#AEASea: “Faster Decisions With Style Tiles” by Samantha Warren

Samantha Warren. What a cutie-pie. Anybody who starts a talk with a story about bananas and monkeys is a gold star in my books.

Design tiles are her way of building a pattern library for clients.

In her talk, “Faster Design Decisions with Style Tiles,” Samantha brought up a really big shift in how we handle websites today. I don’t know exactly when this thing exploded, but D-I-Y has stretched itself from handymen and Martha Stewart floral arrangements to how we all manage ourselves online. Whether it’s a personal blog, portfolio, or a giant conglomerate’s website, we all want control over our content.

It’s not enough to have a static HTML page that you set and forget like a Ronco Rotisserie anymore. And with good reason. We’re all realizing what we’re capable of, and long gone are the little lines of text that say, “Questions? Contact the webmaster.”

We’re all fucking webmasters now! (I mean “fucking” as a gerund, not a verb.)

In her talk, Samantha points out that we aren’t just putting together mock-ups for people, but systems for them to work with.

Websites aren’t just store-fronts to display our wares. They’ve now become actual platforms for communication, and that’s what’s so exciting about it. I love this idea because it’s a focus on exchanging information and growing together, rather than just throwing your hat in the ring and hoping for the best.

There is push and pull content, not just push alone.

It’s easy to fall back on blaming the client for their lack of creativity or imagination. And I know there are tough discussions about that. But the more I think about it, the more I think it a poor excuse for doing a bad job.

In most cases, projects can go to hell because everyone is looking out for their own best interests. And of course if something is always someone else’s fault, then everyone ends up sucking monkey balls on a hot day.

Her suggestions about abstracting a website’s look and feel goes much further than avoiding “franken-comps” and fights with the client. Style tiles and other such methods give value to the designer-client relationship, in my opinion. It becomes less about giving someone a product, and more about engaging them in an actual conversation.

We then allow ourselves to reflect and consider different options, rethink certain decisions, and maybe get to better solutions than what we first pitched.

I like the notion of working with your clients as people who have their own thoughts and ideas, and giving them the platform to share this—not just giving them a product in a box. It makes the job sound less stupid and a little more meaningful.

Just as we are realizing that the web is fluid and alive and organic, I think we should be transferring that idea into how we treat the people we work with, too.

The client shouldn’t be some kind of cartoon in a suit talking to a car-phone. The same way designers shouldn’t be thought of as pixel-pushers and drones in black turtlenecks.

How much confidence and good will can you foster with this approach? I think a lot. The same way you have charities and organizations empowering women, kids, minorities that change social perspectives; giving anyone a great set of tools and the opportunity can set so many things in motion.

While design can ultimately seen as a service, I think it also helps to see it as a relationship. There is trust needed and guidance involved from both parties. It isn’t one person pushing their expertise on another, but equals with each something to offer.

And if we start with that common ground, instead of “I am here to fix things for you,” then we all get to have a nice time at the party. Nobody wants to talk to that asshole who thinks they know everything. And nobody wants to be said asshole, either.

#AEASea: “The Future of Responsive Typography” by Nick Sherman

If there were two things to take away about Nick Sherman, they were that he liked pizza very much and that he liked to complain. This was how his introduction was prefaced, and there was something fantastic about this man’s grievances.

Here’s the great thing about what we’re doing, which I think is what Nick’s talk helped me realize:

We’re in an industry that has the ability to address dissatisfaction, and we have the means to make these solutions totally universal.

Just take a second to think about that.

If the default calendar app on my phone looks like shit, which it does, I have the means and resources to build a new one for myself. If this Dolly Parton ultimate fan site is not to my satisfaction, I can create an entirely different interface for it and make the woman proud.

And as long as our version of this is out there, as a free reference for another dissatisfied person, he or she can then take it version and make it better. They can take Calendar App V2 and create Calendar App V3. They can make DollyPartonLove.biz it’s own native app.

It’s a world where your concerns are legitimate, as long as you actively address them. Knowledge will always run free, and the only thing to stop you is your own fears and lack of common sense.

How empowering is that?

When responsive web started blowing people’s minds a few years back, I remember having a conversation with my buddy Ross about it and mentioning some slight concerns I had about the effect it had on the fluidity of measures. If the measures of a page are unknown, how do you… what does… golden ratios… Bringhurst, I… how do you catch a cloud and pin it down?

Coming from a print design background, this made me nervous. It was a specific thing, and it seemed nitpicky to pursue it. And I knew that if I did, there was a very huge possibility that it would lead to more bad things to make me nervous and I didn’t want to take that pill. I, the awful coward that I am, decided to stay inside the Matrix.

Because responsive web and fluid grids were so amazing. The hype was REAL, dudes!

And then I ate a sandwich and carried on with my life.

But each time I would think about this idea of fixed type size on fluid measures, I would just kind of groan inwardly. Whenever I would test out my type sizes on websites, I could feel my butt clenching as I saw things break on smaller viewports.

Rivers formed, terrible rags that hurled widowed women and orphaned children off their awful, crooked edges. My paragraphs turned into the Mt. Pinatubo landslides of the 1990s and in my mind I knew there was nothing to be done about it.

I’m not proud of it at all, and I know it makes me look really bad. Like, wearing sweatpants and Uggs kind of bad. But guys, I did it. I compromised the design because I didn’t know how to deal with it.

I was Jodie Foster and I was trapped in that panic room of fluid walls with that chick from Twilight and everything was terrible but I didn’t know what to do.

And suddenly, ideas from people like this pizza man started popping up. Different people from all over the world were discovering new things to try, and setting the world on fire with them. They weren’t all perfect, and a lot of them were in beta mode, but it was there.

Some people were addressing widows and fixing them. Others were looking at resizing type on headlines. Other people cared about this shit as much as (or perhaps even more than) I did!

And it’s like how the cops bust in and everyone starts yelling and everyone has guns pointed and there’s something on my shirt I don’t know if it’s blood or BBQ sauce FLUSH THE WEED, LORNA—it’s mayhem for a moment, and then everyone gets a grip on the situation and then we all start thinking, “Hey, maybe this can work.”

And from this idea of banding together and knowing people who are smarter than you at other things, they made interesting things happen. With Math. And interpolation. And the Pythagorean fucking Theorem. What. The.

Like THIS:

OH GOD THIS WEBPAGE FEELS SO GOOD.
OH GOD THIS WEBPAGE FEELS SO GOOD.

And THIS:

Life size type. YES IT'S RELEVANT.
Life size type. YES IT’S RELEVANT.

Suddenly there is hope. And really, all you need to do is ask. But ask nicely.

Hey, this kind of sucks. Can someone help me make this not awful?

It is this constant dissatisfaction that should really help drive this vehicle. It makes for better work, and helps idiots like me not forget what we went to school for.

So that’s kind of what I wanted to say, Nick Sherman, when I tried to start an awful conversation with you. Thanks for reminding me that it’s okay to be dissatisfied with how things are, even though everything seems amazing. Because that small bit of unease is always a gateway to something even better.


#AEASea 2014: “Understanding Web Design” by Jeffrey Zeldman

I don’t know if this will work out well, but I’ve set myself up with the task goal of writing entries for each talk from An Event Apart, a conference I attended this week in Seattle, WA.

So in short, this will be long.

“These eggs look really weird.”

That was the first thing that was said to me on the first morning of An Event Apart in Seattle. I looked up from my cup of coffee and found a man offering a view of two very sorry looking hard-boiled eggs. They were nested rather awkwardly inside his little white bowl. He was wearing a suit, all black, and looking quite pro.

Immediately, I was made very aware of my Nike runners and that my hair was probably sticking up in some weird way or another. I tried my best to look nice. It’s just that I don’t pack for travel very well. And the blow dryer in the hotel was really strong and I didn’t use any conditioner that morning. My guess was that the heat from the blow dryer had somehow chemically compounded to lightly shellack the wisps of hair behind my ears. Did I look like Wolverine? Possibly.

“Beware!” I joked, offering him a casual bump of my elbow. Jesus Christ. Less than five minutes in and I was already literally rubbing elbows. That warning seemed more appropriate for me than his eggs, at this point.

“Oh, I’m very wary,” he replied as he gave me a friendly nod of his head and walked away.

And no sooner did I get settled down into my seat when I discovered that my friend with the doubtful eggs was actually the first speaker of the day, Jeffrey Zeldman.

It’s an interesting experience to witness people “in real life.” I put those in quotes because I feel like I sound less crazy when it’s put that way. Real life is still real life, but there’s so much discussion about “the online realm” and “profiles” and “avatars” and “digital presence.”

And my introduction to Jeffrey Zeldman at that point hand only been a pixel-based Twitter profile image of a bearded man with a toque.

Screen Shot 2014-04-02 at 8.07.56 PM

And so, as our brains tend to fill in blanks (read: assume and create weird cartoonish versions of what we perceive), I had this image of Jeffrey Zeldman perpetually wearing this blue toque, walking around in parachute pants, a white sweatshirt and holding up a boom box. I don’t know. My brain works like that. I’m sorry, Mr. Zeldman. I hope that didn’t offend you. I used to wear parachute pants as well.

Anyway, my point being… I think we all have ways of looking at things as they are, or what they could be, or what we want them to be. And for me, attending An Event Apart was one of those times where the blurred lines become distinct for a moment, and the blood, sweat and tears somehow part rather pleasantly to reveal bits and gems of clarity.

I hope I’m not elevating the event to anything more than it is, like some beautiful womanly journey to self-discovery and self-awareness directed by Gary Marshall. If anything, it was more like Harry and Lloyd in Dumb and Dumber. I’m saying I’m Lloyd, my view of my career was Harry, the actual industry I was in was Mary, and Seattle was Aspen.

The Meat & Potatoes

Mr. Zeldman’s opening talk was a good primer for the event, in my opinion. It struck a chord with me—as I’m sure it did with other folks—particularly when it came to describing what we do. Describing our profession. He went on to talk about actually owning our profession—whatever we choose to call it or however we choose to define it—with the important distinction of what it is for.

To me, it’s this weird Hydra-ish monster with a billion heads, where we build things, we design things. We solve problems, we suggest fixes. We innovate, but we also tend to inundate.

And so how do you do a job, which is based almost completely on communication, when it is this difficult to communicate the very idea to someone else?

How do you communicate the act of facilitating communication? How meta.

I think the issue still stands, and particularly for me, it will probably take much longer for me to figure this shit out than the rest of the people in that room. At least they knew what the hell an SVG was on March 30th, 2014. I did not.

But I did uncover a tiny piece of the puzzle, though. And it seems to boil down to a group of misunderstood people misunderstanding a subset of their own group.

Designers have enough trouble explaining what they do to their clients. Now it seems that web designers, interaction designers, UX designers, whatever—we also have trouble explaining what we do to other designers.

We’re all designers. You’re just a different kind of designer from me.

And perhaps therein lies part of the problem. Maybe we just get too caught up in labels and roles and titles, in that we forget that we actually have shit we need to do. “Do” being the operative word.

We pile ourselves with the pressures of winning awards and accolades to help clients recognize our worth. We invent words and abbreviations that make it sound like we’re Tom Cruise in Minority Report. We’re constantly printing different versions of business cards with titles that range from “problem-solver” to “interaction designer” to “director” to “thought-gooder-doer” to “pizza-pepperoni-measurer” when all that really matters is that some person is just trying to launch a fucking nail salon with your input.

As Jeffrey pointed out, what we do is for people. Not products, not browsers, and definitely not for ourselves. Or at least it really shouldn’t be.

But how can we be evangelists of our profession, tasked with spreading the word, when all we do is check ourselves out in the mirror?

“I’m a web designer. I like to make things. I love turtlenecks and white desks. I like straight lines and a perfect grid.”

Who doesn’t like making things? What makes making things so special? My dad makes walking around in his shorts an art from.

I’m not saying defining who you are and what you love are terrible things. I love making sandwiches. I love making sweaters. I love making waffles. It’s wonderful to know these things either about you or about me. If you love typography, that is awesome. Let’s have a pint and talk about it until we die. Or let’s have a conference about it in Seattle and be comfortable speaking the same language. We’ll be in a safe space there. And there will be candy, I hear.

But all I’m saying is, in the context of our professions, our careers, our industry, to our clients and their end goals… does it, you know… matter?

Really, I don’t think it’s about us and what we do. It’s not about us at all. It’s about other people and what we can do for them. Jeffrey talked about type design and architecture, their respective products becoming vessels for meaning.

Without users, a typeface is just a bunch of letters. A skyscraper is just a tall box that gets in the way of my view of the mountains.

Good typefaces empower a graphic designer to create that bitchin’ dental office brochure. Wonderfully built houses allow parents to raise kids in them without fear that they’ll die by falling off a staircase or some shit.

Both these end products matter to someone else in the world, and we can now carry on talking about the best Sublime Text theme to use. We do our jobs and then carry on.

There’s this constant whining discussion I have ignore tune out hear from designers, both from those I know personally and those I admire from afar, and it’s always this weird complaint about how nobody understands what we do and what our profession means to the world.

Well maybe it’s because all everyone hears is, “Marcia, Marcia, Marcia.”

I don’t want to be mean-spirited, and I especially don’t want to place blame on anyone. I’m guilty of it too.

Ginger as a noun, no verbs.
Ginger as a noun, no verbs.

But again, there should be a safe, but separate, space for that.

Maybe we just all love what we do so much that we want other people to love it too. But guys, I’ve been telling everyone that Reba is one of the best TV shows I’ve ever seen, and it’s just as difficult to convince other people of that. I have all the DVD’s and I think Barbra Jean is an amazing character. But again, nobody cares.

And does it matter that I love Reba and you don’t?

We all struggle with how we present ourselves. (Clearly. It’s three days later, and my hair is still sticking up funny.) But as we all slog through the same shit, there’s one nugget I’ve come to realize: Maybe we’re going about it the wrong way, in that we shouldn’t be tasked with defining ourselves and pushing this onto others. Maybe we should let ourselves be defined by what we do.

Let our profession be the empty vessels that our clients can offer meaning to.

So instead of trying to quantify and box ourselves into these plastic name tags that we can all magically refer to and understand, maybe when somebody asks us what we do for a living, we can respond with more verbs than nouns, and adding “because” to put things into perspective.

“I help this guy make apps about hockey because he fucking loves sports.”

“I help these two women run an events company about knitting because they fucking love knitting.”

“I help these music nerds show off their performances online because they are fucking amazing.”

Aren’t these more interesting to talk about? It brings everyone on the same level and makes it easier to get shit done.

And then we can stop relying on clever catchphrases we invent, and instead count on the kind words that our clients extend to their friends and colleagues.

Quick Draw McGraw

Recently, I had a conversation with Ben about how I’m doing at Mainsocial. It’s a yearly thing we’ve been doing, which is a great way to reset and kick off the year. Mostly it’s about things to improve, things to continue, and then some small talk about our cats.

One of the main things we talked about is something I’d like to share with everyone because I find that there are lots of people like me when it comes to this area.

I really have to be better at not jumping guns.

I’m already terrible at physically jumping, so this is something that I believe needs some attention when it comes to aspects of my life and work.

It happens often, and it doesn’t just usually get me into trouble, but always gets me into trouble. Do you know what I’m talking about? It’s this awful need to address everything right away and ship it off as soon as possible.

What happens to me is that I will get an email about some issue, and something within my brain kicks in and takes over. I need to address this NOWNOWNOW. Fuck everything, this has to be finished A.S.A.P. And in a semi-blind rage of panic, I work on this and send it back out in record time.

As soon as that’s sorted, I breathe a bit looser and lean back against my chair, semi-relieved that I was able to get all of that sorted. Time to make a sandwich.

And that’s when the shit starts hitting the fan. Like, right around the time I am smearing mustard on my bread, the shit hits the fan.

The font size is wrong. It doesn’t work in Internet Explorer. The spacing got fucked when I changed that one property in the CSS. I added an extra file when I deployed to git. I forgot to pull the master branch before pushing my changes. Everyone hates me because I broke the internet. The cat is sleeping and won’t give me advice. My toast is burnt. The mustard is expired. My mother never loved me. No wait she actually did but just never said the words…

When it comes to work tasks, I am Quick Draw McGraw and that is a McGraw-ful thing to be.

It’s definitely a very difficult thing for me to deal with, but I know others experience the same thing. You just want to get it done. The tough thing is that while I just want to get it done, it has to be done right. I’m always missing that last part.

And so I’ve started to just be more aware of my tasks and have put a few mind-flags in place.

Let emails stay unread for a few minutes

I don’t need to read all the emails as soon as it gets into my inbox. I can finish what I’m doing first, and then move to the next thing. That nagging inbox count number does not have to be at 0 all the time.

Related: let emails stay unanswered for a few more

This one is a major one. I can’t count how many times I have sent a terrible email response simply by not letting the info sink in. Most emails don’t need to be addressed 0.5 seconds after it is received.

I’ve now taken it upon myself to read an email twice, let it stew for a while, and then have myself compose a proper draft without distractions. Then I’ll wait a few more minutes, read it again, and then finally send it out.

I didn’t realize it, but just taking a few extra minutes to collect my thoughts has really changed the way I communicate with people. It’s far from excellent right now, but I do see myself improving with this.

I’m sending less emails in a day. This is definitely a good thing, because before that, 40% of those said emails started with, “Sorry, please disregard that previous email…”

Make tasks separate by taking small breaks in between

Each time I finish a task, I bookmark it by standing up and walking around my apartment. I’ll make a cup of coffee or hang out with the cat for a couple of minutes. It’s a good indication for me that I’ve completed a task, as well as a way to not make me feel like I’m strapped to my chair all day.

Unless they think you’re dead, nobody will freak out

The thing is, whoever I’m doing the task for is probably not just sitting around waiting for me to send something back. We all have shit to do, and we all have different priorities to deal with.

I think this is another major one to keep in mind. In most cases, people actually know that I’m not a machine. There is only so much a person can do in a day, and also, there are only so many hours in a day. Assuming that someone is willing to disregard that is very dangerous, both for you and that other person.

You then start treading the line of how much that person respects your time and your work process, and setting this precedent leads to really awful outcomes.

So there

Those are the few things I’m actively trying to change about myself this year. Still a long ways to go, but definitely seeing some signs of progress. Maybe by next year’s review I’d have a much better grasp at this “communicating with people” thing.

Ladies Learning Code (Um, Yes, We Had Sandwiches)

I did a really cool thing last weekend.

Jane and I went to a Ladies Learning Code Workshop; an introduction to JavaScript, led by Angelina Fabbro.

I don’t usually sign up for workshops or gatherings or meet-ups or things like this. I get kind of anxious going by myself and I turn into the weird wallflowery person with a juice in their hands. The fact that Jane was with me was great. I was thinking we could at least hold the juices in our hands together and talk about knitting instead, if it didn’t work out.

Held in the lunch room at the Hootsuite offices in Vancouver, the workshop started out in a very casual way. Meredith, who I had assumed was the organizer, flashed us a bright smile, swung the door open and in we went, out of the rainy weather and into a toasty room that totally looked like Yogi Bear’s house but with beer taps.

There were no forced name-tags, no registration bars to scan, or any type of weird, “What are you doing here?” sort of situations. Thank God. People just walked in and set up shop. Just the way I liked my gatherings. I fucking hate small talk. I hate when people ask me what’s up or how my weekend went. Anyway, let’s not get into that.

This workshop was for people who had zero knowledge of JavaScript. And the thing is, I’ve tried to learn this time and time again.

I know Ben had been ready to punch me in the mouth for the way I’d been going about this, but there had just been this inexplicable force of resistance on my part to get things going.

The cool thing was that for me, it all kind of came together on this day. It was like Ben actually came up out of nowhere and physically punched me in the mouth. (He didn’t.)

I’ve been trying to figure out why I couldn’t get into JavaScript as much as HTML/CSS. It was weird, but each time I would open up these Sportsbutter .js files, something inside of me would sort of deflate and I would just start doing my laundry instead. I could sort of understand the basics of what was going on, and I was okay when it came to jQuery elements. I could make things slide and fade and shit, but that was kind of it.

But for me to actually get started and build a structure or an app out of JavaScript… I don’t know.

It was around the time Angelina was sharing her experiences about being a lady-programmer that it hit me.

She spoke about how she had turned down her first opportunity to lead a lecture about it because she instinctively felt like she wasn’t good enough.

I kind of sat there, holding a wonderful curried chicken wrap in my hands (instead of a juice), and let that story sink in. It definitely resonated with me. It wasn’t about being humble or not knowing what to do, really, but essentially, I came to realize that I couldn’t get started mainly because I felt exactly the same way.

The fact that I categorized myself as someone who knew absolutely nothing about JavaScript even though I’ve been with Mainsocial for over two years said something.

I didn’t think I was good enough to get this JavaScript shit.

When I work with Ben, it just always looked like magic to me. I would mention something that was broken, and I’d try to fix it, but would ultimately end up spinning my wheels. But when Ben would deal with it, it almost always usually gets fixed in a day. One time he fixed a bug in the time it took me to get a glass of water.

Of course B-ballz would be gracious about it, and he has taken great (great) pains to teach and mentor me. And I am definitely not saying that he is the reason I was so dumb about it, but I guess it’s just difficult to not be intimidated in this kind of situation.

What changed for me during this workshop was the context of my own experience. I honestly thought that I was going into a workshop with zero knowledge, just like everyone else.

But as soon as Angelina started talking through the slides and discussing basic things like variables and while loops, I found myself looking around and seeing that… erm, I kind of know this shit, too.

So a second wave of realization came upon me, and that was that… there was no secret sauce behind JavaScript.

The code presented to us was of course a hundred times simpler than what I would see in our Butterpool apps, but as Angelina walked us through it, I found the basic patterns and principles behind it.

It was like looking at a really big complicated robot machine powered by a Flux-Capacitor that writes out your grocery lists automatically for you and realizing that you can achieve the same results by using a pencil and paper.

The workshop had me building from the bottom up.

I think in my experience, I was introduced to JavaScript from the top down. The app was already working, and my job was to go in there with a wrench and hit stuff inside the big complicated robot machine powered by a Flux-Capacitor. And I didn’t know where Ben kept the pencils. And I couldn’t ask because I didn’t know that all I needed was to know where the pencils were. I didn’t know what I knew and if I didn’t know, then I didn’t know what I didn’t know either.

Are you following me?

And so as the day went on, I found myself talking through things with Jane. The quick exercises proved very useful to both of us because on one end Jane was getting a great intro from Angelina, and on the other, I was gaining an opportunity to test myself in talking it out with her.

It felt like I was putting polyfill into these odd cracks and crevices in my brain, and smoothing it out with a spackle knife. It was empowering.

I guess I just didn’t realize how much I knew until a bigger and more complete picture was laid out before me.

It’s like that story about a bunch of blind guys touching an elephant and talking about trees and horns and shit. I was one of the blind guys, and I think I just had my hand in the elephant’s balls the whole time thinking it was a jaguar’s mouth, afraid that it would bite me if I moved.

Just like my past weirdness about people trusting my skills, I think I had another set of issues about my own confidence in them.

Mainly because I’ve come across web development from a self-taught angle, rather than “having gone to school for it”, I think I just got used to thinking that I was a little bit less talented than those with actual formal training, or people who have been coding websites since they were nine years old. It’s also quite a big thing to be working in a vacuum for so long, and not really knowing your place within an industry.

With design shit, I feel fine. I recognize my peers and colleagues, and I know what they’re up to because I grew out of the same seeds of community. I may not necessarily know who the director of Burnkit is, and I may make a total ass out of myself in front of him and his ladyfriend during a birthday BBQ in a park. But I like to think that I can hold my own with fellow designers.

When it comes to web development, though, it’s completely different for me. I don’t have the same connections or the same experiences with people who I should consider my peers. Because I have no fucking clue who they are.

But now, armed with this knowledge and a new perspective, I’m pretty keen on changing that.

I came back super excited about what I can do with JavaScript, and immediately started plans for an awesome knitting app. This has since grown into a monsterish idea and now needs to be pruned and trimmed.

It goes back to my wallflowery personality, for sure. But if anything, I’m just glad that I was able to attend something like Ladies Learning Code. I feel like I got way more out of it that I expected. Jane even suggested that I try and be one of the mentors for the next event. We’ll see if I can gather up the courage for that…