In The distractions of social media, 1673 style Tom Standage provides an excerpt from his upcoming book “Cicero’s Web”. He points out that public officials and university authorities were very much against coffee houses, because they kept people from doing real work. According to one critic in the 1600s:

And the scholars are so greedy after news (which is none of their business) that they neglect all for it, and it is become very rare for any of them to go directly to his chamber after prayers without first doing his suit at the coffee-house, which is a vast loss of time grown out of a pure novelty. For who can apply close to a subject with his head full of the din of a coffee-house?

It’s that last sentence that I find particularly amusing. For who can apply close to a subject with his head full of the din of a coffee-house? It is precisely in the din (“A loud, unpleasant, and prolonged noise”) of coffee houses that I find I do my best work. In fact, coffee houses have a long history of being spaces where creativity tends to thrive. For example, in Claudia Roden’s Coffee, she notes:

Catering equally for the working and the leisured classes, [coffee houses] have tended to be democratic in character. As a French periodical of the 1850s entitled Le Café pointed out in its slogan: “The salon stood for privilege, the café stands for equality.” Coffee has been called the intellectual drink of democracy. In times of upheaval, coffee houses became revolutionary centers, encouraging the interchange of ideas and usually generating liberal and radical opinion. It has been said that the French Revolution was fomented in coffee-house meetings, and the Café Foy was the starting point of its mob spirit.

Coffee houses have been linked to intellectual activities for a long time:

The French coffee shop ennobled the ways of its frequenters by inaugurating a reign of temperance and luring people away from the cabaret. Today the institution is still one where everything is discussed and where people sharpen their wits in debate.

The influence of coffee houses was enormous on the political, social, literary, and commercial life of the times. They were the stage for political debate, fringe centers of education and the origin of certain newspapers. Insurance houses, merchant banks, and the stock exchange began in coffee houses.

There is just something about coffee shops that helps me focus. It’s the ambient noise. It’s the knowledge that I’m not alone, that there are people around me whose diverse lives are happening in the background. It’s the constant, nagging thought that some of those people might be the audience for what I’m making. It’s like working inside a contextual inquiry all the time.

Also, coffee is pretty great.

Tim Kreider in The ‘Busy’ Trap:

Busyness serves as a kind of existential reassurance, a hedge against emptiness; obviously your life cannot possibly be silly or trivial or meaningless if you are so busy, completely booked, in demand every hour of the day. [”¦] More and more people in this country no longer make or do anything tangible; if your job wasn’t performed by a cat or a boa constrictor in a Richard Scarry book I’m not sure I believe it’s necessary. I can’t help but wonder whether all this histrionic exhaustion isn’t a way of covering up the fact that most of what we do doesn’t matter.

Trust me. You need to read this article.

Charles Miller wrote an excellent post on the role that corporate DNA is playing in RIM’s demise. From “¦or are we just simply spiralling coils?:

For the years it was successful, RIM made utilitarian business phones that were really good at email. [”¦]

So when overnight, and entirely to my surprise, the smart phone market stopped being about making utilitarian business phones that were really good at email, RIM was in the worst position to deal with it because they didn’t just have to change their strategic direction, they had to change their entire corporate makeup.

The phone companies that survived the iPhone shake-up most ably were the ones whose DNA most closely resembled “We flood the market with phones built from commodity parts.” Because they were already poised to beg, borrow, steal and copy the next generation of products.

He also offers up some one-sentence DNA statements for Apple and Google, which I won’t spoil for you. It’s an article worth reading.

Oh, and Charles — really well done on the Monty Python reference.

Andy Mangold discusses the design decisions made by Dribbble in Dribbble is Not a Platform for Critique:

By design, Dribbble rewards style and aesthetics, not concept or context. [”¦]

The “like” button sits right next to the screenshot itself, at the top of a column of actions, above the fold on even the smallest screen. Hierarchically, this is what Dribbble has decided is important. [”¦]

Commenting however, the only way Dribbble provides for giving critical feedback on a shot, is treated much differently. The comment box is below the shot itself, and as soon as two or three comments have stacked up it’s off the bottom of the screen. Because of this, it’s not possible on most shots to look at the image while you’re typing the content of your comment.

Andy argues that Dribbble has a legitimate place “to showcase details of your work, document your style, connect with other designers, and from what I hear a decent way to find freelance jobs (if you’re popular)”, but if you’re looking for honest critique on your designs, this isn’t the place for you. His article reminded me of Jon Tan’s Taxidermista — an essay in Issue #1 of The Manual. Jon points out one of the dangers of design galleries like Dribbble:

Galleries misrepresent web design as a state, not a process. They divorce what a site does from how it looks. They celebrate style and tone, not purpose. [”¦]

By purpose I refer to the appropriateness of the style and tone. Do they fit the project? That question is rarely asked or answered by galleries. The only reaction galleries solicit is an emotional one. Like or don’t like. Hot or not.

This is the core issue with design galleries — they’re not records of a designer’s decision-making and thought process, they’re artifacts of that process. That’s useful too, of course, but not in isolation. It’s essential to know why a designer chose a certain style and tone, and how it helps to solve the core design problem. Without that context, it’s impossible to know if it’s good design.

John Carey makes an interesting observation about the Macbook Pro with Retina Display in Progress:

Photography is a place where philosophy and technology mix with art and its ease of entry has diluted its user base to the point of over saturation. While chemistry and technology have always been a central pillar in this space, I fear it could drag it down even further unless we start to greet some of this forward momentum with at least a whisper of skepticism. I guess the best way to break this down is simply to ask, when will we ever be satisfied? When will sharp be sharp enough, or big be big enough? When do we reach the point within some areas of consumer technology where we are making progress simply for the sake of progress?

Just when I thought maybe we’re starting to come to terms with certain technological advancements and actually enjoy ourselves within our technically enhanced lives I have been quickly reminded that it will never end. I don’t mean to be overly pessimistic but you have got to admit it does feel a big daunting at times does it not? It is a subject I have long explored on these pages and I know I am not alone.

Even though he’s speaking from a photographer’s perspective, it’s easy to relate to John’s point. Yesterday, while the Google I/O keynote was going on, my only emotion was relief. I was relieved that I’m so securely locked up in Apple’s Prisonâ„¢ that I couldn’t care less about all the tweets and live blogs about Google Glass and the Nexus 7. I was relieved that I’m not a reporter for Engadget or The Verge, who have to live and breathe every single new thing that comes out day after day after day. Most of all, I was relieved that it wasn’t another Apple keynote, because those take up all my time and attention since I ABSOLUTELY HAVE TO KNOW WHAT I’M ABOUT TO MISS OUT ON.

All this to say that I empathize with John’s mixed feelings about the Retina MacBook Pros. I, too, want more from technology while knowing that more isn’t necessarily what we need. What we need are bicycles for the mind, and to do that, we need some time to practice so we can take the training wheels off. Could it be that continuing to invent better bicycles all the time are actually preventing us from riding the damn things?

I remember when Wilson Miner’s talk When We Build first hit the web with a bang — for days you couldn’t open Twitter without seeing a link to it. I don’t know why, but I just never got around to watching it until today. It is, in a word, extraordinary. I generally don’t want to post things that you’ve likely seen before, but I need to make an exception on this one, just in case some of you procrastinated like I did.

It’s not really possible to summarize, but if I had to, I’d say that the talk is loosely based on John Ruskin’s words from his 1849 book The Seven Lamps of Architecture:

When we build, let us think that we build forever. Let it not be for present delight nor for present use alone. Let it be such work as our descendants will thank us for; and let us think, as we lay stone on stone, that a time is to come when those stones will be held sacred because our hands have touched them, and that men will say, as they look upon the labor and wrought substance of them, “See! This our father did for us.”

If you can make 40 minutes to watch this, you won’t regret it.

n+1 Magazine has a wonderfully-written editorial on the ups and downs of using Twitter, appropriately titled Please RT:

Look at your Twitter feed at the wrong moment, however, or send a dumb tweet yourself, and a bad infinity opens up onto the narcissistical sublime. What tweet is that, flashing, subliminally, behind the others? In exactly 140 characters: “I need to be noticed so badly that I can’t pay attention to you except inasmuch as it calls attention to me. I know for you it’s the same.” In this way, a huge crowd of people”Š””“Š40 percent more users since last year”Š””“Šdevalue one another through mutual self-importance.

They’re referring to other people, of course. You and I are very different! It’s this part that scares me the most though, because the evidence proving their point is starting to pile up all around us:

Soon, if not yet already, it will seem pretentious, elitist, and old-fashioned to write anything, anywhere, with patience and care.

Andre Torrez decided that enough is enough — he will stop getting caught up in the endless complaining and criticizing whenever any new technology is released. From I give up:

But somewhere in between that new iPad, the unserviceable laptop non-story, and that idiotic comment about the new Retina displays something in my brain snapped. I give up. I surrender. The war is over. I can’t care about this stuff anymore. Getting annoyed at the pace of technology is fruitless for me. Being cynical about any new bit of technology that doesn’t fit into my view of how stuff should work has been a dragging anchor in my life.

For some reason, after reading his post I can’t get this related philosophy out of my head:

Jack Cheng takes a shot at defining The Slow Web:

Timely not real-time. Rhythm not random. Moderation not excess. Knowledge not information. These are a few of the many characteristics of the Slow Web. It’s not so much a checklist as a feeling, one of being at greater ease for the web-enabled products and services in our lives.

It’s a very interesting post where he also describes some of the web sites and apps that exemplify this movement. It reminds me of Clay Johnson’s call for healthier information diets.

(link via @retinart)

I urge each and every one of you to seek out projects that leave the world a better place than you found it. We used to design ways to get to the moon; now we design ways to never have to get out of bed. You have the power to change that.

Mike Monteiro, Design Is a Job

We push so much data into the world. Tweets and blog posts and Facebook photos and on and on it goes. I’m worried that the things we say — wait, let me make this personal. I’m worried that the things I say and do and make aren’t always respectful of the limited time and attention that you have at your disposal.

Nothing exemplifies this issue more than automated tweets made by apps like Foursquare, GetGlue, Path, etc. In a post that is now unfortunately password protected, Frank Chimero calls this kind of automated sharing “huffing the exhaust of other peopl’s digital lives”. I can’t think of a better description than that. I know we’re not supposed to tell people how to tweet, but I have to ask: is this kind of automated “content creation” really worth other people’s time? What value does it add to their lives?

I’m increasingly thinking that the things we do and make should aim to take unnecessary stuff away from people, not add more crap to their lives. This is a principle that most web and mobile applications certainly do not subscribe to. We seem almost incapable of saying “no” to shininess and more features, mostly to the detriment of the purpose of the site or application. This description by Garr Reynolds unfortunately sums the situation up too well:

These cluttered and distracting multimedia creations, filled with the superfluous and the nonessential, incorporating seemingly every special effect, color, and font the software had to offer, end up assaulting the brains of anyone who dares to look in the general direction of the screen.

Instead of just adding all the things to the world, I wish we would think more about how we can effectively remove complexities to make life easier for our users and the people who give us their time and attention. After all, the things we design become our legacy:

Great design starts with a problem statement and then proposes a solution. What you design, the way you solve the problem represents your values and ideals — it presents your vision of the good life. In solving a problem, you make certain things easier and other things harder — through intention or by omission. You assume many things about your customers, how they will engage with the solutions you have built and what they will value/the benefits they will enjoy when they use your design. This is true of companies, products and services and in each case thoughtful, detail oriented problem solving that puts the consumer first speaks most clearly.

These thoughts are all related to intent — the purpose behind the things we do, and the need for us to take responsibility for that intent. This fantastic TED talk by John Hockenberry, below, goes into the idea of intentional design in great depth and with much eloquence. It feels a lot quicker than 20 minutes, so I highly recommend that you watch it:

The point is simply this: when we do things with good intent, we show that we have empathy for our audience/users, and we try to improve their lives in some way.

Now, all of this brings me to the central question I’ve been asking myself the past few weeks. Actually, it’s a question Paul Ford planted in my mind:

If we are going to ask people, in the form of our products, in the form of the things we make, to spend their heartbeats on us, on our ideas, how can we be sure, far more sure than we are now, that they spend those heartbeats wisely?

I wish I knew the answer to his question. I don’t. But I know this: before I tweet something, before I start writing, and most importantly, before I start a new design project, I will ask myself: am I being a good steward of my audience’s time and attention? Because I’d like to design for those who want to go to the moon, not those who don’t want to get out of bed.