Rubbish UX
The design of everyday frustrations and why we should demand better of the software we use and make.
I’ve slowly been driving myself crazy at work by the seemingly simple task of (responsibly) throwing away my rubbish. Upon each visit to the sleek kitchen counter-tops I’m met with the minor frustration of trying to remember which counter-top holes are for trash, recycling, and compost. This everyday frustration is easy to forgive, but in the moment it’s real and has built up to the point that I blame myself for not remembering—after two and a half years—which hole is which.
Am I really to blame? Donald Norman’s The Design of Everyday Things says no, “when people have trouble with something, it isn’t their fault—it’s the fault of the design.”
As the designer, builder, and craftsman of software experiences intended to delight, I must be mindful of avoiding these minor frustrations for my users, and to let them know that they should demand better.
These counter-tops are frustrating because although they’re strong in affordance (the perceived way in which an object can be used), thanks to their holes, and constraints (the limits of possible actions), due to the size of the holes, they lack a visible mapping (the way interacting with the object translates to results) since all the sleek silver rims lining the holes look exactly the same.
When it comes time to throw away that banana peel, I’m left at a momentary loss because the usability of the counter-tops has been sacrificed to maintain their sleek silver beauty. Labels are provided on the sides of the counters to compensate, but they’re not visible from the point of operation. A clear indication, according to Norman, of failure, “when simple things need pictures, labels, or instructions, the design has failed.”
One natural mapping that would improve this experience is a cultural one: colour. Living in San Francisco, one can’t help but identify black bins with trash, blue with recycling, and green with compost.
By using this natural mapping—in the form of colour-coded metallic rims on each hole corresponding to its purpose—we can remove this minor everyday frustration. These colour-coded metallic rims would not only preserve the beauty of the kitchen counter-tops—and avoid any labels—but, thanks to their visibility at the point of operation, they’d serve to move memory as knowledge in our heads to memory as knowledge in the world.
That it has taken me two and a half years to express this minor frustration is sobering because it means that the users I love to delight must similarly be frustrated and possibly blame themselves. Even though our design attitudes have come a long way at Atlassian, I must remain vigilant and demand better of my environment, the software I use, and, most importantly, the software I make.
