The LA Times is reporting a shocking finding: men are doing the grocery shopping! In other news, they also apparently buy clothes, change diapers, and book swimming lessons. Will wonders never cease. The Times tells us that the grocery retailers are finally waking up to this supposed gender revolution:

The nation’s biggest food and personal products manufacturers are taking notice, trying to market products and adjust store layouts to cater to men. It’s a paradigm shift for the $560-billion retail food industry that has patently referred to the primary customer as “she,” focusing marketing and advertising firepower on women, and mothers in particular — sometimes making fun of dads in the process.

This type of analysis is as superficial as it is insulting. Men eat food. Men love food. Men cook food. Men shop for food. Trying to “adjust store layouts to cater to men” is short-hand for “caving to stereotypes about masculinity.” To really understand men and groceries, you need to spend a lot of time with a lot of men.

An amazing sight: a man shopping for food -- LA Times

In our work, we recently did a study about a food category and men. We showed our client that food has implicit gender “maps” to it. You can pattern food to this gender map, but don’t insult your customers. Don’t cave to the easy stereotype of “meat and potatoes = man.” Men, just like women, are diverse in their understanding of food.

To illustrate, we developed this framework.

Foods have implicit gender schme

Just because “steak” is masculine doesn’t mean most men want steak or identify with that type of masculinity. Remember that masculinity (just like femininity) isn’t a “must have” but a “should do” that we all grapple with, and some of us ultimately reject.

The Times goes on to profile P&G and Kraft’s attempts to understand men and their grocery shopping. We approve of their ethnographic approach in general, though we would want our clients to know that there is not one single category called “men.” You can’t be sure to be successful with “men” if you have a single idea of who a “man” is.

If grocery stores want to “cater to” men, they need to first understand that masculinity is a social construct. From there, they can make their in-store experiences more attuned to implicit gender maps that customers hold in their minds when they walk in.

Two of us at Copernicus (Sarah and I) are working on a project, funded through Ryerson University, on smartphone usage. One of the key findings we’ve uncovered so far is that people tend to adopt new communication channels (e.g., text) when they purchase new handsets. This new handset/life change correlation is a symbolic ritual that leads to new ways of communicating.

New phone, courtesy of emotionaltoothpaste on Flickr.com

When do they purchase new handsets? When their lives change in some way. Here’s an example.

We spoke to one young professional who was telling us when he started using BlackBerry Messenger (BBM). He noticed that he started using it more when he got his new BlackBerry handset, but it was also around the time he got engaged to his fiancée (who also had just gotten a BlackBerry). So he wasn’t sure if it was because he got the new BlackBerry or because he got engaged.

This type of life event was a recurrent theme. Participants got new handsets when they went away to university, when they started a new job, when they got a promotion, when they moved house. Or they purchased them for their children when they reached a certain age.

This type of ritualistic consumption is common. We have talked about this before in our analysis of autumn jean buying. People buy certain items to equip themselves for the new season, but also to symbolically mark the shift from one state to the next. There are practical reasons why one would purchase a new handset when one is moving house, for example, but there is also a deeply symbolic transformation taking place.

Participants are hiving off the past by giving up their old handsets. They are preparing for the future (at university, at the new job, with the new partner) when they are upgrading to a new, “futuristic” piece of technology. Just like new jeans are symbolic of a new school year, new handsets are symbolic of a new way to relate to new people or things in your life.

New handsets are not just new phones; they are new ways to communicate. Our participants did not intend to re-invent how they talked/texted/BBM’d but they did intend to change their lives in some way. Texting for the first time seems natural when you’re embracing another life change. Using BBM for the first time makes sense if your new fiance already uses it. Answering email on the bus for the first time is not weird if everyone at the new office does it.

I have argued in the past that financial services providers should only ever look to life changes as triggers for new products. It’s clear that new products go hand in hand with new life events. In this case, new products and new life events correlate with new technology adoption.

Technology designers should consider what events are the triggers, and incorporate these symbolically into their mobile platforms. Advertisers should understand that getting consumers accustomed to new mobile content means understanding their new life situations. Employers should understand that new hires and the newly promoted are adjusting to new ways of communicating, usually because they are given new phones without much discussion. And parents should realize that symbolic ages for their children (e.g., age 16) will often mean new ways of communicating. Just teaching your son or daughter to drive is the start of it — you may also have to learn how to BBM.

In our work with Ryerson University, we are uncovering some interesting findings about domestic mobile phone use. For example, mobile phones are affecting family management:

Smartphones bind families closer: some participants told us that their texting increased when they upgraded to a smartphone. A discrete text to one’s spouse is easily tolerated in the workplace, making it much easier to stay in touch than through voice only. Partners tend to be sending quick texts to each other throughout the day, thereby binding their lives closer together and facilitating their domestic management.

We know that the family is changing. Copernicus researchers have gone into family homes to understand how changing ideas of gender are affecting product use, cultural beliefs, and everyday practices. The mobile study is another example of how the family — usually a taken-for-granted category — is a dynamic, changing form.

Read more about these initial findings and our exciting project.

As we go forward with this work, we’ll be updating the public on these fantastic insights. Stay tuned!

I’m thrilled to be managing a research project on mobile technology use through a fellowship at the Ted Rogers School of Management at Ryerson University. I’ve assembled a research team and we have started initial research. Our “ethnographic stretching” exercise lead to some interesting insights:

“Attachment Paradox”: More than one person we talked to said that their mobile phone meant nothing to them. “It’s just a device. There’s no attachment to it,” said one person. Yet, this same person said she’d “panic” if she lost it. How can they be anxious of its loss, yet “unattached” at the same time? Again, more work to be done here.

Check out some of the other insights on the Mobile Work Life project Web site

The bane of many women’s existence appeared in today’s New York Times: irregular clothing sizes. The journalist interviewed one young woman who complained about irregular sizing:

“I can be anywhere from a 0 at Ann Taylor to a 6 at American Eagle,” she said. “It obviously makes it difficult to shop.”

A scanning kiosk advising customers on their correct size - NY Times

The woman used a body scanner, set up in a Philadelphia mall, to give her a more accurate size for the stores she prefers:

This time, the scanner suggested that at American Eagle, she should try a 4 in one style and a 6 in another. Ms. VanBrackle said she tried the jeans on and was impressed: “That machine, in a 30-second scan, it tells you what to do.”

Why are fashion retailers providing such poor sizing? According to the fashion historian quoted in the article, this is partly historical — sizing has never been fully standardized. But it isn’t just the numbers, it’s also the cut. Clothing is frequently cut for a single body type. If you’ve ever seen a catwalk, you’ll know that designers favour the straight-lined boyish look of models over the “apple” or “pear” or “hourglass” shape of average women.

Retailers are missing a key aspect of the fashion experience if they have inadequate sizing. Mary Alderete, vice president for women’s global marketing at Levi’s, seems to get it:

“When we try on 10 pairs of jeans to buy one, the reason you feel bad is because you think something’s wrong with you.”

Women are cramming themselves into inaccurate sizes, cut to fit only one type of body — and they’re feeling bad about it. It’s amazing that fashion retailers, who go as far as scenting the air in their stores, fail to cater to this most basic aspect of the clothing experience.

What does “size” means to women? It is conversation between her and the garment, one which all too often ends with a judgment of the woman.  When a woman takes a piece of clothing to the fitting room, she is asking the garment, “Are you right for me?” The garment “speaks” first in through its listed size. But imagine when that size does not match how the garment fits. It is now telling the woman, “You are too big for me.” This is obviously a touchy subject for most women, as we are expected to maintain a small size. We are trained to take up less space, less food (among other things).

The size is a “normative” expectation, as sociologists would call it. A woman is “supposed to” fit into a certain size, and if she does not, “something’s wrong with you.” Retailers are making women feel there’s something wrong with them, not to mention frustrated, and are also wasting their time.

When the customer is at the centre of what you do, it’s inevitable that you design better products. In this case, fashion retailers are failing to achieve this most basic tenet of design. Levi’s has the right idea by introducing “It’s not size; it’s shape,” campaign. They have several body types and sizes, making it easier for the garment to say, “Yes, you’re exactly right for me.”

I recently gave a guest lecture to the Master’s of Design students at OCADU on how to research culture. Don’t worry if you missed it, because you can now listen to the same lecture and get the presentation!

Below is the audio and presentation from that lecture. Are you interested in more? Consider Culture Coaching, a new service from Copernicus. We offer one-on-one coaching for designers, marketers, and strategists. If you want to improve your cultural IQ, take a look at Culture Coaching

Social media today can take some wisdom from past research into social networks. Mark Granovetter’s famous sociological study of how people hear about job opportunities found that “weak ties” to friends and acquaintances are actually more beneficial than “strong ties” to family and close friends. Social media marketers need to consider who has weak ties and strong ties before designing a social media strategy.

The Individual and The Network: Courtesy of Wikipedia

Weak ties are a product of social and psychological factors. Whether you’re designing an interaction, an experience, a marketing campaign or even an organizational itself, you should know what makes a “weak tie.” Weak ties are the source of precious information, like who’s hiring someone with your exact qualifications, where you can get the best deal on tires, or how good that new movie really is. Weak ties are the source of influence marketing, organizational innovation, and economic growth. In short, weak ties are the ties that matter.

What kind of person develops many weak ties? In his famous study, Granovetter did not measure certain psychological or sociological variables to determine if there was a systematic difference between those with weak ties and those with strong ties. But there are reasons to believe that there is such a systematic difference.

I come from a small town full of people with thick, strong ties have held that community together for generations. Originally a prosperous West Coast Salish Community, Sechelt continues to be archetypical of strong ties. There is economic development there, yet there is little innovation, dynamism or rapid change that occurs in cities.

I came to Toronto, where I knew exactly two people, both of whom were “weak ties” or friends I had known from school. Granovetter’s analysis would show that these were exactly the right kinds of people to help me find economic opportunities. And indeed, he was right; one friend graciously opened her home to me as I started my new job in this new city. 13 years later, I still live in this city (minus a two-year sojourn back home for my Master’s degree and to rack up even more weak ties), and here I am.

I now run this research company by developing and honing my weak ties. Weak ties have brought Copernicus new colleagues, new business, and new ideas. I have many weak ties throughout the city and the continent. What kind of person am I? What are the missing variables from Granovetter’s study?

• I am well educated, with four degrees and armloads of weak ties from each university experience. Did this help me develop a wide social network?
• I have cultural capital, having been trained which fork to use and when by my etiquette conscious mother. Did this help me develop a *quality* social network?
• I am an extrovert, who is comfortable meeting strangers and talking to acquaintances. Did this pre-ordain me to have many weak ties?
• I am a woman, who has been trained to consider social events part of my “gender job.” Does this encourage me to develop weak ties?
• I am white, and have been given white privileges like walking into office buildings, record shops, and convenience stores with nary a blink from a security guard. Has this helped me make new weak ties?

Sociologically speaking, weak ties are likely the result of a combination of social structures like race, gender, and social class. Psychologically speaking, weak ties are likely the result of constitutional personality traits, such as neuroticism or introversion/extroversion. Using both lenses, one can see that social capital is not built without a context; people are born into a personality, a body, and a social location which may — or may not — encourage the development of weak ties.

When you are designing a social media strategy, consider these social and psychological factors. Interaction designers would do well to gather insight around these variables specifically when doing design research, and incorporating them into their personas. Organization designers and HR consultants should consider that innovation does not happen simply because of “social media,” but because of specific social and psychological factors. And marketers should never believe that “if you build it, they will come.” Marketers should instead believe “if you build it, some of these specific types of people will come” to social media applications and campaigns.

The Essence of Interaction Design Research: A Call for Consistency

This post is reproduced from the original Interactions magazine article

It started with an innocent query to the IxDA listserv. Someone was sure they had read an article in Interactions magazine once but could not find it again: Wasn’t there something written sometime by someone about something like sample size in usability research? asked an expectant interaction designer. Woe is the hapless interaction designer who is unprepared for the firestorm that follows the dreaded “sample size” question. 106 replies later, and not only was the answer clearly left unanswered but worse, it left many scratching their heads in genuine confusion: what is the essence of interaction design research? Is it data-driven and “scientific”? Is it exploratory and qualitative? No consensus was reached. Again.

What's your sample size again?

This schizophrenia is both a blessing and a curse. One the one hand, an interaction designer has the freedom to assemble her research program like an artist assembling an installation: whatever inspires her can indeed find a place in the final result. Yet, such a lack of standards leads to a distinct lack of consistency and expertise. If interaction design research is whatever you want it to be, what is to stop other occupations “colonizing” what ought to be the purview of the interaction research? See, for example, Dan Formosa’s article in this year’s January-February issue of Interactions, lamenting the intrusion of market research into the design field. When there are no standards, there is freedom.

As Sartre said, we are “condemned to be free,” meaning when there are no pre-defined codes of conduct, then we must tragically, wonderfully, horribly, create ourselves. The confusion over the essence of interaction design research is us, thrashing about as we desperately create ourselves.

You are condemned to be free: courtesy of http://artoftheprank.com/author/mibanez/

In this article, I explain how this lack of standardization affects the practice of interaction design research. In particular, I note that the dreaded “sample size” debate is actually indicative of a larger issue of theoretical training. I call on interaction designers to embrace standardization – not blindly, but with eyes wide open – for the benefit of the interaction design research and for the profession itself.

The Long and Winding Road

Most people stumble into interaction design. Unlike a profession such as medicine, for example, interaction design has a distinctively ill-defined apprenticeship. The proliferation of interaction design job titles demonstrates this lack of definition. A lack of standardization is liberating to many but has the unintended consequence of undermining the interaction designer’s autonomy. To become an, accountant, professor or engineer, individuals must meet compulsory standards, pass examinations, and prove their mastery of the profession’s “canon” of knowledge in order to practice it. Jobs that require a “canon” are typically called a “profession” instead of a mere “occupation.”

Indeed, a “profession” is not simply a job requiring skill. A profession differs from an occupation in that its members exercise exclusive control over a specific body of knowledge (Friedman, 2000, Greenwood, 1957, Larson, 1977). A profession must therefore have a clearly defined certification process, which in turn allows its members to exercise a sort of monopoly over the work itself. If a doctor is fired from a hospital, she continues to be a doctor. No hospital administrator can remove her ability to write prescriptions, for example. Only her peers can remove or grant this ability. Her peers have decided she has met the minimum acceptable standards to write prescriptions and practice medicine; the hospital administrator’s opinion is irrelevant. The power of the professional, then, is inextricably bound up with her knowledge and training.

The “community of practice” is no substitute for a profession. It is merely the poor man’s version of a profession; it refers to the informal knowledge sharing sessions of Xerox technicians, who bully each other instead of fighting for higher wages or more autonomy (Seely Brown and Duguid, 1991).  As with copier repair, there is no body of knowledge that is collectively recognized as comprising “interaction design,” much less “interaction design research.” In their 2006 survey, the IA Institute found 48% of self-identified information architects had no formal training, and almost 3% of those surveyed “weren’t sure” (!) if they had formal education (Information Architecture Institute, 2006).  It is for this reason that there is much confusion about what interaction design research should really look like. No accountant questions how to gather data for creating a cash-flow statement. Certainly, there may be debate about the “right” method, and perhaps there are several schools of thought to which individual accountants tend to subscribe. But in the end, there is no debate that a cash flow statement has X, Y, and Z and if it has A, B, and C, then it is not a cash flow statement, but a balance sheet.

Interaction designers have no such luxury. What exactly constitutes an “interaction”? Where does interaction design end and aesthetic design begin? These questions may seem overly theoretical to some, and indeed, they are theoretical. But it is this very line of questioning that defines the professionalization process. What constitutes a dentist over a dental hygienist? Dentists and dental professors themselves defined that difference – for their own benefit (Adams, 2003). Practitioners of a discipline must delineate the theoretical confines of a discipline (and the requisite knowledge that must be mastered to claim expertise in that discipline) in order to claim occupational autonomy. Simply forming a “community of practice” and gathering for “shop talk” is not sufficient. Xerox technicians have not successfully created a monopoly of knowledge over photocopiers, neither have they created a strong lobby for occupational control.

The HCI Connection

This is not to say that interaction design is completely bereft of an intellectual tradition. The IA Institute’s industry survey did find that, of the information architects that were formally trained, 40% of them had training in Library Science and another 12% in Human Computer Interaction. This suggests there is, at least, a significant number of practitioners (at least those identifying as “information architects”) with similar training. The HCI and Library Science disciplines inculcate their students with a distinctively quantitative approach to research. The November 2009 annual meeting for the American Society for Information Science and Technology (ASIS&T) included a full-day pre-conference workshop “infometrics” and “scientometrics,” which trained participants on a multitude of quantitative methods. The ASIS&T also maintains several “special interest groups” or SIGs that are specifically targeted around metrics, measurement and quantitative methods. Not one SIG specializes in “design” or “qualitative” methods. The Computer Human Interaction (CHI) SIG in ASIS&T professes interest in “online users and their behavior,” and not the symbolic, interpretive or otherwise cultural aspects of the online experience.

One Small Question: What is reality?

Underneath this focus on metrics and “behavior” is a set of implicit: assumptions within the HCI/Information Science tradition. This assumption cuts to the heart of the “sample size” debate: what is the nature of the world and what is the best way to research it? Most researchers subscribe, at least in part, to two established schools of methodological thought: quantitative and qualitative. While they may never be “purely” quantitative or qualitative in their research approaches, researchers tend to subscribe to the overall tenets of their school. The archetypical or “ideal type” quantitative researcher may not actually exist, but describing her methodological approach elucidates unspoken assumptions many researchers may have.

The archetypical quantitative researcher first starts with the assumption that the world is a “real” place that exists independently of human beings (Bryman, 2006). In other words, quantitative research has an objectivist ontology, one which assumes reality is an objective thing that can be researched. Accordingly, the ideal-type quantitative researcher also assumes that the scientific method is the best way to discover this reality, and that a researcher does not affect or shape the outcomes of the research, if appropriate steps to avoid “bias” are taken. On the whole, this approach means looking for the most “typical” occurrence, one which has a necessarily statistical description (Alasuutari, 1995).

Table 1: Qualitative Versus Quantitative Research Paradigms

By contrast, the archetypical qualitative researcher assumes the world is not an objective reality but something that is constructed by us humans, every moment of everyday (Denzin and Lincoln, 2000). Such a researcher considers how humans “make sense” of the world as having primary importance, so his methods are typically aimed at uncovering or “unriddling” this sensemaking process (Alasuutari, 1995). Numerical representations of the “typical” occurrence are irrelevant in this view because there is no typical occurrence.

One can see how “scientific” approaches to interaction design research evolved, therefore, from the objectivist, positivist research paradigm. In this paradigm, it makes sense to count and to find the “average.” And of course in order to do so, one must count sufficient numbers to make it statistically valid. But if one adopts the assumption that there is no such thing as “typical,” that how we make sense of language, for example, tells us how to build Web sites, then it is a logical choice to reject “sample size” as important. The process of sensemaking is more important to the constructivist, interpretivist researcher.

The Design Connection

It is unclear how many self-identified “interaction designers” would reject, wholesale, the title or description of “information architect.” Herein lies the problem. To reject “information architecture” in favor of “interaction design,” is actually to reject the positivist tradition of information “science” in favor of “design.” This is a significant turn.

Design spans both art and science, making its ontological and epistemological position unclear. Design requires both the “logical character of the scientific approach and the intuitive and artistic dimensions of the creative effort.” It spans both deductive and adductive logic; it is the “the process of creation and decision-making” (Borja De Mozota, 2003). Interaction designers draw on both the “science” of decision-making but also the art of creativity.

Is it any wonder then, where our collective schizophrenia comes from? We are fraught with existential angst by the very label of the occupation. We are not entirely sure if we are information scientists or if we are artists. We create our own professional identities as a bricolage, choosing pieces that suit us and rejecting those that don’t. If there are no standards, there is freedom.

Freedom Ain’t Free: A Call To Action

Interaction designers may feel blessed to draw on the scientific tradition for one research project, and on the interpretivist tradition for another. This may feel liberating. But it has its cost.

Professionals command higher pay, status, and autonomy precisely because they have agreed to subscribe to a canon of collected knowledge. They accept that they must prove their familiarity with, say, contracts law even though they do not plan to use it and could easily do without it, thank you very much. Professionals do endure such “irrelevant” learning because they recognize the benefits of having their occupation controlled, even somewhat, by their peers. They enjoy greater freedom at work (Greenwood, 1957). They have higher salaries (Larson, 1977). They can even withstand the slings and arrows of globalization and maintain their professional autonomy (Faulconbridge and Muzio, 2008). Professionals know that by sacrificing a little, they get a lot.

So a call to action. Interaction designers: now is the time to define the theoretical boundaries of your knowledge. What exactly constitutes an “interaction” and how exactly might one “design” it? What is the difference between an interaction designer and an information architect? What, by extension constitutes interaction design research? And finally, for once and for all, does an interaction designer need to care about sample size?

These questions must be answered. We must answer them. I’m not suggesting that interaction designers drop everything and begin furiously debating in the pages of academic journals. Rather, I am suggesting that design educators begin instilling clear and defined canons of knowledge in their students, that practitioners begin adopting (gasp!) standards when hiring, and that collectively, we pursue a consensus.

I present two illustrative examples of professionalization: engineering and medicine. Engineers structured their occupation and thereby collect some benefit, but physicians gained exclusive rights over key aspects of their practice, making their professionalization process much more successful. David Noble traces the professionalization of the engineer in his fascinating history America By Design (Noble, 1979).

It was businessmen, not university-based researchers, which lead the drive to professionalized engineering, resulting in engineers becoming “company men” instead of independent practitioners. Engineers successfully controlled entry into the profession but oftentimes rely on engineering employers for a professional identity. By contrast, physicians professionalized their occupation as a group of independent practitioners. Indeed, it is physicians that all other professions look to emulate (Ritzer and Walczak, 1988). While there have been many recent changes that limit physician autonomy (O’Connor and Lanning, 1992), physicians continue to maintain a near monopoly over the legal ability to prescribe drugs (in the United States, nurse practitioners can prescribe some drugs).

The lesson from these two professions is first to ensure practitioners, not companies, drive professionalization. The Interaction Design Association and the Information Architecture Institute are great starts in this direction. But secondly, interaction designers must gain exclusive control over a certain body of knowledge. For example, interaction designers may seek to “own” accessibility-compliant Web site design. Interaction designers may end up with several schools of thought, which is perfectly acceptable (there are, after all, Jungian psychiatrists as well as Freudians). But at the very least, we will never waste another single pixel on the dreaded “sample size” question!

About the Author

Sam Ladner is a sociologist with an interest in the design of technology and its effect on organizations. She mixes private-sector consulting work with academic research and teaching. Using a range of methods including interviewing, observation and ethnography, she consults on digital product design, organizational change, and the social aspects of technological innovation. She holds a PhD in sociology from York University. She currently works for her own firm as consultant and principal with Copernicus Consulting Group and frequently partners with design firms.

References

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BORJA DE MOZOTA, B. (2003) Design Management: Using Design to Build Value and Corporate Innovation, New York, All Worth Press.

BRYMAN, A. (2006) Integrating Quantitative and Qualitative Research: How Is It Done? Qualitative Research, 6, 97-113.

DENZIN, N. & LINCOLN, Y. (2000) Introduction: The Discipline and Practice of Qualitative Research. IN DENZIN, N. & LINCOLN, Y. (Eds.) Handbook of Qualitative Research. 2nd ed. Thousand Oaks, Sage.

FAULCONBRIDGE, J. & MUZIO, D. (2008) Organizational professionalism in globalizing law firms. Work, Employment and Society, 22, 7-25.

FRIEDMAN, M. (2000) Autonomy, Social Disruption and Women. IN MACKENZIE, C. & STOLJAR, N. (Eds.) Relational Autonomy: Feminist Perspectives on Autonomy, Agency, and the Social Self. Oxford, Oxford University Press.

GREENWOOD, E. (1957) Attributes of a profession. Social Work, 2, 44-55.

INFORMATION ARCHITECTURE INSTITUTE (2006) Information Architecture For The World Wide Web Industry Survey. Seattle, Information Architecture Institute.

LARSON, M. (1977) The Rise of Professionalism, Berkeley, University of California Press.

NOBLE, D. F. (1979) America by design : science, technology, and the rise of corporate capitalism, New York, Oxford University Press.

O’CONNOR, S. & LANNING, J. (1992) The End of Autonomy? Reflections of the Postprofessional Physician. Health Care Management Review, 17, 63-73.

RITZER, G. & WALCZAK, D. (1988) Rationalization and the Deprofessionalization of Physicians. Social Forces, 67, 1-22.

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“© ACM, (2009). This is the author’s version of the work. It is posted here by permission of ACM for your personal use. Not for redistribution. The definitive version was published in PUBLICATION, XVII.2 – March / April, 2010,

I am a new home owner. Like many new home owners, I am both fascinated and repelled by the most terrifying show on television: Holmes on Homes. This show demonstrates a key aspect to understanding social life: normativity or what “should be.”

For those unfamiliar with the show, allow me to summarize the narrative arc of virtually every show. Mike Holmes is a general contractor. He arrives at a home as if he were arriving at the scene of the crime. Like Catherine on CSI, he takes a tour of the “scene.” The homeowners (usually a straight couple, about my age) regale him with the horrible story of their recent renovations, gone awry.

Mike clucks and mutters under his breath. He provides running commentary to the homeowners, assuring them that yes, their instincts were correct: their renovations were not “done right.” He then assures them that when his team arrives on the scene they will “make it right.”

The team duly arrives and as they peel back the layers of the house (the drywall, the floors, the ceiling, the insulation, the roof; Mike stops at nothing to uncover the truth), they discover how bad it actually is. About halfway through the show, Mike is stripped down to his crisp white tank top, with a pair of overalls. He is likely sweating. He is red-faced both with exertion and moral indignation.

“How can somebody do this to a family?” he asks. “They’re good people. They don’t deserve this.”

As the show progresses, Mike and his team make everything right. The magical closing moments of the show is the reveal: when the homeowners are invited back into their now-right home. They are typically overwhelmed. They gasp, whoop, and cry. They hug Mike Holmes. “This is how I get paid,” he tells the camera. The damage is un-done. Their home is now “right.”

If you are a homeowner, you know full well that your house will never be “right.” You have crumbling grout. You have an irritable furnace. Your kitchen faucet drips. Your livingroom window fogs up. You have any number of small or large malfunctions. Your home is “not right.”

What Holmes on Homes does is demonstrate to you what “right” look like. In other words, it demonstrates what sociologists call “normativity” or what “should” be. And you are not what you should be. Until Mike Holmes arrives, that is.

Mike Holmes plays the same role as Dr. Oz. He goes “underneath” the mere appearance of your home. In fact, houses that are well decorated are among Mike’s favourite targets because he can show how “looks can be deceiving.”

Dr. Oz does similar work when he takes blood from an audience member and shows her “the truth” about her blood sugar level, which is not readily apparent from her mere appearance.

Both Mike Holmes and Dr. Oz are showing us what “should” be. The truth is, none of us really notice if our electrical system is sub-par or if we are pre-diabetic. Our houses and our bodies are “asymptomatic” and we are quite happy with that state. Only through their expert intervention can you become “right.” This is what Michel Foucault talks about: experts and what they say in books and TV shows lead us to control ourselves.

Now granted, there may be homes or bodies that need significant intervention to survive. But we all too frequently raise the bar on what is “right.” Our homes are cleaner, drier, and more comfortable than they ever have been in history. Yet, we are continuously told that they are not “good enough.”

Mike Homes tells us what many marketers do: your home does not function properly. There is an entirely new universe of “properly” that you don’t even know existed. Instantly, there is anxiety about being “not right.” There is a compelling need to “make it right.”

Marketers and designers take heed. You may sell or design products based on what “should” be. You may subtly introduce anxiety in your customers without even realizing it. But you are not evoking good feelings or lifetime loyalty. You are scaring people. You are making them uncomfortable. You are making them feel inadequate. And before they met you (or Mike Holmes, or Dr. Oz) they felt perfectly fine.

Selling or designing based on normativity is also morally questionable. Advertising has a long history of selling anxiety, particularly to women. I exhort marketers and designers to eschew normative approaches, and instead, make people feel good about what they already have. Make them feel happy. And invite yourselves to that happy table.

I have mixed feelings about Mike Holmes. I thoroughly enjoy his ritualistic purification of people’s homes. I love it when what was so wrong is “made right.” It feels good to see that transformation. But now that I live in something that is “not right” and I do not have the limitless resources to “make it right,” I am in a constant state of dissatisfaction. I would have preferred to remain relatively ignorant of what “right” might be. I would likely be happier if I didn’t know how woefully inadequate my 60 amp panel is.

But my sociological lens helped me understand that Mike Holmes is just like my former doctor, who told me in one breath that I was very healthy and in the next told me to “lose weight.” Normativity is something we must recognize as just one view of “right.”

Consumers are “time starved,” as many designers and marketers may know, but there is more to the story than simply not having enough time. The very concept of “down time” carries an important lesson about technology design.

In this post, I analyze the idea of “down time” and the activity of “cottaging” as a Canadian (and more specifically, Ontarian) cultural touchstone. Our pursuit of “down time” isn’t simply about not having enough time; it’s about a simpler way to understand the world. “Up time” is both precisely measured and immediately connected to events the world over. “Down time” is not measured and implies a smaller amount of sensory information. “Down time” is sought after because time passes less stressfully and engagement is based on what is physically in one’s presence.

Technology fails the user’s own “stress test,” in a sense, when it is designed with the implicit assumption of “up time.” Technology that passes the “stress test” allows time to pass in the background, without constantly reminding the user how much time is left precisely. Well designed technology also allows the user to tune out the loud, messy world that foists itself upon us through our cell phones, televisions, and computers.

Designers, marketers, and technology architects should embrace “down time” as the over-arching experience their products evoke.

Cottaging
Cottaging is a time-honoured tradition in Ontario. People living in the so-called “Golden Horseshoe” of the cities ringing Lake Ontario make annual treks north to a variety of locations collectively called “cottage country.”

To “cottage” is a uniquely Ontario phenomenon.

Image courtesy of paulhami on Flickr

(Being a Westerner, I haughtily refused to utter the word “cottage” for the first two years I lived here. In British Columbia, it is referred to as “a cabin” or as “camp.” I continued to use “cabin” stubbornly until eventually I gave in, as exhausted as a Briton too beaten down to ask for his “bonnet” to be opened at the “petrol station.” I too became a “cottager.”)

Cottaging frequently means “roughing it,” though “roughing it” is a matter of degrees. Some urbanites sneer at their city neighbours for having insulation in their cottages; others deride the use of televisions or Web-connected computers (the truly ascetic disdain electricity or running water).

Cottaging is time to “recharge” and relax, to cook, to read, to sit and stare at nothing. It is “down time.”

Therein lies a key insight in today’s urban world. What is “down time” and why would a city dweller require it?

“Down time”
“Down time” is time spent “off the grid,” or “away from it all.” In short, it is time spent disconnected. Hence the implicit assumption that cottaging often requires no modern technology (though exceptions are often made for iPods fully loaded with the complete works of Leonard Cohen, or covers of Gordon Lightfoot songs).

Something happens when you go to the country. As you leave the city limits, the sounds and people recede into the distance. Coming into view are trees and lakes and rivers and sky. There is a comfort in knowing less about what is going on in the world. The less you know about what is happening elsewhere in the world, the slower time passes.

“Down time” is still time, and time that can pass quickly. But it is most fundamentally local time. What happens in Delhi or Denver is irrelevant. All that matters is what happens right here and right now.

We went to the cottage about 3 hours north of Toronto several weekends ago. When we arrived, there was a hint of autumn in the air. The overcast sky gave you a biting hint of the cold weather to come.

When you see the countryside, you pay close attention to the changing patterns of time. You cannot help but notice time passing because you see it imprinted on the trees and fields in front of you. The sun reminds you constantly of its relative position in space. It is hot and close; it is far and cold; it is turning away from you.

Time in the city: artificial, precise and decoupled from location
But in the city, the natural time-keeping clues of the land are masked. The sun may well become warmer throughout the spring, but you cannot see the growing grass or the lush fields because they are covered in concrete.

In the city you pay more attention to your personal, artificial time-keeping device: your watch. Or more likely still, your cell phone. On digital clocks, time is precisely measured and calculated.

When you check the time using your cell phone, you are shown precisely how much time has passed down to the minute (or even the second). In a sense, you know far more about time than you would if you checked the sky. But in another sense, you know far less about time because you are divorced from your physical location.

You measure time, but you do not know time.

You fill up your mind with news of events from far away, from places you may never see. You know more about the world, but less about what is in front of you.

Back to the cottage
There is an immediate relief when you become ignorant to the precise measurement of time. There is no need to count the minutes; they will pass without your noticing. You need not notice minutes passing because there anything you need to know about will occur right in front of you.

This is the relief you get when time is known through local cues like the sun, the length of the grass, or the kids asking you for food. You no longer need to know exactly what some arbitrary number tells you what time it is. Instead, you know it’s “bed time” or “dinner time” because the cues around you tell you it is.

The cottage offers “down time” which is disconnected from everything other irrelevant thing going on in the world. It is time that is measured in cups of tea, in sinksful of dishes, in conversations. What time is it two time zones away? What time is it two houses away? Who cares? It is not in front of you and therefore, it is irrelevant.

When we’re up
Why is “down time” valued so much by urban Ontarians? “Up time” is time that is overwhelming. It is connected. It is a ringing cell phone. It is an Outlook alert. It is precisely one hour. It is a Web page updated before your eyes. It is your in-box. It is the calculation that you make to know it is six hours ahead in London.

Photo courtesy of Toasty Ken on Flickr

This kind of “up time” may not reach all urban dwellers equally. People who are in knowledge jobs are likely more “up” than those in front-line service or goods production. The more going on outside of your immediate physical presence, the more “up” you have to be.

The implications for design
Designers are well familiar with the successes of simpler design. Part of Apple’s success is its relentless commitment to eliminating visual and techno-social noise (consumers often say that Apple products “just work”).

But the desire for “down time” suggests that successful design is more this kind of appeal. It is also building in the ability to “cut off” or disconnect from all those distant events. It allows people to engage wholeheartedly with what is in front of them in that moment.

Some may be familiar with Csikszentmihalyi’s notion of “flow,”which occurs when a person’s ability is evenly matched to the challenge in front of them. This is actually “down time.” Cottagers may be challenged by playing a game or cooking a challenging meal, but they are not exhausted by it.

Designing good technology is understanding cultural touchstones like “down time” and embedding them into the final product.