Voices of UX
What home renovation taught me about UX
Before and after shots never tell the whole story.
Around a year ago, I moved with my boyfriend into his childhood home — a small, 1890’s farmhouse located in The Middle of Nowhere, North Carolina. It sits on his family’s farm that they’ve been maintaining since the 1920’s.
The home had been inhabited in turn for the previous 20 years by one renter, a handful of family friends down on their luck, and a farmhand.
Due to the home’s “well-loved” state, creative do-it-yourself additions, and eclectic renovation attempts that achieved various levels of success, we gave it a name: The Shack.
We looked at the Shack as a welcome challenge.
With all of its flaws came sturdy bones and undeniable character. We imagined its never-ending potential, and thought it would be affordable, since we’d be doing all of the work ourselves. With hard work and a year or two, we’d be able to completely turn it around.
We thought, with a great deal of blissful ignorance, “we can pimp this Shack.” The Shack begged to disagree.
First, we started simple. Since we both work remotely, we chose a spare bedroom to be our home office. We gutted it, ripped out the 20+ year old carpet, and sealed the mysteriously-stained subfloor. We sanded down the drywall, which, due to multiple amateur drywall jobs, more resembled the face of a stone mountain gully than a home’s interior. We snapped in vinyl plank flooring, and painted the room blue.
The Shack said, “thanks! I hate it 🥰”
When the paint dried and the dust settled, we realized that the walls were still not flat. The floors weren’t, either, and our new office chairs rolled in various directions in accordance with the Shack’s will. But, it was still a huge improvement, and we tolerated the minor inconveniences.
Next, we decided to tackle a larger project. The Shack again rumbled in dissent — but more loudly, this time.
We tore apart the living room. We sanded down the popcorn ceilings, which were not in fact standard popcorn ceilings, but hard, pointy globs of spackle that hung from the 7-foot ceilings like icicles and skinned my knuckles every time I stretched.
We tried to sand the many layers of paint off of the “shiplap” wall, which in reality was once the exterior siding of the Shack. Once we were too far in to turn back, we began to notice cryptic text in between the 100+ years of paint.
At first, I assumed that all of the home’s ghostly inhabitants were trying to contact us through the illegible scribblings.
My ghost theory was quickly debunked.
Upon questioning, my boyfriend’s grandfather told us that his family used newspapers to insulate the walls in the winter. As one does in the rural aftermath of the Great Depression, I suppose. Not very spooky, but quite difficult to remove.
After 2 months, many trips to Home Depot, and countless sleepless nights, we finished our immense project.
As a final step, we had new carpet installed. I believe this is where I believed we went wrong. We paid for the install instead of doing it ourselves, which was in direct opposition to the nature of this hand-built monstrosity of a home.
To this great offense, the Shack responded with an onslaught of equally great punishments.
It sent forth a great flood. It yanked its septic feet out of the ground, unearthing the sewage lines in the backyard (legend has it that the yard is still soggy to this day). Simultaneously, the AC unit began dripping through the kitchen ceiling.
For each step forward, we were catapulted back 3. We thought, “WHY, Shack??? What must we lowly inhabitants do to please you?”
At this point, you may be wondering what this all has to do with UX. You may have even forgotten that this harrowing tale has anything to do with UX at all.
In all honesty, I did too for a minute there. But fear not, reader. For this tale is in fact relevant to your everyday UX toils.
The Shack, much like a user interface, is complicated. Sometimes, it seems to have a mind of its own. A vindictive and spiteful one, at that. For each improvement you make, whether it’s microcopy improvements, redesigns, or bug fixes, 20 more issues are unearthed.
The uphill battle can look like this:
- You change one instance of microcopy. It sounds great!
- You realize that the pre-existing microcopy was used all over your UI.
- To fix that, you need to peruse the UI and take note of where each instance is located.
- While you’re doing that, you find more inconsistencies in microcopy. A lot more.
- You decide you can’t let these inconsistencies go, and you start writing them down for future use.
- You collect way too many inconsistencies, and end up having to organize them in a microcopy database.
- You’ve found yourself immersed in a larger task than you signed up for. All the changes add up and you’re overwhelmed. Where does this rabbit hole lead?
UI issues can snowball, mirroring my desperate efforts to fix all of the Shack’s problems, only to have plans derailed by the mistakes we unearthed. It can feel easier to just ignore the non-immediate issues and move on with your day.
At the end of the day, both the Shack and your UI are always going to be works in progress.
As is the case with most homes, there’s always something to be repaired or redecorated or replaced. The sink starts leaking, a rock flies through a window while you’re mowing the lawn, you’ve grown to hate the paint color after staring at it every day.
I think the difference between the Shack and other homes, however, is that the Shack had been neglected for far too long. After 20 years of being allowed to fall into disrepair, the Shack got a taste of attention and wanted more. Much more. Immediately.
Instead of thinking of the house as a vengeful overlord, I now think of it more as a stray dog that was once part of a loving family. It’s not saying “stop fixing me”, it’s recognizing the attention it’s receiving and saying “this is also broken! I could use some help, when you get around to it!”
Sound familiar?
I’ve found that it’s a lot easier to cope with snowballing problems when I frame them this way: Your UI isn’t punishing you for making a change, it’s just so excited that you’re paying attention to it!
Overall, even if you uncover 200 problems on your quest to fix one, you’re still headed in the right direction.
There’s a reason why dedicated UX teams are becoming ever-more common — because a lot of user interfaces are begging for attention.
Further, even if you miraculously resolved every UI problem you had, you still wouldn’t be done. There is new research being conducted every day, new standards to meet, new features needed and requested by users. Those new discoveries mean more work, new microcopy, new engineering and design challenges. But they also mean that your UI can always continue to improve and adapt, no matter how awesome your “after” shot is.
A UXer’s work is never done. And that’s a good thing.
Have a story of your own? Write with us! Our community thrives on diverse voices — let’s hear yours.
