I Saw What You Did There, Facebook: The Facebook chat promotion as it appears on the right-hand side of a user’s homepage. Personal tidbits obscured to protect the innocent.

Removing cues to close or abandon interaction flows is something that needs to be undertaken with great care and respect for the user’s initial intent. When used in complex, multi-part forms such as retail check-outs, removing site chrome and “links out” can help focus attention and aid in the completion of a task the user has explicitly voiced a desire to do.

But when used to sculpt the flow of traffic without the user’s say-so, you risk engendering confusion and suspicion. Hence, I typically advise clients against this sort of thing. Sure, you’ll get higher sign-up numbers, but at what cost? Many of the folks who wind up making it through the process will be doing so out of ignorance, and quite a few won’t be terribly happy about it once they arrive on the other side.

“I thought these were extinct.” he says to his buddy, who replies, “That’s what they said about the coelacanth.”

The implication being that Volkswagens had thoughtful features that other manufacturers had long since done away with. Something that distinguished them, and something that you, dear car buyer, wanted in on. It was a great bit of ad writing, not just for the geek humor, but because the audience grasped the bigger picture immediately. This thing is unusual, and it tells you everything you need to know about the kind of products Volkswagen makes.

Take that concept, reverse the implication, and it’s what you get when sites do things like this:

This thing is unusual, and it tells me a lot by implication about the company that put it together. Only this is one coelacanth that best remains extinct.

Facebook confirmed last April it has no less than 200 million users worldwide (and every indication is that number has grown since then). Roll that over for a moment.

Now consider the comments left by those lost souls on the ReadWriteWeb article who were genuinely seeking to log in to their Facebook accounts. (I say “genuinely” because there’s clearly some leg-pulling going on as the comments get out of hand.) How many comments on that page from users truly in distress? 200 or so? Okay.

So, just to keep things conservative, let’s say that only 5% of the “confused” users coming to this page actually took the time to leave a comment. A reasonable rate for a large-scale site (based on my own anecdotal experience) and well within the law of the vital few (aka, “the 80/20 rule”). What’s that make? 4,000 frustrated users. Wow, that seems like a lot. But hold on a second…

That’s 0.002% of Facebook’s confirmed user base.

A mere two thousandths of a single percent. Even if you run the tip-of-the-iceberg scenario and up the comments left to 500 while simultaneously dialing down the response rate to 1%, you only come back with 0.025%. A quarter of a hundredth of a single percent of Facebook’s community.

This is all to say—depending on how you like to run the numbers—that this may barely qualify as a statistically significant event. Act accordingly.

Anyone that’s stepped into the blast radius of a major redesign can tell you a thing or two about typical user reactions. From riding the bomb Slim Pickens-style to lab-coat-and-safety-goggles observation, I’ve weathered my share. Make a fundamental change to an existing product and reaction tends towards the swift and merciless.

Turn & Face the Strain

In every redesign I’ve ever been involved with user responses have followed a predictable pattern. You can group them into two broad categories: Negatives and Positives. (No creativity here—they’re exactly what they sound like.) Negatives tell you how much your update pulls a serious vacuum. Positives testify that you’re the bee’s knees. Both come from self-selecting users, since contact requires some kind of effort. (No matter how small—it’s what highfalutin types call a “barrier to entry”.) Kicking in the moment you pull back the curtain on your zippy new gewgaw, it looks something like this:

Almost instantly there’s the glut of reactionary feedback—the Who Moved My Cheese? set. Glean what you can from these comments, look for common threads, but remember not to let that five-hundredth “WTF?! Ur new design iS teh suck,” e-mail get you down. That’s the important bit. As designers, developers, and all around “Builders of the Interwebs” we pour or hearts and souls into our projects. (At least if you’re like me you do.) Even ironclad stalwarts can’t help but have their outlook dimmed a bit by that first feedback wave.

Stick it out though and—if you’ve done your job well—you’ll be through the squall, sitting pretty at the other end of the graph soon enough. Eventually the rest of the crowd chimes in. And the remaining negative comments shed their emotional edge, taking on a more constructive character.

Keep the wheat, lose the chaff. Quickly, lest you stew in it.

Something in the Blood

Earlier today I got to wondering what makes the Negatives so vocal compared to their Positive peers. Even when your audience research finds nothing but giddy users you don’t hear from them much. But even small sets of Negatives don’t have trouble making their presence known.

During an interesting chat Chris Fahey set me on the right track by pointing out something I’d overlooked: Negatives want to affect change, Positives are confirming assent. I hadn’t thought of it that way before, but he’s absolutely right, and it explains a lot about their respective behavior. Negatives have the motivation to act since they want something done. Positives stay mum because, ultimately, they want nothing done.

Dear Adobe:

Knock it off.

It’s no picnic writing software updaters for an ever sprawling empire of code. Sure. Mistakes are made. Granted. But hijacking an automatic update to install a plugin I never asked for, don’t want, and have no way of opting out of (and throwing me off my browser session to boot)? That’s software update rape.

Until I tell you otherwise, what happens in my browser is my business, not yours. Get thy plugin from out my browser, and take thy form from off my desktop.

Extradition Proceedings

If you’ve updated Acrobat and find your copy of Safari likewise commandeered, you can slap a muzzle on the interloper by chasing down the following maze: Acrobat menu > Preferences… > Internet > Web Browser Options.

Uncheck “Display PDF in browser using”. (Oh, and while we’re at it Adobe, don’t use a dropdown box when you’re only giving the user one option.)

For good measure, uncheck “Check browser settings when starting Acrobat” to keep it from nagging you to turn the plugin back on again (until Adobe sneaks in and does it themselves during the next software update, that is.)

This will get you back using the much, much faster Preview app for viewing PDFs in Safari. Unfortunately it doesn’t mean it’s going to stay that way the next time an Adobe updater comes bouncing your way. For shame.

I’m a big fan of the phrase, “eat your own cooking”.

As a Web designer you should be doing exactly that—using the things you make. (This of course applies to just about any creative endeavor, from bridge building to cake baking.) It speaks volumes about the quality and relevance of a product if its producers are also enthusiastic consumers.

Cognitive dissonance is equally revealing. You wouldn’t trust a four star chef that serves Cheez Whiz at his home table. You wouldn’t listen to an addiction counselor who sneaks out to score smack. So why, oh why, would you deal with a “tech company” that has a train wreck for an intranet?

Standard(s) Complaint

The vast majority of the company intranets I’ve seen in my travels have ranged in quality from the affably feeble to the criminally negligent. None has ever approached anything a sane person would call excellent. Not even on a good day.

They have been used as a pliable excuse to perpetrate all manner of horrid, insipid, flat-out unprofessional web work. Bereft both of standards awareness and common courtesy for the poor souls forced to inhabit them. They are clumsy oafs built on two left feet, stumbling about, making a mockery of accessibility and usable design while they smash the china and wreck the furniture.

Enough, I say.

Standard(s) Argument

The enabling phrase for all this folly typically sounds something like, “but this is for an intranet,” and it’s usually whipped out in the thick of some misguided conversation about Web Standards. The speaker assumes that because Company X has “standardized” on Browser Y, they can conveniently toss Web Standards out the window. Let’s all chug some company Kool Aid and call it a day!

Not so fast there, Sparky. I’ve got news for you: It’s a convenient theory, but it falls to pieces in practice.

Given a large enough ecosystem (ie, more than one user), you will never be able to predict your audience with 100% certainty, let alone control them. Single browser environments are both unworkable and, more importantly, illusory. Really. Even within company walls. And the bigger the audience (ie, the company) the more that 100% figure will seem like a distant dream. Give that number a nice, warm hug then kiss it goodbye—you’ll never see it again.

Intranet, Heal Thyself

The bottom line is that companies need to stop fouling their nests with these relics. There’s more than enough time and money to be saved by writing to standards to pay back the effort many times over. The sooner this is realized at all levels the sooner the corporate funds draining away towards browser “deployment and enforcement” programs can be reassigned to something more useful.

Like, say, free coffee.

“Stand in line? What are you crazy? I’m not standing in line.”

Eight hours later, I was standing in line. (Oops.)

Not so much standing as strolling, actually. Morbid curiosity got the better of me by the time I left the office for the weekend, and I found myself walking up 5th Avenue to take a gander at all the hubbub. I was pretty stunned to arrive on the scene a few hours after launch to find a less-than-five-minute line. Five minutes to queue up and charge through the double-file gauntlet of Apple Store employees cheering folks on at the door. “Oh, hey, what the heck…”

Mere moments later I reemerged, clutching my quarry in it’s slick satin finish bag, palms sweaty like a bad prom date.

I’ll spare the nitty gritty product review details. Suffice it to say it’s tremendously damn good. Like, “lives up to the hype” good. In fact, after a full weekend of usage, I’ll go so far as to declare the iPhone the best consumer electronics device I’ve ever purchased. Hands down. Full stop. (Note to Ed Colligan: Apple didn’t just walk in—they broke down the door, punched you in the face and stole your girlfriend on the way out.)

Like it or not it’s going to have a noticeable influence on the market, so affected parties would do well to come to grips with that fact sooner rather than later.

A Call to Action

And that’s precisely where the Web design and development community comes in.

There’s been no shortage of gnashing of teeth and tearing of beards over the SDK issue. Want to write a “native app” for the iPhone, some Cocoa goodness all your own? Sorry kids, it’s closed. (For now at least.) Adam Greenfield even goes so far as to comment, “you cannot make culture with this device.” He’s got a point.

But this time the closed model is hugely asymptotic: The iPhone is a full-on consumer of standards in every regard. Web Standards, networking standards, file standards, you name it. The SDK is a non-SDK: Make solid websites using acknowledged best practices and the iPhone well love them up.

So here’s our chance, Webfolk. Home court advantage is officially ours. Apple just dropped the sexiest client imaginable right in our laps, complete with oodles of free publicity the likes of which presidential candidates and washed up child actors only dream about. It’s a gift. A beautiful, beautiful gift for people who make websites. This is an opportunity that needs to be grabbed with both hands.

It’s time to get to work.

The phone is ringing again. When I pick it up, the owner of the voice in my ear is clearly at his wit’s end. He’s not just mad at his computer, he’s pissed at his computer.

Any designer could benefit from a stint in tech support. The in-the-trenches view of user behavior, along with an audience close enough to take a swing and actually connect, is priceless. Lessons meted out at the hands of Mother Experience. “No, toasters don’t make great bathtub accessories. Ask us how we know.”

Which always takes me back to this memory from an office far, far away, during a distant, earlier epoch of my life.

Gimme Input

In his office, faced with the offending machine, we begin The Assessment.

No matter where he clicks, a contextual menu is popping up. Plain old single-button mouse connected to a perfectly innocent looking Mac. Angry jabs at the mouse ensue as he demonstrates. Click—pop, a menu on the desktop. Click—pop, another menu on the desktop.

I’m standing just to the side of his desk, frozen in place, mouth hanging ever so slightly agape. Before my mind could even begin it’s customary scroll through the exotic points-of-failure checklist, the eyes had done a scan of the scene and returned back with a full report. I’m still standing where that report halted me.

Really? Another quick glance, just to be sure. Yes… really.

An awkward moment passes.

I lean forward, and with both hands gingerly pick up the book that’s sitting on the edge of his keyboard—plunked directly on top of the Control key.

These programs like to waste my time—or at least that’s what it feels like.

I’ve been using the new Adobe CS3 applications full-time for a little over a week now, at home and the office. The change to fast, stable Universal Binaries is a welcome one, as are several of the more subtle tool refinements. But there’s one new addition that punches me in the eye every time I see it.

That damn fade.

Cue Transition

For those of you already using a CS3 app, you know what I’m talking about. When you make one of the new applications active the entire program UI fades into view over the course of a quarter of a second or so.

Someone thought this was slick. Someone thought this was pretty. Someone was fairly misguided.

Ill-considered UI fluff like this makes me want to run for my copy of The Humane Interface and wave it about wildly. It’s not a question of aesthetics. It’s a question of perceived performance.

All this fade does is increase the time I have to wait for the application to become active, and therefore usable. Sure it only takes a quarter of a second, but users in heavy production environments (arguably Adobe’s core) switch back and forth between these apps hundreds, maybe thousands, of times a day. What starts out as an annoying stutter compounds to steal minutes out of every day. It doesn’t matter if the applications are screaming speed demons chockablock with fastidiously optimized code—they built a speed bump right outside the front door.

The subconscious is being trained to fold its arms and tap its foot every time you click, tab or otherwise stumble your way into Adobeland. Somewhere a neuron is saying, “Damn it, I was in the middle of a flow there.”