The wild ones don’t surf the ocean waves because they seek control. They hope to glide on the peak of a waveform and feel one with the universe. They surf to express their curiosity, perseverance, and willingness to be utterly wiped out. They are rewarded, occasionally, with moments that seem beyond the possible. That’s what they think about in the waves.
I worked for a megaladon corporation. The kind that hires Really Smart people to solve Really Hard problems. One of those problems was trying to suss out a user’s intent when they made a bunch of related queries using our search engine.
dslr lens types
dslr lens guide
camera lens
best mirrorless lenses
dslr reviews
Our hypothesis: a person issuing such closely-related queries was in the market to buy a camera lens. Our goal: monetize this insight. Or to rephrase this in human-centered terms: How might we enhance the shopping experience of users with specific interests on search?
I got to interview the very user who submitted the above clutch of queries. Our research participant was a slight, middle-aged man whom we interviewed at home. Gathered around his kitchen table, we watched him use the Internet:
V: So you’re doing a search for camera lenses for your DSLR, is that right?
Participant: Yep, I’m trying to learn more about macro photography.
V: [Gesturing to the screen] Which of these results is useful for you?
Participant: [Hesitates…] I guess… this review site. [Scrolls down, clicks] I like seeing a breakdown of the lenses. And it’s useful to see the specs.
V: Is there anything you’re looking for in particular?
Participant: Not really.
V: Would you consider yourself in the market to buy a new lens?
Participant: [Laughs…] Maybe if I won the lottery!
My ears perked up. For years, my family and I lived in financial insecurity. “Maybe if I won the lottery,” was something I heard my dad say all the time. It’s a way of saying “I wish” or more precisely, “that’s impossible.” So I asked him a question that wasn’t on the script.
V: Well, let’s pretend you won the lottery. Enough to afford as many lenses as you wanted. Does that change anything?
Participant: [Hesitates…] I mean, yeah. I suppose these all look OK.
I waited while he collected his thoughts.
Participant: You know, I’m not really in the market for a lens. I just like looking at them and knowing the specs.
One problem with hiring mostly achievement-oriented people is they wield an achievement-oriented bias. They look around and see people like themselves: humans obsessed with optimization, Getting Shit Done, and metabolizing their RSUs on Wirecutter-annointed consumer durables.
As a UX team, we sought frictions that would prevent a user from achieving their goal. But this participant wasn’t trying to achieve anything. His hobby was looking up camera equipment and drooling over specs and reading reviews. Even if he could afford to buy something, he wouldn’t. His intent was decidedly uncommercial: browse, scroll, read, repeat.
He isn’t trying to buy a camera lens. He’s trying to remember what it felt like to have a hobby, before three kids and a demanding and stressful job made any time to himself a rare extravagance. He keeps track of the models and specs, because it feels good to know something about something. That’s what he thinks about when he’s searching your website.
And of course, this wasn’t something that the megaladon was interested in hearing. The quintessential truth is rarely the truth you expect to find.
In the hero’s journey, at the nadir of the cycle, there is a moment when your protagonist finds the treasure, the magic sword, the damsel in distress, whatever it is they’re supposed to be looking for, and they realize, with some horror, that that ain’t it. They still haven’t found what they’re looking for.
She isn’t trying to create a report in your budgeting software. She is trying to save money, because it’s hard for her, because it’s always been hard for her. She’s afraid she’ll never save enough to take the whole family back home. That’s what she thinks about when she uses your budgeting software.
Practitioners of UX design hurl the word “empathy” around so much, we have almost vacated its meaning. Empathy isn’t reading transcripts of user interviews. Empathy is understanding the story of another human’s life.
Every human is a seeker, but the writer is a special kind of seeker, because you need to seek with the heart of other humans. You must feel what they feel. To guide users along the path you must also walk it.
When you write to understand, you lower your body into the colossal ocean of meaning, words, and noise. Like the wild ones on the beach, a writer wants to know what it’s all about. You need to know.
You seek the quintessential truth.
This is SO good and so true! When I worked closely with UX designers, I found their desire to understand users so much more...authentic? genuine? than our counterparts from other teams (mostly business and sales units) because they were actually curious about a person's experience as they navigated a site, an app, a set of information. As a content strategist, I found I enjoyed work the most and learned the most about strategy when I was working with other people who really cared about other people. It can be really disheartening to work on a team that thinks UX exists to manipulate people, rather than to understand and help them. Thanks for this salient piece, which highlights so much of the tension and confusion I've felt in the past in a simple, clear way. Bookmarking this one for sure!!