Gion Tummers

Gion Tummers

Experience Architect from @HyperIsland: Changing the world, one byte at a time. Currently @Robinizers.

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And furthermore, I must say, now that I have eased into rant mode, into User Experience mode as the great Judger of Things, I raise my arms, I pound the table, I say: Imagine, now, you turn on the cycling wrist app. And you are cycling. Cars whizz by. And the thing on the wrist is telling you how far you’ve gone, how hard you’re working. This is nice. This is good. You see your heartbeat. It makes sense, finally, the thing on your wrist. So much sense. It gently pings every five kilometers. And then, horror: you get a message from Jack. And you are still cycling. And next time you peek at this thing, the thing on the wrist, because you want to know where you are, how far you’ve gone, how hard you’re working, you will see instead something else. You will see the thing you do not want to see. You will see the message from Jack. And the only way to dismiss the message you do not want is to push a button on the screen. But you are cycling. And the thing on the wrist is on your wrist. So you must use your nose. You must push your nose against the thing on the wrist while cycling to dismiss the message which you do not want to see. Because the thing on the wrist is so dumb. (Taunting, evil.) Why is it trying to kill you? It does not seem to know what you are ever doing. Unless you tell it — I am doing this thing. And then it knows. But then makes bad decisions. And so you press with your nose, and try to not run into cars, babies, police women, but the button doesn’t activate. Your nose is not pointy enough. And you are stuck. Stuck forever with a message about which you can do nothing, from someone named Jack. And who is Jack, anyway? And now the thing on the wrist, the great knower of heartbeats but boob of interaction modes, is useless. And you are thinking about LOST. And you wish you didn’t have the thing on your wrist. You wish you had just put the thing in your pocket on a mount on the handlebars. Because that would work. And it would show you a map, persistently. And the messages incoming would not take over the screen. And it would reliably tell you many other good things. But the thing on the wrist is new. It is there. Strapped on. You are strapped into this new world. This future of screens in places you may not want them. And so you must embrace it. This thing on the wrist. It will not make you better. It will not change your life. Someday, perhaps. The potential is there. But not now. It is still a baby. And so for now, into it we mash our noses. We are optimistic doofuses. It is black like the ocean on a moonless night. It pings softly from the future and says: It is time to stand up. You are a lazy man. I feel your beating heart.