Some more general website things, but I’ve started experimenting with Google Adsense. I’ve been curious about this for a while now. I’ve added a couple of them on the sidebar and the footer.
Experimenting with Adsense
It might be counter-intuitive as well, but I admit that I do have ad blockers installed on Safari. I tend to do more blog reading and surfing on Safari, while I use Chrome more for work on debugging and dev tools.
I notice that there are dramatic reactions from some designers against ads, as if they are little bugs that infiltrate your pantry. The purists all condemn it, which is understandable. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned from hanging out with non-designers, it’s that people really don’t give a shit about what young, tough, and gritty designers think.
For here, I’ve put them in designated places. I have a feeling that they might not be super effective, but I will let time tell. Let’s make no assumptions… yet.
Although, I absolutely hate ads within content, like when they disrupt reading. It’s like someone cutting in line at the hot dog stand. Very rude. So I was very cognizant of keeping those bad boys out of the way.
The top example of a website I find rather frustrating is Forbes. I think they have good content, for the most part, but there are just a few too many obstacles in my way to get to it. I’ve since felt more and more disengaged with their website, and usually never get past their obnoxious splash page after I click their links on Facebook.
Ugh, Jesus Christ, Forbes. Tone it down a little.
Another love-hate relationship I’ve fostered is with The New York Times. Particularly on mobile, the way that the content loads first, and then jumps around as the ads generate. This is taking the notion of “content first” a little too literally, guys. Grrr!
However, I will note that I like the content and do still engage with the website, even though it loads with the same way a drunk fun uncle stumbles into the bar for your birthday.
The interesting thing for me I guess is comparing blog and news sites to how Facebook places their ads. The sidebar is a nice common ground for me, actually, as it is less obtrusive but not completely hidden.
The way I’m approaching it is that I don’t have too much chaos in my life (deliberately planned and executed with extreme discipline) and I don’t want my layout to reflect that. I imagine people I want to talk to are those who aren’t in a hurry or juggling ten different things at once.
Facebook also inserts them into their feed, but thankfully, they aren’t inside the posts or anything like that. I don’t want the calls coming from inside the house.
With the way that the News Feed is set up, this makes a lot of sense because users are free to ignore them as they flow through. This is different from when a user is actually inside a piece of content, such as reading a full article. They have already chosen to engage with the content. I don’t think an ad should burst into the room every five minutes to see if things are okay, or if you want to partake in Amazon’s Deal of the Day.
I myself have clicked on these Facebook ads (for magic mops and Tubshrooms) because of this thoughtfulness. The News Feed is more like a shopping experience, where the user can take the time to pick and choose what links or posts to open. An ad behaving this way is appropriate, in my opinion.
The key moment for me is between this display of options (the News Feed), before any commitment is made, and the actual choice to engage (clicking the link itself because clickbait–FFS…).
It’s a delicate balance, and I’m keen on digging into this some more.
I like to think that I might have some control over these things (and my life), so I’ve decided on several “musts” within this whole thing:
The ads must not be rude. I think they are okay to be a little lively or do whatever ads are set out to do, but above all, it shouldn’t come between the audience and the content.
Advertising should not take over the whole site. One of the things that bother me is when I visit a website and there’s 90% ads and 10% content. Most of the time, the content isn’t even very good.
I must reflect: When visiting a website, what are the things that I don’t want my friends to suffer through?
All in all, I don’t think advertising is a bad thing, nor is it the root of all evil. But it’s definitely one of those torture tools that may end up killing me if I’m not careful.
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” in the descriptive sense, not as 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.
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.
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 haveignoretune 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.
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.