On being a career woman with an invisible job
I’ve been a big advocate for career-minded mothers for the last several years. I’ve had countless conversations about how important it is for women to take credit for their work — that lack of confidence, not skill, holds women back. Statistically, men apply for jobs when they meet an average of 60% of the requirements while women apply only if they meet 100%: if you apply less, you get hired less. Women also share credit and choose modesty over risking appearing arrogant; men are quicker to take credit, sometimes when undeserved. Of course these are not truisms for all people in all situations. But the research shows that they are meaningful generalizations. I don’t repeat them to put men down, but to inspire women to stop holding themselves back.
I have made a concerted effort to practice what I preach. In a meeting a few weeks ago, a man introduced an idea of mine with, “I don’t remember who came up with this…” I promptly interjected, “Me!” Amusingly, because he thought I was speaking Hebrew (מי = who) he answered, “I don’t remember.” This went back and forth who’s-on-first-style a few rounds before I clarified, “English! ‘Me’. Not ‘מי’. It was my idea!” But in general, this is more difficult because my role is invisible — at least when done well.
I am a copywriter. I write product copy and marketing copy. Much of product copy is the microcopy you see inside the product: on the company’s website, in the mobile app, etc. It’s the title at the top of the page that lets you know what the page is about; it’s the tiny bits of text on the buttons that let you “Save” or “Subscribe”, the toaster notifications that reassure you that your submission was successful, and the like. The goal of microcopy is to help the user complete a task. Good microcopy reduces friction. In other words, you don’t think about what you’ve just read — you just do it. Sometimes you don’t even read the copy at all — you scan it — which is why “Start” is preferable to “Get started”: To consume the former, you scan the shape of the word in an instant and immediately understand; the latter you have to actually stop and read. If you think twice because of awkward or unclear phrasing, that’s friction. Good microcopy reduces friction and lets the user slide from task to task, building a family tree, buying a DNA kit, or whatever it is you, and we, want to get done. Microcopy is like a limb: totally necessary but no one thinks about it until it is in bad shape.
By now I’m sure you see the challenge: If I do my job well, no one will notice my work at all*.
Case in point: Last week the Product Team presented four features for approval. Each of those features involved multiple screens (steps in the user experience), states (possible outcomes during the user experience), flavors (variations for different use cases), and variants (variations to A/B test). Needless to say, there were a $*%#-ton of words being presented. There were titles and subtitles, headers and footers, there were buttons and other calls to action, there were tooltips, and dropdowns and pop-ups oh my. These features were also beautifully and expertly designed to optimize the user experience. Everyone involved did a good job. And everyone was told so… but me. Beautiful design can’t be missed; good copy should be. In all of the copy presented, there was one little button on one single screen that was not great. Copy I didn’t write, but for lack of time I did approve as “good enough” and moved on.
In the startup world there is a constant balancing act of quality and resources. The goal is never to make something perfect — it’s to make it good enough with the resources you have, and one of the most limiting resources is always time. As a writer, I find this particularly challenging. Writing is never finished. Writing can always be better. Thankfully it is not usually my job to decide when I’ve reached the tipping point where it’s good enough that the delta in quality I could add by investing additional time would not be worth it. I have product managers for that. And they are really good at telling me, “That’s not nearly good enough — take another day if you need it,” or more often, “That’s fine. I know you could make it better but I need you to spend that time on something else instead.” So there was one button I guess I misjudged and thought was good enough and wasn’t yet, and like an injured arm, that was the only copy that got any attention. An objective observer taking notes and quantifying positive versus negative feedback would have given Copy a report card of “F” as 100% of the vocal feedback was negative. No one counts the silence.
The way I’ve come up with so far, to quantify achievement, is to see if the negative feedback lessens from task to task and from one iteration to the next. That’s a pretty depressing way to assess your work and it’s hard not to feel like a failure. No wonder writers have a reputation of being alcoholics. Nevertheless, I love my job. I love writing and I love the “ah-ha” moment when I know I’ve reached friction-less copy — that moment when I know I’ve written something no one will remember they’ve read. So I’ll continue to do my job, as well as I possibly can, and search for innovative ways to measure success and claim credit for it.
*The truth is, good microcopy is invisible and is hardly read/thought about/noticed; GREAT microcopy is also invisible and yet makes the user feel. The voice of the brand should shine through the copy (in most places, not all) leaving the user feeling they are interacting with a familiar acquaintance, and the tone lets them know they are handling the right situation in the right way (we’re entering payment information, let’s be serious… or, yay, you’ve reached a major milestone, that’s exciting!, etc.) But let’s focus on one thing at a time… in this post, invisibility.
