Waiting in the Wings
Bringing Experience Design to Post-Pandemic Live Events
It’s 2005. I’m sitting in an insanely expensive seat at the Longacre Theatre. Bill Irwin and Kathleen Turner have just left the stage. People are clambering to their feet, ferociously clapping. It’s my first (and sadly only) time seeing Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf on stage. The paperback copy of the play is in my bag; it’s threadbare, missing half its cover with cramped notes in every margin. Embarrassingly, I’m a little teary. This play was the reason I moved to New York. It was what propelled me to pick up a pen for the first time and sheepishly declare that maybe I could be a writer one day. It, in all its Albee amazingness, represents all of my dashed hopes and good intentions. The life I just gave up for the corporate paycheck and the Madison Ave office and the designer jeans that I can’t quite afford but purchase anyway.
It’s 2008. I’m riding in the back of a Lyft driving down the Prospect Expressway. My son is just shy of a year and we’re in the throws of yet another unsuccessful attempt at sleep training and our house is littered with half-filled boxes in preparation for our upcoming cross-country move. We pull up in front of the iconic King’s theater. We’re here to see David Byrne’s “American Utopia.” This might have been our first actual night out together since our son was born. It’s also our 10 year wedding anniversary. And we are absolutely exhausted. I get a coffee, Daniel a beer, and we make our way to our seats. The lights dim. A single drum rings out. And all of the sleepless nights, the snippy arguments, and my chaotic house become part of someone else’s story. Because for me, I’m right there — completely, wholly, fully there — with my husband, 3,500 fellow New Yorkers, and the incomparable David Byrne.
A year passes. I’m a pseudo west coaster now. Sports have become a regular thing in our house. We have season tickets to the Blazers. We go to games and sit with the Timbers Army, eating vegan sausages with fancy microbrews (because Portland) and watch Timber Joey take a chainsaw to a massive tree trunk (because also Portland).
A few months later, I’m in Florida for some travel conference over a long weekend back when weekends were still a thing. I spot a friend who I haven’t seen since the year prior who waves and motions me over to the bar. I feel a rush of excitement. This was going to be more than worth the jetlag. This was going to be fun.
And then, on the other hand… there’s now. There’s this:
The event chat feature pings with “hello” and “glad to be here” and “can’t wait to get started” and “I’m ________ hailing from ______”. I add my obligatory greeting and tune out while the conference moderator screws with all the technical things that they 100% should have tested BEFORE, not during, the “event.” The pre-recorded host smiles and looks at the camera, giving me the disconcerting sense that she is staring at my chin. I allow myself the freedom of a heavy sigh.
And this:
We are lounging with our pandemic pod on an overly smooshy couch. The TV plays an NBA game with an empty arena while we lazily mess around on our phones. Occasionally something happens and we all turn towards the TV in anticipation. The rebound, the three-pointer, the what-have-you. A few of us give a half-hearted woot. The moment ends. We go back to our supine positions and wait for the next thing to happen. Sigh.
And, more profoundly:
Too many subpar Twitch concerts to list and Hamilton on Disney+.
So. Many. Sighs.
My life is now full of these disappointed sighs as I reminisce on the glorious IRL experiences of years past. It’s not like anyone can hear me and if they could, they would probably understand. They’re probably just as tired of the blur of virtual experiences as I am.
Because what most virtual “experiences” have lacked, from the conferences to the sports games, is the understanding that the tech isn’t enough. It’s the means — the important and necessary means — to facilitate an event. But it’s not the reason we go to live events. It’s not the reason we used to anticipate a night out weeks ahead of time; it’s not the reason we now pine for those nights. We venture out into the world because we want something to happen. But that something is sometimes unknowable and utterly unplannable. I couldn’t have predicted that Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf would remind me of who I was, or that David Byrne would lift me so completely out of parental sleepless misery.
Which makes our jobs as experience designers hard. It would be nice if we could simply build things that look pretty and shiny and expect people to come and have a ball. But that’s not enough. We’ve always had to design for the emotional experience of discovery. We’ve had to engineer moments of spontaneity throughout an event. And then, we’ve had to get out of the way, so that people have the room to discover whatever it is that they’re discovering.
Packaging all of that into a virtual event is a colossal challenge. But if we focus on delivering the experience of discovery, I think we have an opportunity to not just design some cool virtual experiences for this moment, but also reimagine what they could look like when we can venture out again. And the result, I hope, will be more fulfilling, inclusive, and packed with discovery than ever before.
So here are some thoughts on how we can reimagine live events, from conferences and sporting events to concerts and theaters.
Conferences
A conference is so much more than the keynote or the tradeshow floor. It’s about the people you meet and the connections you create. It happens in the serendipitous conversations — in the lobby, over drinks, waiting in the Starbucks line — that unlock new ideas and forge new relationships. Often, the best part of a conference happens outside of the perfectly planned programming.
We can build in that sense of spontaneity by mixing digital and physical touchpoints throughout the attendee’s journey.
Get people excited before they even sign up. Create a podcast featuring the speakers, laying the groundwork for the event content. Send a thoughtfully curated welcome kit that mixes analog with embedded tech and includes materials for specific moments in the conference.
Invest in tools for connection. Set intentional times for 1:1 and small group meetings, powered by AI-driven technology that matches attendees based on mutual interests. Create opportunities to level up networking by connecting attendees with the keynote speakers for a small additional price.
And then there’s the conference itself. Imagine a fully customizable virtual space that attendees can explore. Attendees can walk around, into cocktail rooms, networking stations, or fantastic brand activations. Integrate social connectivity. Encourage conversations. Content is what makes conferences good. Cohort creation is what makes conferences worthwhile.
Sporting Events
The incredible play, the clutch basket, the final whistle as the game comes to an end, the victory, the loss: the incredible highs and incredible lows are the beauty, the power of sports. But these moments aren’t nearly as impactful without the sounds and smells, the cheers and boos, the hot dogs and beers, the feeling of being there, of being part of something bigger than yourself.
Over the summer, many stadiums experimented with simple drive-in experiences or private pod seating. Some have opened at reduced capacity with socially distanced seating. And although these adjustments were smart for the hell that was 2020, these pivots aren’t quite delivering on what we’re all missing the most: community.
Reimagine fallow space. We can take empty parking lots and build a fully immersive “New-rena” experience (see what I did there?), bringing the food, sounds, and fan engagement straight into the car. This isn’t your grandma’s drive-in experience: the New-rena can feature a proprietary and modular wraparound LED screen system that can be customized for the needs of any game.
Later, these New-renas can be used to tailgate or act as overflow seating, each parking spot equipped with a grill or cooler. They can transform into new seating opportunities for away games or national and global sporting events.
Create a second screen experience that fans will actually use. Create an app that lets fans order food, drinks, and merchandise straight to their cars. But don’t stop at a more intuitive revenue source; that same app can also serve up rich content like connecting fans to the players, the sportscasters, and other fans.
Once people return to arenas, they can still order food from the app and use it to find the shortest bathroom line. And we can use the app to power physical storytelling experiences that immerse fans deeper into the game.
And in the arena, we can create moments to linger and explore. Bring in local food trucks that serve half-priced pints after the game over replays and insider interviews. Or create brand activations where a pressure-sensitive LED floor and projection screens become brand opportunities.
Concerts
The concert hall is just a backdrop for the performer to transport you into their world. The best concerts activate all of your senses: the music pulsing through your body, the mesmerizing lights and projections, the gentle pressure of a stranger’s shoulder against yours, the faint smell of beer mixed with sweat mixed with smoke. Live music is an escape.
The best virtual, hybrid, and live solutions will imbue that feeling of (much needed) escape, while making people feel uniquely connected to their favorite artists.
Create a 360 degree experience. Put on audience-free concerts with cameras on every seat so guests can explore every vantage point from their homes. Make the feeds live so people can go to a concert with their besties that they haven’t seen since February 2020.
Design community-building experiences. Encourage fans to share recordings and memories in a dedicated app, so they can stay connected long after the show is over. Give them the VIP backstage treatment with the artist with a personalized virtual autograph in the green room or head over to a virtual tour bus where they can share a cocktail and a laugh.
The digital experience becomes a value add once we get back to IRL. And the venue itself can get a major upgrade. Picture a food experience that enriches the concert, like Paul McCartney’s favorite fish and chips. Imagine in-depth stories that audiences can literally step into. Design intimate walk-through rock-and-roll activations that bring the past to life and embed POS opportunities as visitors move through the space. This is an opportunity to make the venue an integral part of the experience, not just a delivery mechanism.
Theater
This might just be because I’m still a theater nerd at heart, but I think, more than any other event, the live element in theater is irreplaceable — the tension of knowing anything can happen right before your eyes. A line forgotten, a cue delayed, a step missed can change the trajectory of the action on stage and what the audience experiences. It is cooperative. Which is why, in my opinion, it is the live experience hardest to solve for.
For now, we must use this as an opportunity to reimagine what the future of theater can look like while supporting the artists and makers to ensure that they are still standing once we get back to IRL. But transforming live theater will take more than just adding tech bells and whistles, it will require looking into the institution of theater itself.
Make theater more equitable. The rise of other forms of entertainment — film, video games, and social media — has fundamentally changed the economics of theater, necessitating that it become more and more of a spectacle simply to compete. Ultimately, this competition has driven up ticket prices and made it mostly inaccessible to a huge population of would-be theater-goers.
The greatest benefit of going digital is that it has allowed more people in; as we plan for what’s next, it is essential that what we create allows for more people to access and experience theater.
Return to storytelling. While some of the spectacle of theater is extraordinary, it can no longer come at the cost of substance. Projects like In and Of Itself remind us that storytelling is at the heart of theater and is more valuable than any wire-flying show. Merging the pageantry with authentic storytelling will create a more holistic and communal shared experience.
Incorporate immersion and interactivity. The Royal Shakespeare Company put on a brilliant interactive show that allowed audiences to engage with (and control) on-stage elements. The actors, in real time, performed responding to cues from the audience, making every show unique and reflecting and amplifying the give-and-take nature of live theater. Imagine bringing this type of technology into future IRL theatrical experiences — creating fully responsive real-time theater in which the audience becomes an essential player in the story.
A Hybrid Future
The right virtual experience that we create now can seamlessly lead into a hybrid future. But for either to be successful, they need to be developed in lock-step. They need to complement and communicate at each and every touchpoint, so that attendees, no matter where they are hailing from, will have an experience that matters.
For a year now, we have been living life from behind our screens. It’s been lonely. It’s been painful. It’s been exhausting. As we wait to safely step back in the world, let’s use this time of disconnect to create human-centric solutions that will help us connect to one another, build community, and reimagine experiences that are more personal, equitable, and magical.
Let’s use this time to imagine a better present. A better future. A better next normal.
