In case you’re wondering why this blog hasn’t been updated in a long time, I have a new blog devoted to UX resumes and hiring issues—uxresume.com. Please come and check it out!
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I’ve been surprised to learn recently that two to four years is the norm for a UX tenure at any particular job. In fact, managers (at least the ones that I’ve talked to) don’t expect to hold on to an employee for more than three years.
As someone who’s had only four jobs in my 25-year career, this is hard to comprehend. I asked my colleagues what they thought:
- “I’ve never had a job more than a two or three years. Because I’m always looking for something else but I never find it.” (I asked this person what he was looking for and he said he didn’t know exactly.)
- “I don’t trust job candidates who’ve been at a single company for a long time. Dynamic people change jobs.”
- “People don’t stay at jobs because they have no loyalty to the company any more. And companies aren’t loyal either.”
A popular UX mantra encourages us to “embrace failure.” Sometimes I wonder if we’ve taken this too far and have ended up embracing all the wrong kinds of failure. For example:
- The failure to take chances
- The failure to try things
- The failure to convince clients to pay for UX
- The failure to do “real” UX
- The failure to be empathetic
- The failure to change things
I’m fairly certain nobody who buys design is actually paying the true cost of design. Because nobody ever bills all their hours.
Be honest now—when was the last time you billed every single hour you spent on a project of any significance? It just doesn’t happen. We always give away hours. Here is a small selection of reasons why:
An interesting thing happened in the last few weeks. I’m finally becoming comfortable with my own success, to the point where I was able to my husband last night, without caveats or apologies, “I have been very successful.”
As I’m writing this, I notice that I’m still not quite comfortable saying, “I am a success”—though by most measures I am. To me, the present tense and noun form imply that I’m done setting and working towards new goals, which is certainly not the case. In some respects, I feel like my career is just getting going.
Just like the trap of “real UX,” there’s another cognitive trap we UXers are prone to: unexamined sacred cows. I hold up before you—the pattern library.
I recently became convinced that we needed to build a pattern library and product style guide for our company. We have products sprouting like mushrooms all over the place and not nearly enough designers and product managers and developers to go around. I’m always getting asked for color and style guidance, and I don’t have much to give people. I can barely keep up with the design of the products I know about, never mind products that don’t yet exist.
A pattern library would help scale our limited UX resources, I thought, so we could have influence on products even if we don’t have time to actively work on them. It would help us catalog our ideas so we wouldn’t try to invent the same thing twice. It would help us work faster and be more consistent.
I got as far as poking around in a test install of Sharepoint our IT guys set up for me, but then—thank goodness!—while sitting in the tenth row at the LeanDayUX conference in New York, listening to Bill Scott talk about GitHub, I had an epiphany.
I was going about this for all the wrong reasons:
I’m all about hypotheses these days. Here’s one: The misguided concept of “real UX” holds us back from doing actual UX.
What’s “real UX,” you ask?
“Real UX” is the golden ideal of user experience design that everyone else is doing except me. It’s personas and user research and card sorting and customer interviews and usability testing—all the techniques and tools that we hear about at conferences and in articles and blog posts and books, that we never get to do ourselves because:
- Our companies don’t think it’s important
- Our clients don’t want to pay for it
- There isn’t enough time
- We’re not allowed to talk to customers
- [Insert other excuse here]
If I’ve learned one thing in the past several years it’s this: No one is doing “real UX.” Continue Reading
Given that women make up 50 percent of the world’s population, having one day out of 365 designated as a day of observance or honor or awareness-raising (or whatever the point of it is) seems inadequate to the point of insult.
Nevertheless, since we’ve only got a few minutes left in International Women’s Day, I’d like to make a small contribution to women’s advancement in the form of a piece of advice:
Ladies, ask for more money.
Somehow, the other day I managed to cut my right index finger on a package of butter. Just a stupid paper cut, but you know how much they hurt. So I wrapped it up in a band-aid and headed to work.
Here’s what happened because of that band-aid:
- I couldn’t feel the bump on the home key of my keyboard, so all day I was tu[ping emal;s wrpng.
- I had to use my iPhone with my middle finger because my index finger was encased in rubber.
- I’m extremely right-handed, and all day I was conscious of not being quite as dextrous as usual.
Luckily, this was just a temporary affliction. But it serves as an example of how quickly devices become difficult to use, even for the mildly or temporarily disabled.
Anyone who knows me well will tell you: patience is not my strong suit. I’ve learned to hide it reasonably well at the office, but as a general rule I hate waiting.
Back in early 2008, during Alan Cooper’s opening keynote at the first Interaction conference, I suddenly realized that I wanted—desperately—to be an interaction designer. At the time, I had been running my own design firm for almost 10 years, doing print and web design for associations, museums, and NGOs. Print work was becoming commoditized and I really couldn’t see myself doing graphic design into my middle age. When I discovered interaction design, I knew that this was it.
The only trouble was, I knew virtually nothing about the discipline and I had no idea how to get that kind of work.