Feedback is how we get better. It's how we find out what we couldn't see ourselves. But there are many reasons why it's more challenging to gather than we might hope.

You might have a design prototype, a book or article draft, a new practice you want your team to adopt, or a project you've been working on. Feedback will make it better, but it's easy to feel anxious.

You might want to avoid having to talk to people. Maybe you're worried about what others think—perhaps they won't like it. Maybe you'll have to start over. Maybe you'll hear what you know deep down. Maybe you might see that others could do it better than you, that it shouldn't be you that's doing it. Maybe you'll find out that you're a failure.

If we care about achieving the best outcome, we can dispel most of these fears with a few moments of reflection—of course, I'm not a failure for trying!—but it doesn't mean they feel any less real at the time. As is often the case, action can be the solution, and gathering feedback is, in my experience, usually energising and confidence-building—now you can see what will make your project fly.

Jane Austen was known to read her novels aloud to her family for both evening entertainment (pre-Netflix) and to help revise and hone her writing.

Remember, the first draft is always perfect.

Don't take things personally or yourself too seriously.

Don't get attached to one option—attach yourself instead to a great outcome.

To avoid sunk costs clouding your judgment, seek feedback before you're too invested.

Share multiple options when you can. It makes it easier for others to give comparative feedback and reduces the chances of taking it personally.

Remember how valuable good feedback has been in the past.

Consider who to gather feedback from. Sometimes complete strangers can help (who cares if they don't like it?), and other times a friendly face can ease you into it.

Remember the spectrum policy to focus on the good in an idea.

Feedback fear

With well-insulated houses and central heating as standard, I always grew up with heating the space as how you stay warm in the winter. A colleague once shared with me that where he'd lived, they thought of it as heating people, not spaces when looking to stay warm.

The heating people approach means rather than heating the air in the room, you focus on heating the person: warm clothes, hot drinks, baths, cosy furniture with high backs and sides that traps heat in, or furniture that is itself heated like the kotatsu or aga, and generally local heating where a small room or even part of a room may be warm while the rest may be cool — dividing screens are sometimes used.

This approach was common until relatively recently and also still is in countries where it was difficult to stay cool in the summer and houses weren't typically built to keep heat in.

Thanks to Peter Wyatt-Brandenburg for sharing with me many years ago.

Heating people, heating spaces

I've always been fascinated by how a tiny spider can create a web spanning a gap where climbing and dragging a thread across the floor would be impossible, maybe between trees, from a building to a lamppost, or over a stream. How do they do that? Here's a common technique by many orb weaver spiders — known for building orb-shaped, or circular wheel-shaped webs — for bridging the gap and creating the web.

The spider stands on the edge and lets out a long thread. It waits for the breeze to blow the thread away from them. If the thread catches onto something it can form a bridge thread.

Once it catches, the spider may reinforce the thread and then put down other anchors. These then form the frame of the web into which it will add radial threads from the centre.

The spider may then put down an auxiliary thread that provides a non-sticky frame, together with the radial threads, for it to walk on while it lays down the final sticky capture spiral. It's then set to lie in wait.

Some spiders will eat their webs at the end of the night but leave a bridge thread in place — perhaps for you to walk into in the morning — ready to rebuild the next night.

There is a vast diversity of spiders and webs. This is a fairly common example, but even within orb spider webs, there are a ton of different strategies for capturing prey. But perhaps, the next time you spot a bridge thread spanning a seemingly impossible gap this will give you a thought as to how it might have been done.

Here's a common orb spider web as a static sketch

You can watch darwin's bark spider on the BBC creating a web spanning a remarkable 25 metres

A common orb spider web

The magic of a first draft is that the first draft is always perfect. It doesn't matter if it's rubbish, if it's messy, if it doesn't flow, if it lacks personality, or if it won't work. The job of a first draft is to be a draft and get the process started. So however it turns out, the first draft has done its job perfectly.

In the illustrated art collection by Dr Seuss you can see some of the first drafts and iterations of text and images that go to refine the seemingly effortless rhythm, rhyme and combination of text and images from his wacky illustrations.

Donald Schön, in his classic The Reflective Practitioner, goes further by sharing his analysis of design as a reflective conversation – observing each mark sketched on paper informs the next you make. You don't know how it will turn out until you put pen to paper. Seeing what comes out allows you to adapt and modify as you go in a back-and-forth of discovery and evaluation.

Don't worry about your first draft — it'll be perfect.

I read this for the first time in an article by Casey Fowler that's no longer live. Most likely, it originates from the novelist Jane Smiley:

"Every first draft is perfect because all the first draft has to do is exist. It's perfect in its existence. The only way it could be imperfect would be to NOT exist."

The first draft is always perfect

We're all different sizes, and there is no one-size-fits-all, but when it comes to the chosen size it turns out that that size mostly fits men better.

Caroline Criado Perez in her book Invisible Women shares how so much of the designed world fits men better than women — examples include piano keyboards that make playing more technically difficult and more prone to injury for smaller hands, stab vests that didn't take account of breasts, crash test dummies for car seats tested only with males, toilets that always lead to queues, phones that don't fit female hands or pockets, and voice recognition that picks out male voices more easily.

It's a stark reminder of how we need to do more to design with more of the world in mind rather than the default reference male. 

Read more: The deadly truth about a world built for men – from stab vests to car crashes.

See also brilliance bias and the curb-cut effect.

One-size-fits-men

An ode to the importance of little things.

This classic poem memorably paints a picture of how small details can matter, and how small changes can make a difference. Taking that extra bit of care, adding that extra bit of polish, helping that person when you had nothing to gain, showing up with generosity — all small actions that through their effect on others can, ultimately, have a large impact.

This same idea also applies to how we choose to spend our money and our time through contagious commerce — from Seth Godin:

While one person choosing not to eat meat will have a small impact on our climate, it will have a much bigger impact on the restaurants, groceries and food suppliers who notice what you’re doing.

They’ll change what they offer, and that will lead to a multiplier effect of other people changing their habits.

Buying an electric car or installing solar before they’re the obvious economic choice has the same impact. Because once marketers and investors discover that there’s a significant group that likes to go first, they’re far more likely to invest the time and energy to improve what’s already there...

...Very few people have the leverage to change the world. But all of us have the chance to change the people around us, and those actions change what gets built, funded and launched.

For want of a nail the shoe was lost.
For want of a shoe the horse was lost.
For want of horse the rider was lost.
For want of a rider the battle was lost.
For want of a battle the kingdom was lost.
And all for want of a nail.

For want of a nail

The curb-cut effect illustrates how when we design to benefit disadvantaged or vulnerable groups we end up helping society as a whole.

Angela Glover Blackwell explains how campaigning by students with disabilities in Berkeley in the early 1970s led to adding curb cuts to the Berkeley sidewalks to make access easier for those in wheelchairs. Yet it wasn't just people in wheelchairs that it helped. Curb cuts also made life easier for people pushing children in strollers, people using trolleys for deliveries, people pulling a suitcase, those wheeling bikes or on skateboards, and it also helps save lives by guiding people to cross at safe locations.

Another example is adding closed captioning to TV that helps anyone watch in a noisy bar, a waiting room, or watching an airline safety video. Or a classic example of universal design in the OXO Good Grips range originally made to be comfortable for holding a peeler even if you have arthritis.

It's also a useful analogy for "how laws and programs designed to benefit vulnerable groups, such as the disabled or people of color, often end up benefiting all," (PolicyLink) whether that be increasing broadband access, improving public transport or taking cuts out of curbs.

Here's a short, fun video of Gary Karp explaining the curb-cut effect.

Thanks to my patron Quintin Balsdon for sharing it with me.

The curb-cut effect

Forcing functions are a super way to help make things foolproof, or better, errorproof — as all of us make mistakes with designed things without being fools. You may have used your own forcing function when, in an attempt to make sure you remember your passport or tickets before a flight, you put them directly in front of the door so you couldn’t open it without noticing them. That little dialogue that asks you if you want to save your changes before closing your work, that’s a forcing function too.

My first memory of understanding a forcing function was when working with a giant machine capable of cutting through 100 pieces of paper at a time. The two buttons to operate it were on opposite sides of the machine. I couldn’t start the machine without spreading my arms out wide. There was then no way to also accidentally have your fingers in with the paper and near the blades when it started. Smart.

I learned this sense of forcing function from Don Norman’s classic The Design of Everyday Things. Also from Don, see Mapping.

The other sense of forcing functions for productivity is also really useful: helping kick ourselves into action.

Forcing function — design

When I look back at the LEGO sets of my youth compared to the LEGO sets of today, a few things are striking. Today’s is much cooler: the colours are better, the pieces are more interesting, and the sets are more clever (they also have a lot more weapons*). And the sets have their own characters: they’re not just nameless people in characterless towns—every set is full of people with names, expressions, backstories, personalities and goals. My observation, ahem, through our children, is that this makes it way more interesting to play with. It’s the characters and the story that make them so good now. A good part of that I think is also the shift in quality of expressions on the faces.

I am kind of in awe of LEGO faces. The number and variety and subtlety of expressions it’s possible to make with just a few small changes to a few small lines on a face I find truly astounding. This sketchplanation shows just a tiny bit of the variety from the LEGO Movies. Respect to the artists.

*5% of Lego boxes sold in 2001 contained Lego weapons. In 2014 that was 30% according to Bartneck C, Min Ser Q, Moltchanova E, Smithies J, Harrington E (2016) Have LEGO Products Become More Violent? PLoS ONE 11(5): e0155401.

LEGO faces

Chindogu are inventions that are not really useful but are at the same time, not completely without use. They make sense, but you’d never use them. They are also, as a result, often really funny.

This chindogu article gives some great examples while also sharing the 10 tenets of what makes chindogu, chindogu. Things like: there must be the spirit of anarchy —  they represent freedom of thought and action. And they must exist — just the idea isn’t enough, they must be made.

Apparently, the selfie-stick was invented as chindogu but failed as people evidently actually found it useful — though you can still see why it might have started as chindogu.

Chindogu

The default table crowds out your data with non-data-ink and locks your data into cells. When data is locked into cells their relationships with other data is harder to see and the reader has to work harder to learn from your table.

When making a table of data consider if, by adjusting spacing and alignment, you can make the columns or rows clear enough as they are without the prison bars. And look for opportunities to remove the visual noise to let your data and the relationships between them shine out.

The data prison is a concept from Edward Tufte. Check out the beautiful Envisioning Information, for more.

The data prison

This simple model for the progression of ideas is sometimes called a dialectic. It has many philosophical roots, but regardless it’s a nice way to think of how ideas, and perhaps society can progress. Something is created or put forward. It has some benefits but gives rise to negative effects and somehow we figure out a resolution as progress. That new solution then becomes the basis for the next step.

In engineering I learned that we progress by the resolution of contradictions. As a very simple example, it’s nice to have a walking stick. But a full-length walking stick is difficult to transport. You want it to be long when you’re walking, and short when you’re traveling with it. So we invent retractable ones. But retractable ones break more easily, so we invent…to be determined.

You also see a similar idea in stories, for example, the story spine.

It’s sometimes erroneously called Hegel’s dialectic, perhaps partly because Hegel’s work was sometimes so difficult to grasp and this is nicely simple.

Thesis, antithesis, synthesis

I love this concept of the study of social distance, or how humans use space. Distinct from ergonomics, which is more about how people fit into their environment, proxemics focuses on the social aspect of space. For example: At what distance are you intimate? Where does your personal space end? How far away should you be for a good conversation? Why are the big circular wedding and conference tables so bad? How close should desks be in an office to encourage collaboration without feeling jammed together?

Dev Patnaik at Jump Associates used to give the fine example of how you will whisper politely and with awe in the vaulted ceilings of a cathedral, while the confessional box — for people to share their deepest secrets — is low and close. An olde English pub that you stoop to enter under the low ceiling immediately feels friendly and intimate, whereas you’ll struggle to have a deep conversation on entering a warehouse.

Proxemics was coined by the cultural anthropologist Edward Hall. His book The Hidden Dimension has the details.

Proxemics

Two factor authentication is the neat technique of adding extra security by requiring two different types of verification. So, rather than ask you to provide two passwords — both things you could remember or find written down — if you are asked to provide a password and a code you could only have if you had a particular device, security is greatly enhanced.

The usual factors involved include asking for two from:

Hence the convenience of photo ID where you have to provide the ID and also look like the photo. Or provide a ticket and a code, or a chip and pin…

Also see: choose passwords that make you happy, and 8 character passwords.

2 factor authentication

Conway was mostly observing software development, but I would think it has some application to any large project: cruise ship design, car design, space shuttle design, heck maybe even governments and law.

Law is kind of a strong word for an observation, but in any case, here are some other ‘laws’: Fitt’s law, Metcalfe’s law, Goodhart’s Law, Muphry’s law, Moore’s law, Koomey’s law, the law of diminishing brownies, the law of lockers and, my favourite, Hofstadter’s Law.

PS: As you read this I may be cycling mid-lake and trying not to sink to raise money for charity: www.cycleorsink.com

Conway’s Law

This is the triangle between the most key parts of a kitchen — the sink, the hob and the fridge. The idea is that, when planning the layout of a kitchen, you should consider that you’ll be moving between these three regularly. Ideally, if you can get them just a step or a turn away from each other then your kitchen will be efficient and feel a pleasure to use.

Another handy thought is to allow trips to and from the fridge while someone may be preparing food without getting in their way — so having the fridge not deep at the back of the kitchen can be handy.

Plus, there’s a useful secondary triangle to consider between the sink, the dishwasher and your storage. Think rinse, dishwash and put away without having to trek back and forth across the kitchen all the time.

A more recent concept is to think of zones instead, such as the preparing zone, the cooking zone, the washing zone or the backing zone and make sure each of these has everything you need in them for the activity.

And make sure when the dishwasher is open there’s room to walk around it without it getting totally in the way. Also see: how to load a dishwasher well.

The kitchen working triangle

I love this concept of the third teacher that applies just as well in a primary school as in an office. A well-designed environment can help us learn, encourage good habits, and improve our wellbeing.

I remember a previous mentor of mine saying he could tell how a project was doing just by taking in the project room.

Too often these days the environment is hidden away in software. A well-designed environment can really be a third teacher. Consider how you can make the most of yours.

Here's the third teacher illustration without the animation

The third teacher

This is military strategist John Boyd’s framework for combat operations that also turns out to apply quite well to businesses and learning in general. It’s really not that far from the ol’ test-learn cycle or a good design process.

There’s lots of nuance to his framework, but some of the application of it that I like includes:

The faster you can do this loop — at your startup or in a fight — the more stuff you will get to try and the faster you will learn

If you’re in competition with another entity then completing your OODA loop fast, and acting to change the environment for them, disrupts their loop and forces them back to observe before they can act. It slows them down and creates confusion

I learned about it from Reid Hoffman’s excellent Masters of Scale podcast.

OODA Loop

Simon Sinek’s simple idea to start with why. To get a better feel, watch his 18min TED talk: How great leaders inspire action. I found his concrete example of “It was the ‘I have a dream’ speech, not the ‘I have a plan’ speech,” helps keep in mind the power of starting with why and painting a vision in order to inspire and lead. Now, if you have a vision, a strategy and a plan, well, then you’re in business.

People don’t buy what you do, they buy why you do it.
— Simon Sinek

Simon’s has parallels with another I like:

Products aren’t just things that you buy, they’re things that you buy into.

The golden circle

You could do worse than follow this for most simple branding. Think of a suit where about 60% of the colour you see is the suit, 30% the shirt and 10% accent or highlight with the tie. Classic.

60-30-10 Colour rule

I’ve found this model useful in my thinking so many times. Also known as the Buying Hierarchy, it’s a model that illustrates a common evolution — though not perfect nor universal — in products and markets where an original innovation provides a performance or functionality benefit over what others can provide. As a result they can charge more as no one else does it.

When others come to deliver that too, then the focus for the customer can move to which delivers the most reliable quality. When the reliability is the same from different providers then we’ll choose the one that is more convenient.

Only once all else is equal does the lowest price option become the winning one. At this stage you’re selling a commodity where people could choose to get the same thing, just as easily, for the same quality in several places.

There’s a business to be made at each stage, but it’s sensible to know where you’re competing.

The original model is from Windermere Associates and widely shared by Clayton Christensen in The Innovator’s Dilemma.

The customer value chain

A way of helping decide what to do next based on Must do, Should do, Could do and Would do.

Strangely, so many of the things you’d really like to do when put in this organisation end up in the Would bucket.

MOSCOW Prioritisation.

The proportions of the golden ratio pop up in all sorts of places. They are a handy shortcut to make something we seem to innately find pleasingly proportioned. In Nature, the golden spiral abounds across the shell of the nautilus, the spiral of strawberry seeds, the spikes of cacti, and hurricanes. It’s found in the Pyramids and the Parthenon, the Mona Lisa, violins, photography and, very deliberately, in corporate logos. No wonder it’s sometimes called the golden ratio of beauty. There’s a pleasing simplicity to the equation too, where the ratio of the long over the short dimension is the same as both added together over the long dimension.

Check out some golden ratio examples. Even Trump.

The golden ratio

A remarkably common pattern for the evolution of many things. You see it all the time in the evolution of technical things, but also many systems in general.

When you start to reach the top of the limits of what one system can do you’ll start to see a focus on efficiency, cost reduction and small improvements and optimisation. This is great because it forces a new creative solution to arise in order to make any real progress. An image search gives a few examples.

Also, see some related sketchplanations: The long nose of innovation, designing for adoption, understanding the chasm.

The S-curve.

I learned about 2.5D, or two and a half dimensions, from my engineering days. Turns out it’s really quite common to make 2.5D things because, for example, it’s easy to drill or mill down into something, and a pain to turn something on it’s side and drill from the other side. Or, as with vacuum forming it’s easy to suck plastic onto a mould, but a pain to get it off if you’ve got any overhangs as you can’t lift it straight up again. Hence the plastic sandpit in our garden is a 2.5D object rather than true 3D. Civilisation in general looks rather 2.5D from the air as we tend to build up, but don’t find overhangs that easy or practical eg the pyramids.

2.5D

Often, the form of the data is obvious enough for what it is that you might consider simplifying by removing the label.

Let your data speak for itself.

The time to a target depends on the ratio of distance to the target over it’s size. So clicking on a small target close by might take a similar time to clicking on a large target further away. It’s a simple model and there are a few little games out there to bring it home in practice.

I’m reminded however, of an observation from a mentor of mine, Darrell Mann, that just because people call it a law doesn’t mean you have to treat it like one. The example of Apple’s standard program icons at the base of the screen that expand when you mouse near them, are a simple technique that help to overcome the limitations of Fitt’s law. There are plenty more. Don’t be sucked in to laziness by a name.

Fitts’ Law

Ways that we adapt to the world without thinking. Coined by Jane Fulton Suri of IDEO, including her nifty book with a ton of examples. Typically great inspiration for design.

Thoughtless acts

The number of connections that your brain has to make to figure something out.

It seems like David Demaree may be the reference for this.

Cognitive overhead

Desire paths: created by desire and use. Sometimes I find myself walking on the traces of one as a statement that ‘there ought to be a path here’ - voting with my feet.

There’s the classic, perhaps apocryphal, story of the architect who didn’t build any paths on a campus until people had worn them in, showing where the paths should be.

The phenomena has found use in technology with the phrase 'pave the cowpaths’.

One emergent behaviour-related concept arising from architecture and planning which has also found application in human-computer interaction is the idea of desire lines, desire paths or cowpaths. The usual current use of the term (often attributed, although apparently in error, to Bachelard’s The Poetics of Space (1964)) is to describe paths worn by pedestrians across spaces such as parks, between buildings or to avoid obstacles—“the foot-worn paths that sometimes appear in a landscape over time” (Mathes, 2004) and which become self-reinforcing as subsequent generations of pedestrians follow what becomes an obvious path. Throgmorton & Eckstein (2000) also discuss Chicago transportation engineers’ use of ‘desire lines’ to describe maps of straight-line origin-to-destination journeys across the city, in the process revealing assumptions about the public’s ‘desire’ to undertake these journeys. In either sense, desire lines (along with use-marks (Burns, 2007)) could perhaps, using economic terminology, be seen as a form of revealed user preference (Beshears et al, 2008) or at least revealed choice, with a substantial normative quality.

Architecture, urbanism, design and behaviour: a brief review, Dan Lockton, Sep 2011

Or see this very concrete example from UC Berkeley at peterme.com.

Desire path

A shift in the way we develop for digital devices. The mantra used to be ‘graceful degradation’ - design for what you expect people to use, then let your application gracefully degrade for older browsers, and smaller screens. Generally speaking the richest application, and the first to design for, was on the desktop.

A more recent approach is mobile first. Start with core content, design for the smallest screens and least capable browsers, then progressively enhance the experience onto larger more capable devices, browsers and screens. My intro from Mobile First by Luke Wroblewski.

Progressive enhancement

I very often find myself reflecting on what ought to be an improvement to the caveman-esque communication method that is the horn. But it’s harder than it seems I think to make something that supports helpful behaviour, provides safety and avoids lawsuits. Surely can’t be that hard though…

Use of the car horn

Metaphors for interface design from Rachel Hinman via Mobile First.

Mobile is snorkelling. Desktop is diving

Refers to a poem about a cart that worked perfectly for years and then collapses without warning. Useful parallels in engineering and design. For example, torch lights would generally benefit from being more like the one-hoss shay. A bike light gets progressively worse as the batteries get weak, and cycling gets increasingly dangerous until you decide you can’t take it any more. Much better to have a light that stayed full power, then warned you before it died.

Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay,

And then, of a sudden, it — ah, but stay,

I’ll tell you what happened without delay,

Frightening people out of their wits, —

That the Deacon finished the one-hoss shay.

Now in building of chaises, I tell you what,

There is always somewhere a weakest spot, —

In hub, tire, felloe, in spring or thill,

In panel, or crossbar, or floor, or sill,

In screw, bolt, thoroughbrace, — lurking still,

Above or below, or within or without, —

A chaise breaks down, but doesn’t wear out.

With an “I dew vum,” or an “I tell yeou”)

He would build one shay to beat the taown

‘N’ the keounty 'n’ all the kentry raoun’;

It should be so built that it couldn’ break daown:

“Fur,” said the Deacon, “’t’s mighty plain

Thut the weakes’ place mus’ stan’ the strain;

'N’ the way t’ fix it, uz I maintain,

T’ make that place uz strong uz the rest.”

So the Deacon inquired of the village folk

That couldn’t be split nor bent nor broke, —

He sent for lancewood to make the thills;

The crossbars were ash, from the straightest trees,

The panels of white-wood, that cuts like cheese,

But lasts like iron for things like these;

The hubs of logs from the “Settler’s ellum,” —

Last of its timber, — they couldn’t sell 'em,

And the wedges flew from between their lips,

Their blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips;

Thoroughbrace bison-skin, thick and wide;

That was the way he “put her through.”

“There!” said the Deacon, “naow she’ll dew!”

Children and grandchildren — where were they?

But there stood the stout old one-hoss shay

The Deacon’s masterpiece strong and sound.

“Hahnsum kerridge” they called it then.

In fact, there’s nothing that keeps its youth,

Take it. — You’re welcome. — No extra charge.)

FIRST OF NOVEMBER, — the Earthquake-day, —

There are traces of age in the one-hoss shay,

There couldn’t be, — for the Deacon’s art

Sketchplanations tagged with design