The age of un-empathy

“My Spotify drains my phone battery”, she said.

“Do you listen to it on streaming or offline?”, I asked.

“Why, yes I do listen to it on streaming!”

“So you see both the 3G access you are using and the app itself use battery. You can see battery use by app and make choices accordingly especially when you are outside and worried you couldn’t recharge your phone.”

“How do I do that?”, she immediately wanted to know.

Cue, search through settings and battery use data on her 4 year old Samsung Android phone.

“The guys at the Samsung store didn’t help me”, she lamented.

So we opened the settings to check battery use and she was horrified.

“Where did all these apps come from? I am not using them”, she said.

“Not right now, perhaps, but they may be running in the background or operating on a pull mechanism”, I said, weakly. And clearly, unhelpfully.

We then discussed what “pull” means, what other common uses may be battery-draining, how it may be necessary to behave differently to conserve battery, how some apps more than others drain battery, and other things she now needs to know, just so she can use the technology she deems essential to her work and her outside-work life.

There were several such moments, as I helped this 65 year old friend of mine. She needs to get to grips with some essential technology tools and social media as she works on taking her business global.

The detail about her age and her business are material here lest the rest of this reflection should get drowned in the assumptions that just because she is older, she is not “smart enough” or “compos mentis”.

She isn’t the first among my over-55 friends whom I have recently helped with their technology and social media needs. Phones and social networks all play a key role.

It is soon clear that much of the technology design has forgotten technology also serves our ageing population at hand.

IMF depiction of our ageing populations

Mobile phones have several non-obvious hidden access features, sometimes resistive touch screens, complicated pathways to switching off default settings on various apps and in case of Android phones, a fragmented ecosystem that confuses older users who did not cut their teeth on technology.

Social networks have arcane and complex privacy settings, light coloured buttons, light grey ellipses to access extra features, drop-down menus hidden behind little arrows, and of course, their own lingo for features.

It may even seem the ageing user is misbehaving i.e. not behaving in accordance with the designers’ expectations of their ability to make use of features they should be able to see (never mind almost universally weakening eye sight with age) or discover. Because, hey, it is so intuitive, you know!

What is wrong with this picture?

Is technology meant to exist for its own sake? Or is it meant to serve someone?

What are the design assumptions at work here? Do we care whom we are including — and whom we are excluding — by our design choices?

Can the growing numbers of ageing people be this invisible?

Post script

As she started to gather her things and prepare to leave, I said, trying to be helpful, “Of course, you could just buy a portable battery pack so you are never out of battery when you leave home.”

She put her things down and looked at me sternly, “That is now for another day, Shefaly. I cannot cope with this any more.”

Related reading:

Why I think “digital native” and “digital immigrant” typology is short-sighted and unhelpful

Luxury’s other heritage challenge

“You never actually own a Patek Philippe. You merely take care of it for the next generation.”

This well-known Patek Philippe tag line tells its customers that the brand’s heritage could be part of their own as they bequeath their Patek timepieces to their future generations.

Patek Philippe Generation Ad campaign

One can, of course, buy pre-owned Patek Philippe time pieces from dealers, or at auctions where the brand commands huge prices, which Patek no doubt monitors. The presence of complete documentation, including owner history and service records, adds to the heritage angle, hence the price tag. Patek also supports collectors’ clubs and offers to service any Patek, no matter what its journey to the present owner has been.

Brands such as Vacheron Constantin engage actively with not just the customers, who already own their watches but also those, who aspire to own a Vacheron timepiece one day.

That said, there are brands, who do not really do much for, or with, collectors.

Hermès comes to mind.

While active in developing, protecting and promoting its own brand image, Hermès famously does not support collectors’ clubs. There is still a brisk trade in second-hand Hermès scarves, bags and other artifacts. It is often difficult to verify if these goods are authentic or counterfeit, or even stolen (although the latter may be rarer).

Most established luxury brands’ own stories focus on the brand heritage. It is fascinating — and puzzling — however to see how little luxury brands do to honour (track?) how their customers create a story about these brands, steeping the luxury goods in their own family’s heritage.

This is a missed opportunity.

To create a luxury brand with longevity beyond the next season has to go beyond the brand extolling its own heritage. The stories that live on have to make sense, and be meaningful to those, who own and wear the products created by that brand.

And while everyone can participate in the democratic medium of the web, oral traditions and stories of familial heritage can still help preserve exclusivity for luxury brands, most of whom are still struggling to make up their mind on the matter.

Indeed one has to ask whether the idea of a heritage driven European brand of luxury has economic viability now that most of their growth is coming from Asian countries, many of whom boast a rich heritage going further back than any European brands!

Can lazy — even arrogant — brand marketing as luxury marques, reliant on their European heritage legacy, do now continue?

Don’t mind me though!

I have a simple curiosity.

I am just keen to hear from someone, whose family bought Hermès equestrian gear and riding equipment 300 years ago, and who is still wearing Hermès couture or carrying Hermès bags today.

(Thanks to Barbara Houdayer for the Twitter conversation, that sparked this monograph.)

Designing for ubiquity

When I first heard the term “ubiquitous computing” almost 25 years ago, it sounded magical. Computers then, I admit, didn’t make it easy to imagine such a world. I frequently found myself daydreaming of the films ET and Escape To Witch Mountain (I did say it sounded magical, didn’t I?)

ET_Wikimedia image

It evoked a vision of being able to do anything, absolutely anything, anywhere using a device connected to all humanity, well, of sorts.

We are close to that utopian vision.

Except one thing.

That vision didn’t warn us of the whining, attention-seeking brat that ubiquitous computing will become.

Just to balance the argument out, I spent a few days noting how much time and attention I divert to other ubiquitous technologies in my life.

Such as the trusty old wall clock in the kitchen which is how I know what time it is when I arrive downstairs bleary-eyed early in the morning, or the radio I listen to while I work, or the land-line telephone that rings, or the 10-12 year old blazer I might pick out for the day.

You are wondering, aren’t you, why I am referring to these things in the context of ubiquitous technologies.

Think about it.

My wall clock needs one battery change a year. The numbers are large and can be easily read by a just-awake person to assess if a leisurely cup of coffee is possible or if one must rush on with the day.

I need a land-line telephone because where I live the line-of-sight technology called mobile or cellular access does not work.

As for clothes, let’s try and count the ubiquitous but invisible technologies therein including cutting, stitching, buttons to name a few. Without even going into the material, the weaving, the suitability to the day’s weather etc.

I contrast this now with the devices that do mean ubiquitous computing to everyone.

My laptop, my tablet and my mobile phone.

They need charging twice a day at least. I have turned off most notifications but it takes a while to work out why Viber notifications need to buzz, even when the phone is silent or indeed why the phone, left face down, needs to vibrate each time a new email pops in.

Yes, I know everything can be personalised and fixed just as I like it.

I am asking a different question.

Why does one have to spend all this effort on ubiquitous technologies/ computing tailoring them, charging them, tweaking & twisting them, blah blah?

Was this Weiser and Seely Brown’s vision when they coined the term ubiquitous computing?

Or did we get here all on our own — in our rush to ship beta versions, MVP and pick-your-term-of-choice — without adequately thinking just how much energy and time we will expend just to make these things work seamlessly, easily?

When did ubiquitous computing become ubiquitously painful, annoying and draining?

But more importantly, why did it become so?

And what does it say about our attention to design?

Respectful design, contemptuous design

Conversations with many friends, who are building communities for social businesses or are in other customer-facing roles, reveal a shared frustration. It appears that community builders and customer facing persons, and designers in a business are singing from different hymn sheets. Often, once the beta or whatever the business deems a shippable version of the product (web, mobile, app or a physical product) has shipped, some sit back thinking the job is done.

Customer feedback, that then comes in, is often sidelined to make good of the already existing technology infrastructure. Worse, it is sometimes disregarded altogether.

As the face of the business, community builders find themselves in a tough spot.

“It is as if we not only fail to care, but that we are actually contemptuous of the customer,” one said to me.

The contempt for the customer shows in the design of the customer experience with the business. From web design, to the product, to packaging and in all other ways the business and the customer interact.

Often the customer cannot find the information she wants, or she cannot find the product she intends to get to know a bit more, or the worst, she cannot really buy your product. And as seen in the case of frustrating clamshell packaging, sometimes she just cannot get to the product!

Why does this happen?

Because not enough attention is paid to understanding the customer’s journey or her desire behind engaging with the business. Insufficient work goes into testing how the customer might feel while trying to do business with the company. Efforts are made to defend the costs already incurred, not to acknowledge that that investment was not producing any returns.

In other words, not nearly enough respect is accorded to the thought that the business wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for the customer.

This is what I call contemptuous design.

Contemptuous design privileges technology and sunk cost over customer journey, experience and engagement. Respectful design, on the other hand, privileges the customer’s desires and experience over everything else, so the business can continue to exist and possibly thrive.

No checklists are required to distinguish contemptuous design from respectful design. As customers, we know how we are being treated when we make first contact with a business.

As business owners, we need to be honest about the conversations we are having or enabling or hearing about our customers. If the customer is seen as an encumbrance, we are squarely in the realm of contemptuous design.

But if we feel the customer’s pain and want to deliver a good experience to her, we are making strides towards respectful design.

It really is that simple.

Customer service stories from America

I just got back from a few days in the Mecca of start-ups. They do things differently over there. Well they used to, till globalisation made us all the same.

SCRIPTING FOR PRAISE

Last week, while making a cardholder-not-present transaction with an American business, my card was declined. Twice. I told the customer service person at the other end that I would call her back right after having a word with my credit card issuer.

Meanwhile I received a text and an email from my issuer, alerting me to possible fraud and asking me to call them back.

After identification, my call was put through straight to the fraud team of my issuer in America. The lady confirmed the transaction with me, then said the card was now being unblocked and I could go ahead and complete the transaction.

At this point, I said I was glad that their big data system actually worked and flagged things in real time; and that as a customer, I appreciated it so much that I have stayed with them across countries, for a very, very long time!

The lady was speechless.

I could hear her struggling with words that were appropriate to say to a customer, who actually just praised you.

In the end, she managed to say, “Well, we appreciate your loyalty.” and hung up.

This isn’t the first time I have found a company representative stumped by unexpected words of kindness or praise.

I once rang British Gas in the UK to say how good and patient a young engineer had been while at my house sorting a tough problem that required him to remove and wear frequently his protective socks, because, well no matter what, you aren’t bringing those shoes on to my pale carpet!

The CSA sheepishly told me she didn’t know where to direct my call. I finally ended up recording my message on their complaint system and then I got a letter back from them thanking me etc.

Both experiences have made me wonder about how we design organisations and how businesses see their customers. And indeed about how customers interact with businesses.

Pretty much every CSA has a script to deal with a customer, who calls in raging and angry about some inadequacy or another. Not just the CSA, I have written letters to the CxOs of businesses and got long letters thanking me, explaining the challenges, and offering me a solution. One of them still sends me updates based on a complaint I made in 2005!

So why is there no script for dealing with praise or gratitude?

Is the customer only expected to call in raging and never to call in with praise?

Is the business designed only for liability avoidance and damage protection, and not the possibility of building or strengthening a customer relationship?

Is there no scope for iterative redesign or tweaking in CSA scripts, or any degrees of freedom whatsoever for them to deal with a happy customer?

Is this the world we are designing and living in? One where we expect interaction only when something goes wrong, and nary a word of praise expected if we are doing things right?

Where is Pygmalion in all this?

CALL ME AL

For my sins, with far better choices available, I agreed to meet someone at Starbucks (although how 750 Castro is next door to 650 Castro in Mountain View, I am yet to figure out, but I digress).

“I’d like an iced Americano, please,” I said.

“What’s your name?,” she asked.

Loathe to have my name mangled into Shelley, Chefaly or the worst, Shirley, I said, “Just call me Al.”

The man behind me in the queue, probably my vintage, smiled broadly.

The barista called out, “Iced Americano for Al!”.

The joke died a painful death.

Paul Simon, I apologise. There must be fifty ways to avoid having coffee at a place that insists on being on first-name basis with me before I can get my caffeine dose.