Know Thyself

I've been thinking about developments in wearable technology lately. Fitbit, Nike Fuel band, Jawbone's Up, and nascent technology like the Melon headband promise to generate mountains of data about our activity levels, heart rate, sleep cycles, and moods. Assuming these devices track things accurately (and that they're tracking the right things) the question becomes: what will we do with all of this information?

Theoretically, the more an individual knows, the better able he should be to control his own behavior and sort of … optimize himself. Athletes do this all the time, tuning and testing their bodies to perform a limited set of tasks as efficiently as possible. But what if you're not sure what to optimize yourself for?

I suspect that for most of us, it comes down to two motivating factors. We want to feel happy as often as possible, and we're afraid of death. Will these devices that promise to make us aware of sedentary habits, connect us with our friends, teach us which environments encourage productive behavior and which are toxic, actually make us feel happier? Will they help us live longer?

For me, so much of the answer to that depends on the quality of the data and the means by which it's collected and presented. 

I recently sold my Nike Fuel band. Some of the reason was dissatisfaction with aspects of the hardware, most of it was that I woke up one morning with the realization that I just didn't CARE. I don't care about fuel points, Nike's proprietary and slightly mysterious measure of activity level. The squiggly graph illustrating the intensity of my arm waving over the course of a day interested but was not fascinating enough to compel me to wear it. Fuel points don't teach anything your body doesn't already tell you, if you're willing to listen.

I want to wear a device that makes it easy for me to discover insights that would otherwise stay hidden and unknowable to my conscious self. Further, I want that information to be actionable in the context of my personal agenda, rather than the agenda of an apparel company that mostly wants me to buy new shoes and spandex. 

Not that there's anything wrong with new shoes or spandex.

Designing for Google Glass (Part Two)

At approximately 4:13pm on May 9th of this year, one of the developers at my office received a notification that a package had arrived at his home. He leapt up from his desk without a second thought, hopped into his compact car, and tore out of the parking garage like he'd been told the wrapper of something nearby and highly explosive was engulfed in flames.

In reality, the only thing on fire was the heart of a team burning with desire to get our hands on the Google Glass hardware sitting on Adam's front step. While he rushed home to pick up the fateful package, the rest of us hovered around a nearby whiteboard wall and made a plan that would guide us over the 24 hours we'd been given to build a prototype.

Although we didn't have Google Glass in hand (or on face) just yet, I wanted to explore how the device might deliver relevant, actionable information in a situation where a phone or tablet would be difficult to use because of full or dirty hands. So while the devs sat down to sift through the documentation and set up the services that would allow us to load tiles onto the device once Adam returned with it, I went home to bake some bread.

* * *

Back at my apartment, I pulled out a pack of index cards and a fat black marker and set to work dividing Emeril Lagasse's Basic Italian Bread recipe into a series of short, easily digested steps. 

Most recipes list ingredients and quantities first, then follow up with an orderly description of the action the cook needs to take in order to execute. That works fine when you're looking at a book or an iPad or whatever and can refer back to the list and the quantities whenever you want (like a boss), but I realized that if I were wearing Glass while baking I'd benefit more from seeing ingredients and quantities presented in context. 

With that acknowledged, it seemed reasonable to display a scrollable list of everything you'd need right at the start of a given baking endeavor. At this point, the cook's hands would probably be clean enough to touch the device and scroll through the list, and I certainly felt that an overview overlay would have helped when I started digging through my crowded pantry for supplies.

As I progressed through the steps outlined in the Basic Italian Bread recipe, becoming increasingly coated with flour and praying that the yeast would behave itself in the oven, I began editing my timeline cards. I streamlined the index card steps as I baked, combining things, removing extra words and looking for repetition that might suggest a reusable tile template.

The first template that came to mind was for a simple pre-set timer. Timers and alerts keep recipes on track; I'd set six separate timers over the course of baking my single loaf of bread. It would be best if Glass queued up the appropriate timer right when I needed it, and then I'd be able to start it using head gestures or voice commands during the kneading/proofing process. I'd also be able to walk away from the kitchen and do something else entirely, confident that Glass would alert me when the time came to punch down the bread.

At last, as my finished loaf cooled on the kitchen counter, I took the recipe cards I'd outlined and edited and entered them into a HTML/JSON generator on the Glass Playground site. The site is designed to spit out Glass-ready code and even styles the tiles so that the text scales automatically and renders in the default font. Assuming the developers had been able to connect to the device in my absence, I'd soon be able to experience my version of the Basic Italian Bread recipe in my right eye.

* * *

When I got back to the office, I encountered the team joyfully nerding out with Google Glass. Everyone who walked by our desks wanted to put it on, say "okay Glass," to take a picture, and then have their picture taken wearing it. It was like we'd become one of those "OMG WORLD'S LARGEST DINOSAUR statue!" attractions you see signs for on the side of the highway during long road trips through the desert southwest.

It just feels so … future-y … to walk around with that little glowing rectangle of information in your field of view at all times. It was also almost impossible for any of us to use Glass gracefully or with elegance at first. For my part, I'm relatively dyslexic and I have bad vision. So just imagine: you see a person who looks strangely spaced out, swiping and tapping the side of her head, and occasionally mumbling things like, "okay," and "sh**t!" and "take a video," over and over. 

It took me more than a little practice to be able to tap, swipe side to side or downward, or to lift my chin the right amount to wake Glass and not get lost in the interface as though my three year old self had somehow wandered away from my grandfather at Disneyland. But by the end of the night I'd got the gestures down pat and was by far the biggest Glasshole in the office.

From the beginning of our exploration, we'd posited that this very early version of the hardware won't replace your smartphone or tablet (at least - not in the short term). Because of that, we designed our prototype to connect to an existing recipe app that runs on Android. The idea was that a user should be able to browse through recipes, store, save, and build shopping lists on his phone. When it comes time to do the actual messy food prep and things start to get real, the user would be able to send the recipe to Glass and step through it. 

Once we had our hands on Google Glass, we learned that in its current form the device only responds to certain voice commands in certain contexts. So my dreams of advancing from tile to tile with the merest lift of the chin or by saying "yeah, I've got it," or "go on" were temporarily shattered.

After sulking for a little while and feeling sorry for ourselves, the team realized that we'd be able to tell the phone to listen for voice commands and then send the info to Google's servers - which would send the message to Glass. We tried it out. It wasn't elegant and it wasn't instantaneous. But it worked.

* * *

By the next day, the developers were able send tiles to Glass and display them on the device. Over the course of our project they'd demonstrated that it's possible to connect Glass to the apps on your phone, leveraging advanced features and capabilities to make Glass even better in hands-free situations. We'd learned about what Glass can do and what it can't do yet. I'd adapted a recipe, made a video, and designed 17 timeline tiles, a tile template, and some screens for an app. 

And I'd baked a loaf of bread.

After thinking about it for a while and testing the device, I'm comfortable stating that the current interaction paradigm for Google Glass doesn't work. It's clunky and unnatural, draws too much attention, and it's too easy to get lost in the interface. But I do think there's a bright future for this type of technology, especially as it gets smarter about displaying information directly relevant to what you're doing or where you're going. Better sensors, better software, more integration with your personal data, and maybe even a more symmetrical hardware design could lead to mass adoption of this technology. I'm excited to see what happens.

Links

Project Artifacts

Designing for Google Glass

I've been sifting through the materials Google recently published for designers and developers starting to produce apps for Glass. Whether you predict that the device will languish on the sun-starved faces of the technorati or believe that Glass will eventually meld seamlessly with your Ray-Bans, the technology poses an intriguing design problem. What changes when you're wearing your apps on your face?

This post is part one of a pair that I'm writing about Google Glass. Towards the end of the week, I'll be working with a team of developers to build a prototype app for Glass. This first post is a roundup of the thinking and research I've been doing to prepare, and the second post will describe the project itself along with the process we'll be using to design and build the prototype. 

Google offers four helpful guiding principles I'll take as a starting point:

1. Design for Glass

Remember that Google glass is totally different from any other mobile platform - the screen sits more or less just above your eye. This means users have to be able to absorb information quickly or they'll wind up with the strange, unfocused look of people who are gazing intently at their own reflection and don't know you can see them through the two-way mirror. Which would be awkward, to say the least.

I also think it's important to minimize the amount of tapping and swiping that takes place as you interact with an app for Glass. Fiddling with the side of the device isn't something we're used to doing or seeing people do; it looks … twitchy. I haven't tested the voice commands but if they're halfway decent, I'd lean on those, especially in situations where people need to use both hands for whatever they're doing. 

2. Don't get in the way

Have you ever been out to dinner with someone who follows several sports teams, is an avid Twitter conversationalist, is texting three friends simultaneously, and who absolutely cannot NOT look at his phone? Now imagine the impact on said dinner if your friend had constant notifications arriving DIRECTLY TO HIS FACE. Even if he had the decency to tell you what he was learning, it would be like eating out with the CNN Headline News ticker. Minimize notifications and make them easy to dismiss or ignore.

Eventually someone will put cheap, tacky, irrelevant ads into a Google Glass app. Don't let yourself be that person. Be the ball, be all you can be, but don't be that person.   

3. Keep it timely

Glass is set up to display timeline cards in sequence like ants marching one by one under a diminutive magnifying glass. A timeline card is not the same thing as an app screen at all. The experience is more like that Bob Dylan music video with the poster cards and the counterculture (except minus the music and the counterculture). 

I think the implication for apps is that experiences or interactions that unfold in a linear fashion without offering a ton of different options will be best suited for Glass in its earliest form. We advise clients to avoid rehashing their websites when building apps for phones and tablets; on Glass I think a deep-linked, hierarchical content structure would fail epictastically. 

4. Avoid the unexpected

I don't like surprises at all (really - I don't like them one bit, not even good ones). And I certainly wouldn't like to find out that something I said in casual conversation triggered a Facebook post or Tweet. I would be somewhat miffed to find out that I'd inadvertently signed up for a service or invited 500 friends and acquaintances to look at my amazing photos (cough, Path, cough). Google reminds us that it is not good practice to spam people or take action without a user's permission. 

While Google makes this point with regard to unexpected functionality, it may become critical to avoid surprising the people around you when you're wearing Glass. For example, I think it's a good thing that you have to explicitly tell Glass to take a picture because it alerts people to the fact that you're capturing their image for your own purposes.

So with these points in mind and after looking at the links I've shared below (most of which were ferreted out by Jenni Leder) I'm starting to sketch out a concept for an app for Glass. I'll post the results of my team's experiment sometime next week. In the meantime, let me know what I've missed!

Useful Links

The World According to Glass

Glass Companion

Glass UI Guidelines

Testing Glass

Amber Case tries and reviews Google Glass

Parodies

SNL Sketch

White Men Wearing Google Glass Tumblr

Strong Reservations

Was Mailbox the first app that relied on an obnoxious wait list/reservation system to throttle the number of active users and prevent poor performance due to system overload? I'm sensing a trend: Tempo, which is (presumably) a badass AI calendar app, has made me wait in line for two and a half weeks already. TWO AND A HALF WEEKS. TO USE A CALENDAR APP. WHAT.

The idea behind the wait list is that once the backend systems have scaled up in step with demand, you'll receive a code that unlocks the full feature set of the app and it will perform much much more better than it would if they let everyone use it all at once. It sounds reasonable, but the concept has my knickers in a twist for three reasons:

1. In its "wait list" state, the app takes up space on my phone without providing any value other than reserving my place in line. Couldn't you guys hold my place through some kind of email-based list and then contact me so that I can download the app when I'll actually be able to use it? 

2. The longer you make me wait, the more valuable I will find your app… Until you make me wait so long I either forget about you or worse, I become irritated that you are squatting on my home screen and not making yourself useful. And then I will delete you.

3. If you are as slow to open up to users as Tempo has been (allowing approximately 1000 users per day), then I will expect that when at last I am able to use your app, it will be so incredibly performant and delightful due to all the protections you have in place that I will almost certainly be disappointed with your actual product. BLEH.

I respect that these developers are attempting to create a reliable and functional user experience by scaling at a sustainable rate. Maybe I'm impatient and demanding. Actually I am definitely impatient and demanding. But I can't help feeling that after three days, guests, fish, and useless wait list apps start to stink… 

10 Steps to Prototyping with POP

Over the years I've spent a not inconsiderable amount of time helping to choreograph enormous, complicated, expensive systems so that specific groups of human beings can derive benefit from them. And whether the end product of those efforts was a multistory building or an app running on a mobile device, one of the best ways to figure out how all the parts and pieces should fit together has been to build a tiny, simple, cheap representation of the thing (or of parts of the thing) in order to test it: in short, to build a prototype.

In a perfect world prototypes are executed quickly, answer a specific question, prevent you from falling in love with bad ideas, allow you to communicate your strategy to others then gather feedback, and can bake you a tasty pecan pie. In the real world, it's not always easy to build a prototype that definitively moves your project or your thinking forward. Make sure you're asking yourself the right questions and take a moment to consciously select the right prototyping tool for the task at hand. The methods and techniques you choose to test your ideas will have an impact on whatever it is you end up designing.

So in that spirit, I'll discuss an app I recently re-discovered called POP that makes building quick prototypes for iPhone (using an iPhone) a breeze. With POP, you snap photos of your freehand sketches, bring them to life by linking them together to simulate the user experience, and then easily share your prototype with others. If your project is farther along, you can save your design comps to your phone's photo gallery, upload them to POP, and create a higher-fidelity prototype. 

Here's how to use POP:

1. Download the app!

2. Open up POP and tap the plus icon in the upper left hand corner to add a new project. Enter a name for your new prototype in the pop up and hit save.

3. Take or choose a photo of your paper sketch or digital comp by tapping the appropriate icon in the tab bar at the bottom of the  screen, then move, scale, and crop the image to fit within the on-screen guides. Tap save.

4. Add the rest of your screens (don't worry if your ideas aren't fully worked out, you can always add, replace, or remove screens later!)

5. Reorder the screens if necessary by long-pressing the screen you want to move. It will wiggle slightly to indicate that you can reposition it. The screen in the upper left corner is the one your prototype will launch with.

6. To link screens together, tap a particular screen to bring it into focus. Tap the plus icon to create a hotspot on screen. You can reposition and shrink or enlarge the hot-spotted area by dragging the hotspot and its corners. 

7. When you've placed the hotspot exactly where you want it, tap "Link To" to choose which screen should appear when the user taps the hotspot area. You can also choose a transition from the list at the bottom of the screen. The basic transition is a cross-fade, but you can also slide your next screen into view from the right or left, or from the top or bottom.

8. Repeat until all of your screens are properly linked and transitioning properly. Tap the play icon to test your prototype.

9. When you've edited your prototype to your satisfaction, tap the share icon in the lower right corner of the screen. You can share your prototype through Facebook, Twitter, Mail, or even via Message. Anyone with the share link can see your prototype! 

10. Tapping your share link on an iPhone will open the prototype in Safari. You'll be prompted to save the page to your home screen, and doing so will place an app icon there. Tap the icon to view the prototype.

POP is a great tool because everything is happening at one to one scale: you sketch your ideas out at full size on a sketch pad, snap a photo with your phone, and then test your prototype in the exact setting in which your users will experience your app (the iPhone). Proper context gives you a clearer understanding of the experience you're creating and makes it easier to communicate it to others. 

Download POP app here and test it out for yourself!

The Beginning of the End

There's a story behind every project, whether it's dramatic and complicated like deconstructing the plot of a classic Russian novel, or short and sweet like the process of making and eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. No matter what form the project in question takes, there's always a beginning when an idea lights you on fire and the heat spurs you into action; there's a middle, where you finally understand exactly what you're making and you're working steadily; and there's an end, usually a relief-filled moment when you decide that you've gone far enough and it's time to let go. You've eaten the sandwich. You've licked the crumbs off the plate.

But there's another moment lurking invidiously within every project; a short, dangerous, stressful period which, as I recently found out, may leave you feeling frustrated, angry, lost, and a little bit out of control if you're not prepared for it: namely, the beginning of the end.

I've been working on a complex app with a team of people since early September. That's twenty weeks now, which will seem like the halfway point to pregnant women and a mere blink of the eye to those working on large infrastructure projects like tunnels, dams, or bridges. 

Twenty weeks is, however, a period long enough that four generations of fruit flies will have lived out all their earthly days. The golden light of fall long ago gave way to the darkness of winter. And at some point over the course of this, our twentieth week, without my realizing it, we reached the beginning of the end.

The beginning of the end is a climax that occurs due to some kind of constraint: time, budget, or fatigue, to name a few. It's distinctive. If you feel that you still have choices to make that don't specifically relate to winding your project down, then you're still in the middle of it and the end has yet to begin. 

The endless possibilities that were with you at the start of your endeavor harden like arterial plaque into "what can be done in the time we have left." All at once, you realize that everything you do from now on must either bring closure or fall away gracefully without upsetting anything else.

I've never been much good with transitions. Handling things like jumping into a cold swimming pool, the death of a houseplant, moving across the country, or my the fact that my hair is turning gray at what I consider to be a profoundly young age with any measure of grace or tact has never been something that came naturally. 

And this transition, which happens in every project as the middle of things becomes the end of things, affects me profoundly. At the conclusion of the long slog that is the meat of any project, I'm worn out and tired. The hot, crackling fire ignited at the start has burned down, the coals are hot and white, withered and quiet. The wind is beginning to scatter the ashes.

What I want at this point, more than anything, is freedom from the tyranny of the project, from the weight of all our goals and aspirations, from the ever-present threat of failure. I want closure. I want this coffin fully-nailed and buried. But at the same time, I want - I need this project to be the absolute best it can be, regardless of how much time we have left. 

The thought of leaving even a single stone unturned in the effort to do the best work we can fills me with frustration and anxiety, despite the fact that I recognize human beings need to do things like eat, sleep, and take a break once in a while. This conflict is the root of what makes the beginning of the end so dangerous, and it's worse if you're 1) a perfectionist and 2) you didn't see it coming. 

So, I'm still thinking about how to cope with the beginning of the end (especially since I only recently realized that any angry thrashing to which I may have subjected hapless bystanders emerged from difficulties with this period of transition). I'm learning the warning signs with the hope that things will go better next time. And I'm very much looking forward to the end of the end of this project, and to the start of the next one.

Structure Doesn't Scale

Unless you happened to see me standing next to Manute Bol or beside the carefully reassembled skeleton of a Brontosaurus, I probably seem tall. I topped out around 5'-10" at age twelve, and let me tell you, the process hurt like hell. 

I remember waking up at night from the pain as my muscles and bones lengthened beneath my skin. I also recall suffering from a profound lack of physical coordination, the direct result of limbs that changed length on what seemed like a weekly basis. 

Growth is hard. I think it's hard whether you're a person on your way to 5'-10", or if you're a sapling in the process of achieving treehood, or even if you're a small company that will one day become a multinational corporation that's too big to fail.

I was sitting in a class called Intro to Structural Design one day back in architecture school when the professor, Kirk Martini, explained that "as things become larger, structure becomes an increasingly important determinant of form." The reason for this, he continued, is that "structure doesn't scale." 

When an object, say, the leg bone of a mouse, is scaled up by a certain factor, say, the amount it would take to make the bone work for an elephant, the volume increases with the cube of the factor, while the cross section and surface areas increase with the square of the factor (Martini). This means that the bone that supports the weight of the mouse must take on a different shape than the bone that supports the weight of the elephant, even though both are designed to do the same job.

While the "square cubed law" applies most directly to things in the physical world, it provides insight for managing the growth of structures that are semi-conceptual, like businesses, or that are digital, like software. Growth happens unevenly. While some parts of a thing are growing larger and more complex, other parts might be shrinking, getting destroyed, or staying the same size but seeming somehow smaller in contrast. 

And even though growth can be messy, difficult, painful, and even fatal at times, it's transformative. And it's the reason I can reach things on the top shelf in the kitchen. 

Useful Links:

Introduction to Structural Design

How to Win at Cards Against Humanity

The first official party game I ever played was called Pin the Tail on the Donkey. Thousands of people have participated in this game or a variant at one time or another, yet nobody asks the tough questions. How and why did the donkey lose its tail in the first place? Will "pinning" the tail back on the donkey truly restore the unfortunate hoofed mammal to its former glory? How much fun is blindfolding people and spinning them in circles until walking becomes a challenge? The uncomfortable truth is that Pin the Tail on the Donkey is a horrible party game.

More recently, I discovered a party game that manages to simultaneously celebrate and dispel the tension, awkwardness, and discomfort that can arise at social gatherings. Cards Against Humanity is unabashedly inappropriate, raunchy, hilarious, and highly offensive. If you're planning to play you should swap your blindfold for your Warby Parkers because participation will require reading. 

At this point, a few of you will be thinking, "I already know how to play Cards Against Humanity and I just want to learn how to win," or possibly, "why isn't this article teaching me how to properly prepare a hot beverage?" If you find yourself thinking these thoughts, skip ahead to the How do you win? section below and don't look back.

What is Cards Against Humanity?

Originally created by eight pals* looking to amuse a large group of friends at a New Year's party, Cards Against Humanity launched through the crowd-funding site Kickstarter in 2011. The game comes in a black box and consists of two types of cards: Black question cards and White answer cards.

Cards Against Humanity occasionally releases expansion sets to extend the original game. These come in handy when cards like, "50,000 volts straight to the nipples," "Fiery poops," and "A windmill full of corpses," start to lose their shock value. 

How do you play?

There are as many ways to play Cards Against Humanity as there are to skin a cat and wear its furry hide as a leg warmer, but the basic game is refreshingly simple. Each round, one player reads a question from a random Black Card, and then everyone else answers with their funniest White Card. Refer to the official rules** for more detail. 

The first time I picked up the game, I failed to recognize that I'd need grit, focus, and determination to win. I found Cards Against Humanity highly enjoyable, but time and time again I'd watch helplessly as opponents I'd previously considered friends wracked up impressive point totals. 

Things came to a head the night I brought the game to a local wine and cheese shop where I planned to meet a few friends. Our entire group got schooled by a couple of med students out on a first date. The couple had never played before, but they waded right in and proceeded to demolish everyone else. I suspect the pair profited from a natural advantage due to the grisly sense of humor many proto-doctors develop as a coping strategy. Later that night after the effects of the all the cheese had mostly worn off, I sat down to analyze the game. It wasn't easy, but eventually I figured out how to win.

How do you win at Cards Against Humanity?

If you consider yourself a "nice person," or if you've developed  "morals" or a set of "ethics" or "care what other people think," you may not have what it takes. But even if you are nice, if you can overcome your natural squeamishness and stop acting like a pansy for a couple of hours, you too can win at Cards Against Humanity. Here's how.

1. Know your audience.

In order to pick the winning card from the ten White Cards you hold in your hand, you need to understand the psychology of the individuals with whom you're playing. If these people call themselves your friends, this will not be difficult. If you don't know anyone, you'll need to infer what their personalities are like from subtle clues. Is the woman across from you dressed conservatively? Is the bearded gentleman to your left laughing at your witty puns or does he appear unimpressed by the brilliance of your subtle wordplay?

What you find funny is a reflection of your values. There will be people at the table who will laugh at anything, people who always want the answers to make sense, people who will choose the most horrific answer as the best, and people who are afraid to chose the most horrific answer because they worry people will judge. Once you understand these tendencies you should use this knowledge to your advantage.

2. Watch carefully and keep score.

Watch how many Black cards each of your opponents picks up. Is there someone who wins round after round? Try to determine a pattern to the winning answers. When it's your turn to judge, pick a totally lame response just to ensure a slight reduction in your skilled opponent's Awesome Points total. Don't feel bad about this. You're at war.

3. Play your best cards early.

Cards Against Humanity is a party game, and typically alcohol will be served in large quantities alongside your cards. Unless someone in the group is on medication or pregnant, everyone will grow increasingly intoxicated as the evening wears on. This means your opponent's ability to discriminate between hilarious answers and those that incite a mere courtesy chuckle will decrease over time. Play your best cards early. Cards that are difficult to play because they aren't particularly funny should be reserved for later on when everybody is laughing at everything and you have a better chance of winning the round. 

4. Hold on to your trump cards.

Occasionally you will draw a card that is a surefire winner. This will depend in part on the people you are playing with, but some cards in the Cards Against Humanity Deck are wildly, shockingly offensive and they will win every time. If you have only one trump card, play it right away and get a round under your belt. If you have more than one, it is worth saving for those times when your hand fills with weaker cards. 

5. Be horrible.

You can play this game and stay true to your values, but if you really want to win, you must tap into the dark river of offensiveness that flows through us all. The genius of Cards Against Humanity is that YOU aren't the one writing horrible things. You're merely choosing one answer from the ten despicable cards you hold in your hand and submitting it for consideration by another person. It's okay. If the card gets chosen, all it proves is that you're a genius with a profound understanding of your fellow man.

Where Can You Get Cards Against Humanity?

You don't actually have to buy Cards Against Humanity to play the game. That being said, do you have time to download a file, print out all the cards, and cut them to size? Think about the cost of the paper, ink, and the value of your time! Just order the set from the Cards Against Humanity website or Amazon for around $25, then go forth and horrify your friends.

*Josh Dillon, Daniel Dranove, Eli Halpern, Ben Hantoot, David Munk, David Pinsof, Max Temkin, Eliot Weinstein

** Cards Against Humanity Official Rules

Now See Here

When I was seven years old my visual acuity rivaled that of a standard issue California condor, red hawk, or even your typical sharp-eyed and majestic bald eagle. I could see microscopic dust particles floating midair in shockingly low light. I could distinguish one inch tall letters from a mile away. On one occasion, I believe that I even saw light at the end of the tunnel.

But slowly, almost imperceptibly, things began to change. I noticed it first while driving on the highway, realizing just after overshooting a particularly relevant exit that informational road signage seemed to be resolving itself into meaningful information later than one might wish while traveling at sixty miles per hour.

The next indication that my laser-like vision had begun devolving into something much more unfocused came when a coworker passing by my desk pointed out that I had positioned my face a mere two inches from the computer monitor, and went on to complain that I had given him a sympathetic neck-ache.

And so I have accepted the fact that, well before my dotage I have lost the ability to see clearly without the aid of corrective lenses. But what I have thus far been unable to do with any consistency is bring myself to actually wear my glasses. I'll admit that my reticence is in large part born of vanity, but as James Thurber once noted there are some benefits to operating in a state of gaussian blur:

“Last night I dreamed of a small consolation enjoyed only by the blind: Nobody knows the trouble I’ve not seen.”

The Joy of Iteration

Like wine, whiskey, and celebrities with access to skilled plastic surgeons, software improves over time. Typically, the goal is to build a product with a limited set of features that solves a specific problem as quickly as possible. After that, gradual improvements based on user feedback refine a rough, often hastily improvised software offering into something functional and delightful.

Not a lot of other creative work proceeds in this manner; imagine if Monet had periodically pulled his paintings off the walls of galleries and private homes in order to brush in a few extra water lilies, or if Dickens occasionally tweaked the ending of Great Expectations. I suppose George Lucas came close when he recut and revised the original Star Wars movies, but it's worth noting that those edits were not particularly well received by fans.

The case could be made that there's a fundamental difference between a painting or a piece of writing as an art object, and software as a product design object. If art is the evidence of an act of self-expression, perhaps it has achieved its highest purpose as soon as comes into existence. When an artist alters a piece of art, he creates a new work; when anyone else makes a change to that piece of art, it constitutes an act of vandalism. Reproductions are worth a mere fraction of the value of an original because a copy is not authentic evidence of the artist's intent.

In contrast, software achieves its highest purpose as soon as an agent uses it to do something; the value of a piece of software is based primarily on its utility. Not only that, the value of any subsequent copy of a piece of software is identical to that of the original files. It does not degrade when it is used or as it is distributed. In my mind, this sets up an expectation that software should be improved until it ceases to be useful, at which point we should abandon it and build something new.

It might seem strange, but I actively enjoy the fact that, when the projects I'm working on have outlived their welcome, they will quietly disappear into the electronic ether without leaving a trace. I also love that I can keep working to make apps better and more useful - that there's almost always the chance to fix mistakes. 

Choose Words Wisely

Novelists exhibit stamina, poets profit from a sense of rhythm, journalists exploit facts, and bloggers benefit from prolificacy. And yesterday, as I mud wrestled with a single line of descriptive text within an app for fifteen frustrating minutes, I realized that writing for mobile interaction involves an entirely disparate set of skills.

When I say "writing for mobile interaction," I mean the text in an app that relates to the user interface: labels, title text, descriptions, alerts and notifications, categories, tabs, actions, and etc. Here are some things I've learned:

1. Keep it short. 

Assume your users operate in a state of distraction and that they want to achieve their objectives with the least expenditure of thought possible. In general, make the text as brief as you can because while using your app people may either: start playing semi-pro Texas Hold'em; ride a bike drunk; roast a turkey; or engage in a shouting match with an airline customer service representative.

2. Give your app a voice.

You can lean on UI text to reinforce your app's brand. Depending on how you write, an experience might feel even more fun and playful, serious and authoritative, or, at worst, machine-like, rigid, and robotic, all depending on the words you use. The challenge is to breathe life into an app while avoiding excessive verbiage.

3. Be careful with your words.

Language is slippery, capable of introducing unanticipated color, texture, connotation and significance - attributes that may obfuscate your message if you fail to manage it carefully. Not only that, it can be difficult to articulate the difference between words that seem to mean the same thing: for instance, why use a button labeled "buy" over one labeled "purchase"? In most cases, context or precedent will dictate the correct choice.

4. People don't read.

It can be tempting to explain away complicated or unusual components of your design with tutorials or written explanations. I'll admit that in the past I have been lured right off my trireme by the siren call of a well-intentioned coach mark, but I realize now that in nearly every case I should have lashed myself to the mast and kept on sailing. Coach marks turn out to be a complete waste of time. People don't read tutorials, and if they do, they don't remember them. Try using animated hints instead.

In closing, I'll say that UI text represents a spectacular opportunity to imbue your app a voice of its own and to extend brand attributes deep into the heart of an experience. It's also a spectacular opportunity to confuse people so thoroughly that they grow angry and start to writhe around in discomfort like a basketful of starving cobras. Consequently, just like a basketful of starving cobras, UI text should be handled with care, delicacy, and, when necessary, snake tongs. 

A Good Idea

My cranium feels like an ancient stone belfry sometimes, in that ideas are flapping around inside it like semi-blind bats, bumping up against each other awkwardly in the darkness and emitting high-pitched squealing sounds. It's easy to feel overwhelmed with divers notions, schemes, plans, and goals; to find myself unable to take any action because there are so many possible actions to take. And compounding the difficulty, there's the fact that it's often hard to tell the difference between a brilliant idea and total crap.

But once in a while, one thought squeals a little bit louder than the others and with a lot more conviction. And when that happens, I stop daydreaming, writing detailed lists in my notebook about all the things I want to do, and snap into action. That feeling, that "oh my god I know exactly what I'm going to do!" feeling, is one of the greatest things about being human (along with access to strawberry ice-cream, long walks in the woods, and unwrapping a brand new iPhone). 

Usually, a good, actionable idea is one that has been quietly lurking in the shadows and recesses of my mind for quite some time; it's rare that a eureka moment isn't predicated on a period of idle rumination and back-burner cogitation. I usually figure things out while I'm doing something unrelated: taking a shower or walking to my car. But it feels as though insight comes all at once in a flash of blinding light, tumblers dropping into place, pieces of the puzzle fitting together as though they'd never come apart.

I haven't learned how to rush the process; I'm not even sure it's possible to speed idea generation along. Not only that, it takes time to vet thoughts and test assumptions. But I do know that once you've got hold of one, a good idea can lead to others. 

And I'm pretty sure I had a good idea today.

Look at your Fish

Two days ago I finished reading Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore by Robin Sloan. I finished it, but it might be more accurate to say that I devoured the book the way my friend Slagle eats a cheeseburger: holding it aloft in one hand and not stopping to breathe until I'd consumed it entirely. Then I wiped my metaphorical face with a hypothetical napkin and went looking for dessert. And what a treat it was to find that, in addition to a novel and a series of short stories, Sloan has also written an app, so to speak.

Sloan describes said app, "Fish: a tap essay," as "a short but heartfelt manifesto about the difference between liking something on the internet and loving something on the internet." If you didn't catch Fish when it hit the app store in April, you should download it and tap through it. I'll wait.

…

Fish reminds me of that Bob Dylan video with the poster cards. It's refreshingly simple: the app consists of roughly 1000 words, 300 screens, 10 colors, 2 fonts, and a hi-res picture of a fish. You can tweet from certain screens. And case you miss anything or want to read it again, there's a reset button at the end. 

Although it took me a while to get used to it, I think there's something powerful about the fact that the experience is throttled, so that you can't just scroll through or swipe to see all the content. There are no shortcuts. Tapping to move from one screen to the next creates a series of natural pauses; the tap gesture functions like another layer of punctuation and affects how you read the piece. 

Fish highlights the role that pace and rhythm play in an interaction; you can't Slagle a tap essay.

On Condition of Anonymity

In 1776, an American writer published a radical pamphlet arguing for freedom from the oppression of British rule titled "Common Sense." The author, Thomas Paine, published his incendiary and wildly popular 48-page document anonymously (primarily because it included vast amounts of highly persuasive treason). There were other reasons, of course: 

"As my wish was to serve an oppressed people, and assist in a just and good cause, I conceived that the honor of it would be promoted by my declining to make even the usual profits of an author."  - Thomas Paine

More recently, another anonymous writer created a radical website dedicated to interaction design called "Fuck Jet Packs" (FJP). The author, who shall remain nameless, published his thoughtful and wildly popular 16-post blog anonymously and without "archives, share widgets, a twitter account, like buttons, comments, or a way to contact me" primarily because eliminating distractions allowed him to focus. There were other reasons, of course:

"I'm inspired by the idea that I can lessen the distance between us by stripping everything away but the writing. I want to present you the best content I know how to write, once a week, with no overhead, and let the content speak for itself."  - Anon.

When he started, Anonymous planned to write a week's worth of posts and then publish all of them at once. Each new digest would replace the previous week's writings, which would then disappear forever. For a little while everything seemed pretty peachy. But then FJP got fireballed, and the situation became more complicated.

I came to Fuck Jet Packs late in the game, as a direct result of the Gruber-initiated chatter on Twitter. After reading just the first few posts from the week, I started to get excited. I'd somehow stumbled across someone completely mysterious who was writing compelling posts on a subject that fascinated me, posts that rendered in a kick-ass font and that EXPIRED if you didn't get to them fast enough. 

I was hooked. 

Having bookmarked the site, I returned to FJP regularly to check for updates. Imagine my horror then, one fine fall day, when I discovered that Anonymous had shut the entire site down due to all of the attention it had attracted. 

"FJP is Closed."

Wait - I'm sorry - What?!  Anonymous went on to explain:

"I really, really enjoyed writing on this site over the last month. It was one of my favorite projects, had some of my best writing, and the response has been overwhelming. It's been absolutely wonderful.

But FJP got a little more popular than I was ready for, which concerned me. Technically, I'm not supposed to be writing without disclosing my identity. But I really like writing anonymously, so I didn't know what to do."

Early on, when I'd assumed that I could turn to FJP for quality content whenever I had the inclination, I hadn't felt much more than idle curiosity about the identity of the site's author. I didn't want to know who he was for the same reasons I refuse to search for images of Marketplace's Kai Ryssdal on the Internet (basically, I love the way he looks in my imagination). I understood that Anonymous was using his anonymity as a way to free himself to speak his mind and express opinions without worrying about the consequences of making bold or controversial statements.

But something strange happened when Fuck Jet Packs went offline. As soon as I had fully processed the fact that it was gone and it wasn't coming back, I WANTED TO KNOW WHO ANONYMOUS WAS. I wanted to know for one simple reason: in case he made anything else. I'll admit that ... with a little help ... I found out (but I'm not telling). 

Before the site whittled down to its present configuration, Anonymous posted about a Kickstarter project he planned to launch called, "For 100 of my Closest Friends." The idea was that he'd write a 40 page softcover Blurb book with Lukas Mathis (Ignore the Code) and publish 102 copies. This volume would act as the starting point for a multi-volume publication.

All of this artificial demand made me a little neurotic. I wrote to Anonymous and asked if he'd mind letting me know when the project went live so I could back it, and he complied. The project reached its funding goal in less than 24 hours, raising more than $1000.

It's hard to predict whether the book or future projects will rival the magic of the FJP site, but I must say that I'm grateful for the opportunity to find out.

App Review: Felix for App.net

It seems doubtful that Felix, a new client for App.net developed by @billkunz, was named after the famous cartoon cat. The word felix means "happy" or "lucky" and, based on the positive response to the app evinced across App.net since its 1.0 launch yesterday, I think it's more likely that Felix was so named because it aims to please.

I've been testing the app like a two year old tests the resolve of her parents, all the while keeping a sharp eye on the user feedback people post for Bill Kunz. Bill seems to read EVERYTHING Felix-related on ADN and responds to the majority of the comments. 

So. The app is beautiful. Muted colors, soft shadows, and liberal use of Helvetica Neue warm the cockles of my heart. I also find it refreshing to see that icons float container-free against the background without descriptive text. The lack of labels makes it tough to remember exactly what everything does, but you soon get the hang of it.

The main problem with the icons, though, is that there are just way too many of them. A row of icons (reply, view conversation, repost, and star) accompanies every single post, and is therefore repeated over and over AND OVER on every screen that displays a stream. Coupled with the generous 256 character limit on App.net, this creates a situation where only two or three posts fit on screen at any time on my squatty iPhone 4S. I'd prefer it if these icons only revealed themselves after I tapped on a post (in order to save space). 

Another issue with icons - and this one is super serious in my opinion - is that the exact same icon (a star) does triple duty in this app. As you might expect, tapping the star icon on a post adds it to your "starred" posts count across App.net. But in Felix, you can also "star" entire conversations. And as if two instances of the star weren't more than enough, the app also employs the star icon as a follow/unfollow button. 

Maybe someone would argue that starring a post, starring a conversation, and following a person are kind of the same because each of those actions results in somehow associating an entity with your user account. But in response to that I say: it is confusing. And also: no. Use three different icons.

There's some room for improvement in other areas of the app as well. For example, Felix lacks a font resize option (an important feature for visually impaired users and a "nice to have" for everyone else) and I haven't found a way* to incorporate hard returns into my posts from within the compose screen. I can't prove anything definitively, but the app seems to drain my battery when I leave it open for any length of time. Dashboard stats (follower/post counts etc.) sometimes lag behind what I see in the App.net alpha and there's no way to refresh the Dashboard screen. I also wish I didn't have to refresh each stream of posts individually.

That acknowledged, Felix really is a lovely app. My most favorite interaction of all takes place on profile screens. It's tough to describe these things succinctly and to capture the intense delight that you'd feel experiencing it yourself, but more or less: as you scroll down through items on a profile screen, the user's name, cover image, and profile photo gradually shrink and come to rest against the bottom of the title bar. The black text of the user's name turns white, pixel by pixel, as it slides up over the cover image. When you scroll back up to the top of the screen, the user's personalizations enlarge, reverting to their original state. See? Lovely.

And while you're at it, try dragging upwards when you hit the bottom of a user's profile screen; you'll discover the date the person joined app.net as well as their user ID number rendered in tiny text.

The dashboard tab in Felix surfaces some helpful information you won't see in the App.net alpha: your total post count, the number of people you've muted, conversations you've starred, as well as app settings. You can also search for people and hashtags from the dashboard. I wish that I could change my cover image, edit bio text, and update my profile photo from within the app - but maybe that's something for version 2. 

Within settings you can manage push notifications, toggle @mentions on and off in your stream, adjust the default repost to include comments, dim IFTTT posts with @replies (which does wonders for the readability of the global feed), and manage media sharing and saving web content. Felix integrates with Droplr and CloudApp as well as with Pocket, Instapaper, and Readability. 

The app costs $4.99 and I believe even with some flaws it's well worth the price. And while I hope some of the ideas expressed on ADN and in this app review will make it in to the next version, I am also just happy Felix exists at all (and grateful for any opportunity to vent my hyperactive preference).

Useful Links

http://tigerbears.com/felix/

App Store Link

*UPDATE: @treestman has most helpfully informed me of the following: "In Felix, Hit the "123" key in a post and the Return key will appear on the right to enter hard returns."

iPhone Color Theory

Let me preface my statements by saying that I am not a trained scientist. I am also not a scientist. But I have developed a scientific hypothesis that promises to shatter everything you think you know about the world and humankind and maybe even the universe. My hypothesis is this: people want whatever color iPhone Apple wants people to want.

Think about it. 

The first iPhone came in one flavor and sported an aluminum back with an unusually unattractive black plastic strip at the bottom. (We can safely ignore this early model for the purposes of our thought experiment). 

Apple offered the next iteration, iPhone 3G and 3GS, in two varieties: white and black. The white color confined itself to the plastic backside of the device, however for both options the front of these phones was the color of an old coal miner's lungs. 

I suspect that Apple strongly favored the black version because it was FAR better looking and matched Steve Jobs' snappy mock turtleneck. Conveniently, every 3G/3GS commercial that I watched while researching this post featured a black phone. Looking back, I have the sense that most people wanted the black model. (I wanted the black model).

So then things got a little bit more intense. Apple came out with iPhone 4, and for the first time white phones on offer were white all over - front and back. While at first Apple touted their albino product as highly desirable, the pale white phones presented manufacturing challenges that created significant delays. It's just conjecture, but I think that Apple changed course and marketed the black iPhone 4 HARD. 

As a result, when the 4S emerged and so many of the hardware kinks had been smoothed out, most of the commercials and marketing images featured a white phone. I don't know about you, but by then I wanted a white iPhone like paparazzi want to snap a topless photo of the Duchess of Kent. I thought it was because I was tired of black (which is just crazy talk, when you think about it - who would ever get tired of black?) but no: IT WAS BECAUSE THEY WANTED ME TO WANT IT. 

And that brings me to iPhone 5. 

The new iPhone is available in white and black with a back-to-the-future aluminum backside (it's also thinner, taller, lighter, and better). Right away, I found myself coveting the black phone, blithely assuming that I had grown tired of white for the same reasons the Roman army grew tired of Caligula. But then I looked at apple.com/iphone: the black iPhone is out in front again!

Now if I were Apple, and I can't be - I'm a person not a corporation - but if I were, I'd want people to buy the black iPhone 5 for one simple reason: letterboxed screens. The black bands at the top and bottom of a screen that appear when users run old apps on the new hardware will blend in ever so much better on a black phone. And so I'd take lots of sexy photos of the black phone and background the white phone as an alternative option.

I predict that after developers have caught up and updated apps for the new form factor, we'll see a white iPhone 5S featured next year. IT'S JUST SCIENCE!

All My Love, XOXO

Imagine a situation where two kind and brilliant people named Andy stop everything they're doing in order to invite 400 friends and strangers over for a four-day party. Perhaps their goal is to celebrate and connect people working independently in arts and technology. Possibly they want to share their city of Portland with people who will probably like it very much. And maybe they decide that the party's theme should be (and I really need you to go along with me on this one): kisses and hugs.

Let's say the two Andy's rent a majestic, light-filled, old brick building in Portland, proceeding to correct small flaws like a dearth of toilet facilities and a paucity of air conditioning that might otherwise get in the way of a good time. They don't bother with security guards.

The Andy's prepare entertainment in the form of music, movies, games, an arcade, a market, and a pub crawl; they elicit two days worth of thought-provoking presentations by inspiring and successful people; they provide food and drink in abundance; and they even encourage others (Panic and Wieden+Kennedy and Ground Kontrol) to open their doors to keep the party going across the entire city. 

Under these conditions it's not surprising that attendees would go out of their way to talk to each other, to embrace old friends and internet friends, and to greet new faces with enthusiasm. In such an environment it's not a shock that everyone there, a group of people sharing an unbridled passion for digital communication in all its forms, would set aside their electronic gadgets and mostly just be with each other. 

Knowing all that, it's not hard to imagine. But ... here's the thing:

Before it actually happened, no one could have imagined XOXO. 

Only they know for sure, but I'd wager not even the Andy's themselves guessed that the outcome of all their hard work would create an arts and tech love-in from which everyone came away feeling positive, inspired, glad, and grateful they could be a part of it.

So in that spirit I want to say thank you to everyone who made XOXO possible and to everyone who was there. I'll never forget the people I came with, the people I met, and the things I saw, heard, ate, and enjoyed. Hugs and kisses guys.

Oh, and in case we missed each other, here's my card. 

Useful Links

XOXOfest.com

Unofficial directory of XOXO attendees

Anil Dash's crazy amazing Live Blog

Jenni Leder's highly useful Summary Post

Testing with Plunk

Every once in a while I find myself engaged in heated (yet consummately professional) arguments over the design and functionality of app screens with interested parties. These arguments, while occasionally contentious, almost never involve the involuntary stomping of a frustrated foot, the unfettered deployment of the f-bomb, or the weaponization of a shoe. Oh, and just so we're clear: I win ALL the arguments.

Many of these "friendly discussions" stem from uncertainty about how users will interpret and interact with onscreen elements. And while everybody tends to form strong opinions about these things, I don't mind admiting there's more than one way to skin a cat. 

But if you do need to find out, once and for all, exactly who is the MOST right about a particular screen configuration (and who, by extension, is winning at life the most) - it's common practice to settle the matter by engaging in user testing. 

User testing comes in many flavors, ranging from asking strangers and friends informal questions: "hey there, random person in the elevator! What do you think about tab bar navigation?" to elaborate setups with one-way mirrors, cushy chairs, and salty snacks: "please just take a seat, the interviewer will be with you shortly." But no matter how you slice it, user testing is the touchstone of the coveted I told you so moment because it is made of science and therefore infallible. 

All kidding aside, there are moments when you need to find out where people are tapping on your screens like a heroin addict needs a fix, and detailed analytics just aren't available. This is why I experienced both surprise and delight when I stumbled across a service called Plunk (by ZURB) that allows app designers to set up quick user testing experiments.

Here's how it works. You upload a jpg or png screenshot 320px wide to plunkapp.com, then enter the task you want users to perform. You draw a hotspot on the target you're hoping people will tap (to prove they're picking up what you're putting down and operating on your preferred wavelength). Then, Plunk generates two URL's: one for the test that you can distribute via Twitter, Facebook, email, or whatever; and one linking to the results. 

Results are collected for a period of 48 hours from the start of the test and include: how many people responded, the average time it took them to decide where to tap, and the overall success rate. But the best part is that Plunk shows you EXACTLY where everybody tapped with big red semi-transparent circles! I love semi-transparent circles.

I wish the service accommodated tablet-sized screenshots and that you could set the pixel width to test Android devices. It's also shockingly easy to lose the results of your experiment if you forget to record the URLs somewhere (something I found out the hard way). But over all, I think Plunk is a great tool that makes it easy and fun … to prove incontrovertibly that I am always right.

Useful Links

plunkapp.com

zurb.com

On Logos in Title Bars

I know how it is. You're a big brand and you've simply grown accustomed to seeing your logo stamped everywhere: on TV, in the magazines, on your leather jacket, your coffee mug, your business card, jingling on your charm bracelet, tattooed across the flanks of your hypoallergenic cat. It's reassuring. Your logo feels like … belongingness.

So now you're halfway through the surprisingly complicated process of building an app and you feel unsettled. You and the rest of the top brass do like the direction things are going, but at the same time … something is missing. You flip through a printed-out .pdf of mocked-up screens in a desultory fashion, exhaling a noisy, discontented breath through pursed lips.

All of a sudden, it hits you. THIS APP NEEDS MORE LOGO. In fact, this app needs an instance of your logo on every single screen! You fire off an email to your developer with instructions to add the logo to the title bar EVERYWHERE. You also want people to be able to tap your logo to go back to the homepage. YES! This feels better! A smile flits across your face as you content yourself with the knowledge that you've really earned your paycheck on this one.

If life were more like a Dickens novel, at this point a semi-transparent ghost would come floating into your corner office and slap you in the face repeatedly. Upon capturing your full attention, the ghost would show you your dark future: a world where your logo appears in the title bar on every screen in your app and where all the little children run through the streets crying.

Then the ghost would show you another way. He'd whip out his semi-transparent ghost iPhone and show you a different version of your app where the title bar conforms to Apple's Human Interface Guidelines (aka the HIG) and is actually informative; an app where the title bar contains THE ACTUAL TITLE OF THE SCREEN and the children (who had previously been running riot through the streets) quietly return to their homes to practice playing the piano. You'd find yourself thinking that this strange future felt calm, quiet, and orderly; that it was more like Switzerland.

Once the ghost had floated back out of your office, you would suddenly realize:

1. The point of your app is to provide value to users and simultaneously express the attributes of your brand. Fonts, color schemes, and transitions can do this as well as (if not better than) a logo most of the time.

2. People with amnesia and/or dementia may forget what app they're using but they also often forget their own names.

3. Apps are a fundamentally different experience compared to websites (or should be). The way we design interactions for apps should be different from the way we handle websites.

4. Cramming your brand down someone's throat while simultaneously making your app marginally more difficult to use is ... shall I say ... counterproductive.

In reality, however, life is not like a Dickens novel. There is no helpful, slappy ghost to conduct an intervention on behalf of app developers. To engineer a change of heart regarding logo abuse, said developers must rely on more conventional methods: begging, bribery, wheedling, cajoling, and empty threats.

So if you'll excuse me, I really should get back to editing my wires. I'm working on including a logo in the title bar on every screen.

The Reviews are In

Imagine this scenario: you are part of a small group of focused, perhaps even talented people. Your group somehow gathers together the wherewithal to build an app for a specific purpose that is directed at a specific audience. You are constrained by time, budget, brand guidelines, client demands, the need to sleep or eat, and gravity. 

Despite setbacks, miscommunication, user-testing mishaps, and changes of direction, you persevere. One day, after a few months of solid progress interspersed with occasional hand wringing and gnashing of teeth, your app appears in the App Store. 

And then you read the first round of reviews:

"I love this app! Will use it every day!" - one star.

"You can't do <insert action or feature that in actuality exists within the app>??!?!? DELETING THIS APP RIGHT NOW." - one star.

"I HATE HATE HATE HATE this app. Imagine there is a minus symbol in front of the five stars to make it negative five stars!" - five stars.

"This app would be great if it just <insert idea that got killed that you THOUGHT OF AND LOVED but couldn't implement for whatever completely valid reason.>" - two stars.

I recently signed up for a fantastic service called App Bot, which sends an automated daily digest email that collects the most recent reviews and statistics on whichever apps you choose to track. I love the opportunity to monitor feedback and harvest user comments like so many stalks of golden wheat for viable ideas to include in future updates. That being said, it's been surprisingly tough to wade through the morass of incoherent ranting and lovely but empty compliments to find something actionable. 

I think this is because:

1. People who are perfectly content with an experience don't bother to write reviews. You hear from users who are wildly, almost terrifyingly happy and from other users who are mad as a nest of mentally unstable hornets.

2. Star ratings and the views expressed in written reviews don't always match up, so it's hard to tell how people are really using your app and responding to it.

3. People hate change. It's likely you'll get hammered by SOMEONE who's disgruntled for updating an app even if a large percentage of your user base sees what you've done as an improvement overall.

4. Users don't know the story behind the decisions that went into creating the app (and even if they did, they wouldn't care. It's no use wishing developers could respond to individual comments in my opinion).

5. "I love it!" is really REALLY nice to hear, but it's important to recognize that not at least saying why you love it doesn't help me make a better app.

Criticism, especially from people who use a ton of apps and spend a ton of time thinking about them, is a fantastic thing. But I have a theory that the people who are the most focused on apps don't take the time to review them on the App Store. So while I'll continue to monitor the feedback App Bot sends my way, I am taking everything you say there with a grain of salt.

Useful Links

appbot.co