It’s an organism, not a machine
UX isn’t doing what it’s supposed to do.
What used to be called a computer now goes by many names. Desktop, phone, tablet, watch — every type of glowing rectangle and faceless wearable we schlep around nowadays augments our intellect in some special way. Technology has finally caught up with the dream of Douglas Englebart and his “Mother of All Demos” is only interesting because it happened in 1968.
The modern human finds oneself conflicted, having to make qualitative choices about how to manipulate and store information. The duality of a Mac versus Windows debate has shapeshifted into an infinite array of options for a human to interact with information. Computing is now considered the norm: things should have a state, be intelligent, interconnected and responsive. Like wearing clothes, what was once a utility is quickly becoming fashion.
Our attention spans are extending beyond screens and into encounters throughout space, time and context. Experiences, they are called. This brave new medium brings with it the promise of an “Experience Economy”: a world where value is placed upon the intangible and its ability to respond to our individual needs and desires. This is the difference between taking a taxi and hailing an Uber. Which would you rather do? Experiences are the new differentiator.
Getting across town, buying groceries, paying bills — every one of these experiences comes with an expectation and an outcome. The gap in between our expectation and what actually happens colors our impression of the transaction. Whether it’s a surplus or a deficit, these perceptions stick with us. We remember the good and the bad, often forgetting the mediocre.
Experiences cannot be defined by any single part but can always be perceived as a whole. They are intangible, full of chaos and not easy to quantify. They are less like scripted outcomes and more like a potluck dinner: co-produced between the facilitator, customer and a countless host of invisible forces. Every experience is different, colored by an infinite number of supply chain contingencies and human hormones, weather patterns, angry men and crying babies. As hard as we try, an experience cannot be planned well enough to unfold perfectly every time, for every customer. It’s simply impossible.
Not for the lack of trying, the field of design has set its sights on experiences. Perhaps you know someone who calls themselves a user experience (UX) designer. These folks are working hard, doing their best to fix a lot of brokenness in the world of business by considering what it’s actually like to be a customer who has to interface with any of the touchpoints a business might maintain. Mobile apps, websites, kiosks — anything with a screen is their domain. Yet, these designers find themselves in a tough spot when it comes to doing what their job title implies. Many times the source of pain might not be a hard to find button in an interface, but a customer service failure or a supply chain contingency. These issues are often baked deep into the organization and require a more holistic viewpoint to perceive. UX designers are struggling with these problems and don’t have the right kind of tools to solve them.
The problem with UX is that it’s not actually doing what it says it does. It’s not designing the user’s experience, but more likely designing the elements (or touchpoints) of an archetypal experience. An app running on a screen or the uniform an employee wears are tangible elements, well within the scope of the designer’s eye. But those invisible parts — the connections and ineffable customer perceptions — exist in such a realm of chaos that attempting to exert control over them is a lost cause, an unwinnable battle. Having an app is one thing, but making it relevant and useful is another, especially when it connects to a myriad of outsourced labor and distant supply chains. For as much as Apple, Amazon and Google are heralded for their excellence in designing experiences, there are a countless number of angry customers to prove otherwise.
Our company, Slope.io, deals with these problems on a daily basis. We fulfill medical supplies and special equipment to a network of clinical research sites. A late shipment or unanswered support request doesn’t just slow down the research, but could also put a patient’s life at risk. There’s a ton of technology that we use to coordinate everything, but no one actually sees it — it’s an internal tool, invisible to the clinical research staff and network of vendors we work with. The lack of a screen-based touchpoint means that traditional UX thinking is thrown out the window. We can’t design the experience for researchers, patients or vendors — so instead we focus on understanding the system as best we can and adapting our ecosystem of services as we continue to learn.
Designers need to broaden their focus, look up from their glowing rectangles and start asking deeper questions. We need to consider that not every problem can be solved with an app or a customer-facing interface. We need to think beyond the touchpoints the customer can see and dive deeper into how things actually work — perceiving the complete end to end journey from surface to core. This means accepting the messiness, embracing the chaos and removing the ego that comes with calling ourselves experience designers. The designer is not in control, but a humble and patient guide, who listens more than they speak, making changes and adaptations endlessly. We are not designing experiences, but instead serving our customers in the best possible way, responding to their individual needs as best we can, and making affordances for when we can’t. It’s not a machine, it’s an organism.
You got feelings about UX? Put them out there in the comments below!
