For millennia, skilled carvers have chiseled stone into commandments, declarations , and epic tales of triumph and struggle. Skilled as these craftsmen were, their chosen medium had a disadvantage: its weight. At over 1,600 pounds1, it was no surprise the Rosetta Stone sat sedentary for 2,000 years before anyone dreamed of digging it up and giving it a read.
Writers welcomed the invention of lighter writing materials, scribbling on everything from birch bark to beeswax. Hammered animal hides and sunbaked plants gave way to pulped wood and rag fibers. Each evolution became more portable. Spreading across the ancient world, paper would come to hold the foundational stories of religions, philosophies, and the sciences. Yet, many of these stories did not endure. Without our attention, history disappears.
Though more mobile than a stone slab, paper was far less durable. Insects ravaged papyrus and parchment, often leaving only traces of the past. But fire proved to be history’s true enemy, sparing few documents from lightning strikes, misplaced candles, and fanatical firebugs.
In 221 BCE, China’s first emperor ordered all history books to be set ablaze2, only safeguarding his imperial archives. Years later, in retribution, rebelling troops burned those as well. Around the same time, the famed Library of Alexandria was rumored to have been burned. However, some of its works may have survived in the Serapeum, a nearby temple. Years later, that too, burned. Its surviving documents may have been relocated to the far-off Imperial Library of Constantinople.3 And, if you have not guessed what happens next, in 1204, knights from the Fourth Crusade burned that down as well.
Plaque in Berlin reading, “In the middle of this square on 10 May 1933, national socialist students burned the works of hundreds of writers, journalists, philosophers, and scientists.”4
Modern-day digital repositories fare no better. Hurricanes, viruses, Trojans, malware, hacking, hardware failures, and simple human error destroy millions of records each year.
When New Orleans’ levee system failed in 2005, floodwaters covered approximately 80% of the city.5 Hurricane Katrina killed 986 residents and caused irreparable harm to the city’s infrastructure, including the widespread loss of data at Louisiana’s vital records office. A century’s worth of birth certificates, marriage licenses, and other forms of identification were swept away, leaving thousands of people with neither a history nor an identity.
Malicious hacking rivals any natural disaster. Some attacks merely intercept data, while others deliberately destroy it. In 2014, the code-hosting company Code Spaces suffered a massive data loss6 after a hacker deleted the company’s cloud storage, onsite disks, and offsite backups. This attack—a 12-hour long digital siege—destroyed the company, forcing Code Space to close its doors that same year, proving that no data is immune from deletion.
Along with deletion comes a new threat—encryption. Encryption-based ransomware, such as CryptoLocker,7 threatens institutions and individuals alike, from hospitals to hairstylists. Although cryptography does not destroy data, it may lock data away behind a nearly impenetrable cryptographic algorithm. Without payment of a ransom, the data disassembles into irretrievable bits; the digital equivalent of a book burning.
Books burn, documents vanish, systems are hacked . We should be amazed that any recorded history exists at all.
History has but one protection: when we document, we breathe life back into history. We recount stories of queens, poets, CEOs, and fry cooks. We narrate how people work and play. We tell new tales, creating a new historical record, completing one more loop in an infinite cycle that reveals and preserves the human experience.
Documentation begins with a name. So, let us start there.
Naming
In 1826, John Walker changed the world with the flick of his wrist. He invented the deceptively simple, yet incredibly practical “friction light.”8 Its design made starting a fire nearly effortless, for a mere swipe across a rough surface would produce a flame. In comparison, the going alternative at the time—striking flint and steel to produce a spark—required both skill and patience; two commodities rarely available to the busy cooks, freezing pioneers, and late-night bookworms of the day. Walker’s invention would go on to ignite Olympic torches and enflame political revolutions. Yet despite it playing an integral role in many moments in history, the friction light faded into obscurity. Perhaps John Walker’s legacy would have endured if he had given his product a better name.
Countless innovators and marketers improved on Walker’s original design. A mere three years after its invention, Samuel Jones created his “Lucifers,” which arguably had the most fitting product name ever devised. Its main ingredient, white phosphorus, was prone to explode in the hands of its users as well as rot the bones of its manufacturers. Subsequent companies renamed the product, adding and tweaking features, improving safety and usage along the way.
Today, we call this device a match. You can find decorative matches, waterproof matches, stormproof matches, safety matches, long-reach matches, scented matches, and an entire subculture of match collectors known as phillumenists. Walker’s single innovation evolved into thousands of offshoots made by hundreds of companies. We see the same with many inventions, from dumbbells to smartphones. One core idea leads to innumerable variations.
The Need for a Unique Name
We identify much of the modern world through unique names. We access uniquely named websites, such as Amazon.com. We send emails to uniquely named addresses, like [email protected]. We use uniquely named operating systems, like Android Lollipop. These names encapsulate their differentiation. Website names represent strings of numbers using the Internet Protocol; email address names represent mailboxes as defined by RFC 5321 and 5322;9 operating system names represent the versions of software that sit between devices and applications. A name’s quality lies in its uniqueness: a single name that is never repeated.
A search for “matches” on Amazon returns over 300,000 products, covering everything from stormproof matches to handmade candleholders. Amazon must keep track of every single one. To solve this complex tracking problem, Amazon gives each product its own identifier, the ASIN. Amazon’s Standard Identification Number 10 is a unique 10-digit string of letters and numbers. Amazon uses a 10-digit string to manage 480 million products, including every style of matches.
Naming computer files presents some of the same challenges. Same-named, nearly named, and vaguely named files mix like flames in a bonfire. Naming a file “final” only indicates the date at which you thought you were finished. But finality often changes over time. Today’s “final” becomes tomorrow’s previous draft.
Names fail when we rely on other forms of identification, such as creation and edit dates. Emailing and uploading may strip embedded file date information, rendering a file’s date to the day it was last sent, received, or downloaded.
You may think a file’s directory structure connotes its meaning (e.g., Acme/2017/presentation.doc). Deriving a file name based on its temporary location is fraught with problems. Once moved outside of its intended directory, the file’s meaning becomes untethered. Your “presentation.doc” could represent a presentation for any person, place, or thing, at any time.
What Makes a Good Name?
Several years ago, I met Neil Kulas while working at a small agency in Milwaukee. His smart approach to naming conventions has kept me organized ever since.
YYYY-MM-DD-HHMMa_company_project-name.ext
2017-04-15-230pm_zippo_presentation.doc
2017-04-15-230pm_zippo_presentation.doc
2017-04-15-231pm_zippo_presentation.doc
2017-04-14-232pm_zippo_presentation.doc
2017-04-15-230pm_zippo_presentation.doc
2017-04-15-230pm_bic_presentation.doc
2017-04-15-230pm_zippo_presentation.doc
2017-04-15-150am_zippo_agenda.doc
2017-04-14-530pm_zippo_contract.doc
A name may be the first experience a person encounters, be it the name of a product, proposal, or PDF. An arbitrary name steals viewers’ valuable time as they struggle to understand its meaning. They gaze and wonder: what is this, when was it created, who is it for? A good name answers these burning questions, thereby creating clarity for viewers and illuminating the path ahead.
Fidelity
In Plato’s allegory of the cave, a group of prisoners sits chained within a deep cavern. Unknown captors guard over them with oppressive precision, ruling every aspect of the prisoners’ lives, determining what they see, hear, and do. It is a plight every user endures.
Plato’s Allegory of the cave 11
To the average person, user experience appears much like the dancing shadows in Plato’s allegory. People see the shadows of UX cast upon software interfaces: buttons, links, labels, and the like. However, many people do not understand from whence UX originates—they never see the proverbial fire.
From applied psychology to user testing, several subjects illuminate user experience: human factors, design research, information architecture, human–computer interaction, cultural anthropology , service design, and usability engineering. All play a part. Without at least a glimpse into such knowledge, people may misinterpret how software is designed. They see an interface and mistake it for an experience.
Like prisoners watching the silhouettes cast upon a wall, people recognize the familiar. They look up and say, “I know what that is: that’s a button, that’s a screen, and that’s a website!” Yet, none of these observations indicates a user’s experience. A button shows shape and color, but it does nothing to demonstrate a user’s behavior. A screen presents graphic design and copywriting, but it does nothing to reveal a user’s perception. A website displays content and navigation, but it does nothing to signify a user’s context or where she will travel next.
When we document UX, we describe an experience. Flowcharts indicate the interconnections between people, places, and things. Wireframes diagram functional displays, such as dialogs and screens, but these, too, are mere representations of a future reality. Understanding these documents becomes a matter of fidelity.
Fidelity is the degree of sameness between two things. A high-fidelity document mirrors a future product, whereas a low-fidelity one merely references it. We often prefer to see high-fidelity documents because they demand less of our imaginations—we see what will be, rather than what could be. But we must ask ourselves: when is high fidelity necessary and when is it distracting?
Necessary and Distracting Fidelity
High fidelity at all times is both an impossible and unwise pursuit. It requires an unattainable level of effort, as every idea needs to be designed with precision, built to completion , and tested to perfection. To understand an experience, we need only reach a level of fidelity that communicates what is necessary at any given moment.
A large, red button with 14px yellow text reads “Complete Purchase” in Helvetica Neue Bold.
What part of this statement is necessary? Well, it depends. If the button were mocked up days before a website launch, perhaps everything about the statement would be necessary. Size, color, and font may be required to implement it. But, if the button were hand-drawn on a cocktail napkin during a project’s first week, perhaps much of this statement would be distracting. A live website is high fidelity; a cocktail napkin is low fidelity. Yet, both communicate what is necessary at their respective points in time.
Choosing the right fidelity for the right purpose at the right time is an art in itself. We have many choices. However, almost all UX documentation falls into one of three general categories: maps, mock-ups, and prototypes.
Maps
A map defines the hierarchies and interconnections within a digital experience. It shows the respective connections between areas (e.g., screens), indicating the movement of users or processes. Flowcharts, site maps, journey maps, and knowledge maps all fall under this category. We will discuss several of these in subsequent chapters.
Mock-Ups
A sketch compared to its respective low-fidelity wireframe
Prototypes
Prototypes emulate a future digital experience. Paper-based prototypes serve as quick, low-cost emulations—somewhat like a puppet show. They require the movement of physical pages of paper to mimic the functions of a working application or website. You can create a paper prototype with a printed set of wireframes or design mock-ups. Digital prototypes range from linked images to coded interfaces. A high-fidelity digital prototype may be nearly indistinguishable from a fully functioning product, rivaling it in both complexity and build effort.
The choices among high- and low-fidelity approaches can lead UX teams to over-design. Some UX teams present high-fidelity mockups of every screen, button, and link. They believe project stakeholders cannot appreciate low-fidelity documents. However, like Plato’s prisoners, stakeholders may misinterpret UX for the shadows it casts. In the pursuit of high fidelity, they forget the underlying experience—they forget the fire.
Showing Fire
We are suckers for appearances. Robert Cialdini wrote in his 1984 book Influence: The Psychology of Persuasion , that the more attractive something looks, the more successful, smart, and trustworthy it may appear. A fancy suit connotes credibility as much as a diploma. Appearance engrains itself into our daily lives, from the clothes we wear, to the cars we drive, to the products we buy. It is expected—if not entirely natural—to evaluate documentation in the same way.
Take a handful of people off the street and ask them to view a low-fidelity UX document, such as a wireframe or flowchart. You will hear responses such as “it looks unfinished,” “it looks technical,” and inevitably, “it looks ugly.” While these reactions are predictable , they stem from the way in which the question was asked. A low-fidelity wireframe will always lose to a high-fidelity mock-up when viewed for its aesthetic merits. To demonstrate the merits of low fidelity, we must remove distractions and let the experience shine through.
Complete purchase button
A large, red button with 14px yellow text reads “Complete Purchase” in Helvetica Neue Bold.
…could instead be described as the following (see Figure 37-5):
Shopping cart to confirmation page flow
Upon clicking the “Complete Purchase” button, the user views the confirmation page.
The information we communicate here is sparse. We do not include the size, color, or font. Instead, we replace the description of what we see with what the user does. We highlight the user’s experience rather than our own.
Effective UX documentation directs our gaze toward the user’s experience, transforming the superficial into the meaningful, freeing us from our delusions and illuminating the shadows that dance across our screens.
Key Takeaways
Millions of records are destroyed each year by natural and human-made causes.
We identify much of the modern world through unique names.
A name may be the first experience a person encounters, be it the name of a product, proposal, or PDF.
Today’s “final” becomes tomorrow’s previous draft.
The appropriate level of fidelity is whatever communicates the necessary at any given moment.
High fidelity at all times is both an impossible and unwise pursuit.
Interfaces are not experiences.
Questions to Ask Yourself
What UX documentation is required for each team member to do her or his job?
Do remote team members require additional UX documentation to compensate for communication challenges (e.g., disparate time zones, nonnative languages, or varied national holidays)?
Would the file name of a file be descriptive enough to locate it again a year from now?
Does a document’s fidelity help or hinder its use?