program these numbers into our phones and promptly forget about them, as we know we have them readily available at the touch of a button. The same may be true of events, facts, and figures that we can find online or in our email; while we have freed our minds to consider other things, we may be on a long-term road toward disaster when our dependency gets the best of us and the proxy unit—the cell phone, the Internet, or our computer—fails us.

Consider a day without digital technology. Can you make it through one day—still completing your major goals for the day—without utilizing digital technology? From waking up to going to work—and your entire job may be, in fact, centered around digital technology—this reliance is on both the technical capabilities but also the ready accessibility we have to information. “Knowledge is power” may be outdated and shortsighted, but the essence of this mantra is true: Access to knowledge-provoking data is powerful. We make lists, take pictures, pay bills, and learn and live, and all of this causes the fabric of the culture to depend on human-centric information dissemination.

An interesting exercise is to compare your own upbringing with that of a child born in 1990, growing up in a middle-class suburb of a great American city. This child, 15 years old in 2005, has grown up with cell phones, Nintendo, digital music, and instant messaging; they don't know of a life without the Internet, and there is a strong chance that the majority of their toys—even the most mundane—had a digital component embedded in them. Their formative years included cable television with over a hundred channels, multiple computers in their home, and the ability to access the enormous library of Google at a whim. They are connected, pervasively in contact, and to call them “computer savvy” is a strong understatement. This digital upbringing has impacted nearly every aspect of life and has dramatically changed the skills and cultural capabilities that one can expect to have when graduating from high school. These connected children—now teenagers—can intuit complicated software interfaces and have no fear of digital failure; they understand computing limitations and almost innately absorb and understand new technology. They approach technology in a fundamentally different way than the generations they succeed; it appears that they simply don't blame themselves when technology fails, and they deflect a great deal of the cognitive friction that we associate with high tech.

This comprehension comes at a cost, however; it has been continually argued that this knowledge has been at the expense of the more traditional academic skills, such as reading and writing. Students entering college today are ill-prepared to write an analytically challenging research paper and have a hard time drawing connections between diverse and seemingly disjointed ideas. According to the fifth annual Reality Check study, a joint project by Public Agenda and Education Week, “Employers and college professors by large majorities nationwide say public high schools are graduating students with just fair or poor skills in writing, grammar, and basic math, and most do not consider a high school degree as any guarantee a student has mastered the basics.”

The National Assessment of Educational Progress (NAEP) reports an equally grim story: There are over 33 million K-12 students reading at least two grades below level, which is over two thirds of all K-12 students in the United States. The American Diploma Project (ADP) found that “… the high school exit exams that most states require students to pass before they graduate remain far too easy … most of the exams generally test eighth- or ninth-grade level work.”

An Interaction Designer must attempt to advocate for humanity at all levels; this includes the vocal assessment of what has become a digital and highly disposable culture, one that highlights and educates people in a diverse set of skills at the expense of other, analog skills. Have we inadvertently created a generation of short-attention-span computer whizzes—teenagers who can't spell or think but can operate digital technology at lightning speeds? And if we have, is this necessarily bad?

There were 159 million cell phones in use in the United States in 2003; most of us own a cellular phone, and many of us own two.

We carry digital cameras (more than 50 million were sold in 2003), digital music players (over 2 million iPods sold in 2004), digital gaming systems (Sony sold over half a million of the Sony PSP in the first two days of the product launch), and even digital keys.

Combined with laptops, pagers, and the occasional Tomogotchi digital pet, the majority of Americans encounters portable Interaction Design daily.

Neil Postman proposes an interesting addition to education in an attempt to fix this blind dependency on technology; his proposal is interesting in its presence within his primarily anti-technology text Technopoly, but also in the relationship he has created between language and technology. “I should like to propose that, in addition to courses in the philosophy of science, every school— again, from elementary school through college—offer a course in semantics—in the process by which people make meaning.” Imagine if students were educated not only in the tools and skills necessary to be good at their jobs but were also taught to understand, respect, and consider the nature of things.

It would be irresponsible to blame only technology, of course; one element cannot truly be isolated from the others when discussing issues as complicated as culture. Technology cannot be the driving force behind our creations; if Interaction Designers are motivated primarily by technology, they have inadvertently become engineers, speaking the language of logic and valuing efficiency over emotion. Yet technology is our creations, quite often; an interface on a computer is only bits and bytes, and the interface is the product and the medium is the message and the gods certainly are crazy.

The largest, most important, and often least reflective decision a designer can make is the subject matter that she chooses to design for. In a consultancy, any authority over this decision is usually abandoned, as most consulting firms take whatever work happens to come through the door. In most corporations, this decision is answered implicitly by the domain of the company: Be it cell phones, video games, consumer electronics, or medicine, the designer chooses the company to work at and the work generally follows in a predictable fashion. Both career trajectories force the design subject matter decision to be implicit, subtle, and often ignored. Yet this decision frequently constrains the types of cultural changes and the form of behavioral change that a designer will likely be able to offer. Just as there are existing criteria for designing to support usability or, as has been proposed above, to encourage poetry, there should also be criteria and reflective judgment upon which to choose to design at all. As the role of a designer becomes more obviously influential, it becomes increasingly necessary for a designer to have a point of view on his work and to fundamentally support design judgment not only of detailed design decisions but also of the design decisions related to subject matter and effort. Put simply, a designer has a limited amount of time in which to design, and not all design problems are equal— not all design problems are worth solving. Design has advanced to a point where designers must now force design judgment, where they must acknowledge the inconsequentiality of designing light fittings or chairs, and they must question the need to design more consumer electronics and gadgets and gizmos. Often the consequences of this form of conversation and introspection are personally negative: For those engaged in designing the next great mobile phone, it is easier said than done to simply quit their jobs, even when they fundamentally reject the consumptive culture they are helping to support. It is in the design of social systems, services, and humanitarian problem solving that these people will find new work and new sustenance, and it is in these topics—these wicked problems— that the discipline of design will finally come into its own.

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