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.

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 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.”

I am currently writing a grant proposal for a research project on mobile phones. This is the (very) short version:

All too often, technology designers create systems that unwittingly expose social actors to socially awkward situations. Companies like Facebook struggle to satisfy their users’ needs to present different selves in different social contexts. The dreaded “My mom is on Facebook” problem is so pervasive it was recently lampooned on Saturday Night Live. Such problems persist because technology designers lack an actionable, sociologically informed understanding of how face-to-face social interaction intersects with and co-constitutes online social interaction. Off-line and online social interactions frequently occur between the same actors, sometimes simultaneously, yet we have little understanding of how online interaction affects, and is affected by off-line interaction. I propose to work with a mobile technology company to investigate how material social life intersects with digital social life, which is now increasingly by the use of Web-enabled smart phones.

Further down in the application, I zero in on my specific research questions:

Social actors often simultaneously present a “work” self through their smart phone, while presenting a “domestic self” to their family members surrounding them. These devices, like the BlackBerry, were originally created for business use (Aoki and Downes, 2003), as was the telephone itself (Flinchy 1997). Researchers have already found that mobile phones make the presentation of a consistent “self” tenuous and vulnerable to disruption in various public spaces (Fortunati, 2005). What are the social consequences of a business technology brought into the domestic context?

I will be adding to this proposal in the coming weeks, but in the meantime, I welcome (nay, beg for) comments from the technology design community. Please weigh in!

Few would disagree that fundamental economic change is upon us. Business models are crumbling daily. From the auto industry to the banking industry, it is clear that old ways of doing things are no longer working. The market research industry is just as vulnerable to this shift, yet, like the auto industry before it, it is hardly aware of how deeply its business model is threatened.

The Long Disruption

The market research industry is built for the 20^th Century mass production model, which is rapidly disappearing. The “mass audience” is gone and a fragmented diverse populace has taken its place. This new “audience” defies the easy aggregation of summary statistics on which market research so often relies.  Chris Anderson of Wired figured this out long ago with his book The Long Tail.

The Economic Disruption of The Long Tail -- Anderson, Wired Magazine

He argued that technology lowered the cost of providing services to ever-smaller niches of people, making it possible to sell profitably goods and services that were once too specialized.

This technological shift also means the end of “appointment television.” Digital video recorders allow individuals to time shift their programming to suite them, and not the program executives at television networks.

The Birth (And Death) of Market Research

What does this all have to do with market research? Full-service market research firms are built for the blockbuster era, not for the time of the long tail.

Market research was heavily influenced by the school of “applied sociology,” lead by Paul Lazarsfeld. While at Columbia, Lazarsfeld pioneered many statistical techniques we use today, including the cross tabulation (Babbie and Benaquisto 2002) and the Lazarsfeld-Stanton Analyzer, a machine that records audience reaction to programming in real time (Mattlerart 1996).

The Lazarsfeld-Stanton Analyzer summarizing "the public"

CNN used a variant of this machine for the recent State of The Union address, showing real-time reactions from Democrats in blue, Republicans in red, and Independents in yellow.

The Lazarsfeld brand of insight is based on a fundamental assumption: that the “average” means something. An entry-level statistics course will teach you that average is dragged up or down by extreme values, and the long tail is nothing if not a collection of many extreme values. There is nothing meaningful about knowing that the “average American” rented 30 digital movies a month if, in fact, there were many thousands of Americans who rented none and a many tiny segments that rented somewhere between zero and 40 movies. The “average” is meaningless in this example, yet this ham-fisted approach to summarizing “the public” is what the market research industry is built upon.

Design Research for The Long Tail

Market researchers may argue that with proper segmentation, you can understand every niche within the long tail. This may be true, but to truly understand the diversity between people, your task is not simply to “summarize” the audience, but to delve deeply into the dynamics of what makes them different.

This is why design research is a better fit for today’s long-tail economic model. Context matters. Design research is all about understanding the context because it is rooted in qualitative methodologies, and ethnography in particular. Designers solve contextual problems. The award-winning Braille watch, for example, allows its users to check the time surreptitiously and quickly, something that is both polite and useful. A Lazarsfeld approach would not uncover the social subtleties of checking one’s watch, and certainly could not uncover the specific needs of the blind.

The Braille Watch by David Chavez

Dan Formosa details this limitation of market research in his insightful article in Interactions magazine. He argues that market research should focus on consumer response — after a product is designed. Design research, on the other hand, is about evaluating a product as it is being developed. I would go further; design research is about knowing what to build as well as evaluating the prototype.

Design research uncovers how long-tail niches develop and what differentiates them. It is not the equivalent to “market segments” because it provides specific direction on how to apply research findings. What are the dynamics of renting a movie? What motivates the “heavy renter”? What is it about her television or home that supports heavy renting? You cannot know the answer to these questions by simply providing a laundry list of demographic characteristics and psychographic survey results. You must know the context in which the long tail emerges.

Some may say that good quality market research would not make these kinds of mistakes. And they are right. Highly skilled social scientists are method-agnostic; they choose the right method for the right research question. However, full-service market research firms have become the GM of the industry — they keep building Hummers instead of Priuses. Focus groups don’t uncover contextual nuances, but they’re cheap and profitable. Surveys don’t get to the heart of why a product doesn’t work. Design research, using an ethnographic approach, provides “thick description” of the entire phenomenon of renting movies.

This is where market research cannot go. And this is where market research will fail, unless it rejects the “build another Hummer” mentality.

References

Babbie, E. and L. Benaquisto (2002). Fundamentals of Social Research. Scarborough, Thomson Nelson.

Mattlerart, A. (1996). The Invention of Communication. Minneapolis, University of Minnesota Press.

I am a big fan of MUJI, the simple Japanese housewares company. So I was quite interested to read a post by their art director Kenya Hara on the New York Times’s “Room for Debate.” Hara argues that Japanese people have

…a special ability to focus fully on what’s right in front of our eyes. We tend to ignore what is not an integral part of our personal perspective. We ignore that our cities are a chaotic mess, filled with ugly architecture and nasty signage.

Hara believes that Japanese simplicity is a function partly of this narrow focus. Beautiful designs are better appreciated because of this focus, in Hara’s opinion. (Well known design guru John Maeda also weighs in and argues that the dearness of Japanese food is the primary issue).

A Beautiful Japanese Lunch: New York Times

Philosopher Dennis Dutton argues, interestingly, the American lunch box is of the same instinct: Americans have attempted to make their lunch beautiful but in distinctly different ways. Dutton leaves the symbolic interpretation of these competing “lunch beautifying” methods up to the reader’s imagination.

This reader thinks that by using exterior packaging instead of the food itself, Americans are not beautifying lunch as much as they are obscuring it. Indeed, they even commodifying it by making each lunch, regardless of content, look similar. The content of the lunch itself is irrelevant; whether it is fresh, healthy food or rotting, cheap, fast food, every lunch looks the same in a lunch box.

Perhaps this is indicative of the American spirit if industrialization. Mass production in the Fordist tradition (“You can have whatever colour car you like, as long as it’s black”) is an American value that has been spread around the world. Forget about the content of the thing, instead focus on its packaging, its marketing or its uniformity. This is what Ritzer means by the “McDonaldization of Society.” When the content of a thing matters less than how much of it is sold or how efficient it is to sell it, this is the height of capitalism — and perhaps of American culture.

This is perhaps the essence of why Americans can accept truly horrible food, while the Japanese and the French famously reject it. But it doesn’t explain why Hara thinks Japanese aesthetics are ruled in part by the ability to “focus” on one thing.

Is the Japanese form of capitalism less in need of obscuring and masking than the American? Is ugliness more tolerated by Japanese society and therefore, less of a threat to its form of capitalism?

“But how many people did you talk to?” If you’ve ever done qualitative research, you’ve heard that question at least once. And the first time? You were flummoxed. In 3 short minutes, you can be assured that will never happen again.

Folks, qualitative research does not worry about numbers of people; it worries about deep understanding. Weber called this “verstehen.” (Come to think of it, most German people call it that too. Coincidence?). Geertz called it “thick description.” It’s about knowing — really knowing — the phenomenon you’re researching. You’ve lived, breathed, and slept this thing, this social occurrence, this…this…part of everyday life. You know it inside and out.

Courtesy of daniel_blue on Flickr

You know when it’s typical, when it’s unusual, what kinds of people� do this thing, and how. You know why someone would never do this thing, and when they would but just lie about it. In short, you’ve transcended merely noticing this phenomenon. Now, you’re ready to give a 1-hour lecture on it, complete with illustrative examples.

Now if that thing is, say, kitchen use, then stand back! You’re not an Iron Chef, you are a Platinum Chef! You have spent hours inside kitchens of all shapes and sizes. You know how people love them, how they hate them, when they’re ashamed of them and when (very rarely) they destroy them. You can tell casual observers it is “simplistic” to think of how many people have gas stoves. No, you tell them, it’s not about how many people, it’s about WHY they have gas stoves! It’s about what happens when you finally buy a gas stove! It’s about….so much more than how many.

Welcome to the world of verstehen. When you have verstehen, you can perhaps count how many people have gas stoves. Sure, you could determine that more men than women have them. Maybe you could find out that more of them were built between 1970 and 80 than 1990 and 2000. But what good is that number? What does it even mean?

When you’re designing, you must know what the gas stove means. You must know what it means to transform your kitchen into one that can and should host a gas stove. You must know why a person would be “ashamed” to have a gas stove (are they ashamed of their new wealth? do they come from a long line of safety-conscious firefighters?). You must know more than “how many.”

So the next time someone asks you, “how many people did you talk to?”, you can answer them with an hour-long treatise about why that doesn’t matter. You can tell them you are going to blow them away with the thick description of what this thing means to people. You are going to tell them you know more about this thing than anyone who ever lived, and then, dammit, you’re gonna design something so fantastic, so amazing that they too will be screaming in German. You have verstehen!

See my discussion about sampling methods in qual and quant research for more insight into the reasons why “how many” is irrelevant in qualitative research.

DT has a great post over at Design Sojourn that discusses Six Sigma methodology and how it relates to design. He cites Tim Brown at IDEO who argues that Six Sigma is essentially Newtonian, while design thinking is quantum. In his own design work, DT expressed doubts about using Six Sigma:

After studying the Six Sigma process, I point blank said: �There was no way any of my designers are going to be judged on the quality and success of a design based on how many sketches or iterations we did before we deliver it.�

Both Brown and DT cite Sara Beckman, who recently discussed the topic in the New York Times. Beckman reviews how Six Sigma focuses on incremental improvements, while design and design thinking focuses on big changes. For those of you who aren’t familiar with Six Sigma, it’s a method pioneered by Motorola, which aims to reduce the number of errors to 3 in one million. The “six sigma” refers to six standard deviations. The number of errors should be at the extreme end of the normal curve, or between + or – 3 standard deviations, represented by the Greek symbol sigma.

I argue that design is more complementary to the “interpretivist” paradigm of qualitative research while Six Sigma is positivist. Interpretivists don’t believe the world is a static place. They see reality as being continuously created by you, me and other social actors. There is no such thing as “The Truth” in interpretivist approaches, just different versions of the truth. Typical methods of interpretivists are ethnography, in-depth interviewing and discourse analysis. Positivist research, on the other hand, assumes that reality is static. Positivists believe that “The Truth,” is out there to be discovered. Typical methods would include quantitative surveys.

Designers should focus on interpretivist methods, therefore. They should uncover different versions of the truth using observation and interviewing, as well as deep reflection on symbols and their meanings. Surveys and other quantitative methods are more Six Sigma in that they can measure improvement over time. Designers ought to consider measuring improvement, but starting with qualitative approaches is best.

My article on understanding organizational culture is now up on the interaction design site, Johnny Holland. The post provides an overview of key factors in organizational culture and how these factors affect an organization’s culture. It’s specifically intended to help designers understand their clients’ business culture and to avoid the all-too-common trap of “missing the social” in a design project.

It’s happened to all of us. We walk into what we think is a Web redesign project, only to find we have unwittingly ignited the fires of WW III in our client’s organization. What begins as a simple design project descends – quickly – into an intra-organizational battle, with the unprepared interaction designer caught in the crossfire.

Read the whole post.