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.

Autumn Rituals: Buying Jeans
Ritual plays an important role in our lives. Emile Durkheim noted in The Elementary Forms of Religious Life that ritual bookends our experience of time:

The division into days, weeks, months, years, etc., correspond to the periodical recurrence of rites, feasts, and public ceremonies.

Time passes, in part, because we create rituals to signal its passage.

In my last post, I discussed the process of buying school supplies in preparation of going back to school. In this post, we take a look at another kind of purchase: jeans. September is jean-selling season. Retailers gear up for the hordes of teenagers (and their parents) doing back-to-school shopping. I look at two retailers, one that uses ritual and one that does not.

The Gap: No Ritual
The Gap has traditionally been a jeans-driven brand, re-inventing “business casual” in the ‘90s. Their take on the jean, this season, is a curious position:

I took this photo through the window of Toronto’s flag-ship store on the tony Bloor Street West (the same street that will be thronged with Chanel-hunting Hollywood starlets during the Toronto International Film Festival).

Notice a few things about this woman:

1.        She’s blonde
2.        She has impossibly long legs
3.        She is wearing 2.5-inch heels with a pair of “casual” pants
4.        She is parting her mouth sexily

The caption, which you can’t quite read is “Putting the it in fit.” The copy is telling us that Gap jeans will fit. The picture is telling us that women are supposed to look like tall, blonde, sexy models who wear high heels with casual jeans. I find it hard to believe that jeans that fit her will actually fit me.

How might this positioning relate to autumn rituals? If you’re having difficulty explaining that, it’s because it doesn’t. This campaign is the tired, uninspired advertising laziness. Creative ad workers likely relied on the notion of the “aspirational” product. People will buy this product because they want to look like that model, this logic goes.

It’s the same logic that continues to market household cleaners only to women (even though men are doing more housework). This is what we “should” aspire to as women: being tall, skinny and blonde, and having a clean house.

Children going back to school, and their parents who bring along their wallets, are in back-to-school mode. This campaign says nothing about this ritual of rejuevenation, re-invention, “buckling down,” and getting “back to work.” The end of summer is irrelevant to this campaign.

Levi’s: On-Ritual
Contrast this with the Levi’s fall campaign. Levi’s has had its share of downs in the last few decades. Its simple, Coca-cola, American-as-Apple-Pie brand image worked during the big-hair ‘80s, but their relative underinvestment in either design on brand dragged down their sales throughout the ‘90s and the ‘00s.

But take a look at their most recent jeans campaign:

I took this in the subway in Toronto that is connected to the city’s mid-market shopping Mecca: Eaton Centre.

Other images of this subway campaign portray the jeans as “worker” jeans. Average-looking beautiful people (instead of beautiful, beautiful people) are featured in sepia-toned, 1930s-inspired photographs. The images evoke the waning sun of summer and the “back to work” spirit of “back to school.”

What’s strikingly different from the Gap campaign is the focus on “work.” “We are all workers” is an interesting take on this back-to-school time. The ritual of beginning a job often involves getting equipment or tools. The jeans are not positioned as “aspirational,” or something that will make you look beautiful. Instead, they’re positioned as necessary to “get the job done.”

The images are evocative of the iconic Depression-era photos of “Okies” working in California:

The brand has even played up the “workers” aspect on its Web site: http://explore.levi.com/news/we-are-all-workers/ with YouTube interviews with “workers” of the depressed town Braddock, PA.

What is the message of this campaign:

1.        People are hurting economically
2.        Jeans are for working in
3.        There is redemption hidden inside the lessons of hard economic times

Analysis: Ritual Still Needs Substance

These contrasts are stark. The Gap chose to rely on “features” (i.e., fit) and “aspirational” imagery. But Levi’s focused on the timing on the campaign, making it far more interesting and nuanced.

I personally am very intrigued by Levi’s campaign. The interviews in the videos are earnest, without guile and a little sad. But I find that more comforting than the pleasant fiction of the Gap campaign. In fact, I find the image of yet another 6’ blonde in a pair of jeans a little enraging.

If brands were to be honest, they would acknowledge these hard economic times. Notably, however, Levi’s stops short of acknowledging where its jeans are made. As a company, they must bear some responsibility for the end of work in the US: their jeans are made in China and Mexico. These jeans are not made by American workers, even those in Braddock, PA. And clearly that town could use a few jobs.

Roger Martin has a great post on Harvard Business Review that summarizes how ethnographic research differs from quantitative surveys.

Martin writes:

Qualitative, and especially observational or ethnographic, research enables us to delve much more deeply into the relationship between our firm and its product/service and the customer. Because we aren’t obsessed about adding all the responses together for ‘rigorous quantitative analysis’, we can let the customer use his own voice/words/vocabulary.

This sounds a lot like the notion of “verstehen,” which refers to the deep understanding that comes from interpretive, qualitative research.

Quantitative research has its place; how else could we measure improvement if not through counting instances or events? Yet we often forget that quantitative data is primarily designed to summarize findings quickly. This is why it’s so popular but also why it’s inadequate to describe many experiences.

I like to us a football game metaphor to describe the real difference between qualitative and quantitative research. Let’s say that the Steelers beat the Patriots 49-15. What would you know about that game? Simply that the Steelers had won.

Would you really know where the turning point in the game came? Would you know about the significance of a mid-game interception? Or perhaps the critical sacking of the Patriots’ quarterback? No, you’d know nothing of the ebb and flow of the game, critical mistakes and successes, or even how the Patriots might feel about their loss. They might actually feel vindicated if their defensive line held tough against the Steelers for 3 out of 4 quarters.

Statistics are a great way of quickly conveying how a group of events, people, or things are similar and different. Mode, median and mean measure “central tendency,” and standard deviation and inter-quartile range tell you “dispersion.” With these two types of measures, you can tell me how similar people are when they choose orange juice, how different they are when they rent cars or attend movies. But you cannot tell me what “more pulp,” means to people, why a “subcompact” car turns off some people, or what people perceive the word “blockbuster” to actually mean.

In short, ethnographic research can clarify all of these deep, nuanced details that quantitative data skates over or takes for granted. Do you want to know how many people attended a “summer blockbuster?” Then by all means, count them. But if you want to know what kind of movie people believe a “blockbuster” to be, then you need to do in-depth ethnographic work.

In an earlier post, I examined how text is transformed when it is created and shared in digital form. In this post, I argue that time itself is transformed when it is represented in digital format. To illustrate, consider my experiment with my Filofax.

Yes, I said Filofax. I still have one. I haven’t filled it with inserts in years, even though that was actually one of my favourite end-of-year rituals. I would make a special trip to the stationary store, just to buy the next year’s worth of calendar. In the process, I would review last year’s appointments, marvel at how much I had gotten done and how fast time had passed. I would linger over favourite appointments, which seemed, at the time, inconsequential, as recorded in my scribbled hand.

I bought a 2009 insert for my Filofax and inputted only two weeks’ worth of appointments. It took me 20 minutes.

Analogue time "reckoning"

The time it took me to enter in all these appointments was more than just scribbling. It was reviewing, remembering, considering. I could not physically enter overlapping appointments. There simply wasn’t room!

Now compare this to the same amount of time, as rendered by my iCal:

Digital Time "Reckoning"

There are overlapping appointments, my husband’s appointments easily inputted into mine, meetings from people I barely know, all dropped into my life automatically. Worse, I carry this around, automatically updating it, second by second, through my iPhone.

Sociologists use the term “time reckoning” to describe how we collectively understand time and make it intelligible to ourselves. There was a great hullabaloo about “clock time,” when clocks came to replace the seasons as our primary way of time reckoning. We forgot we didn’t know how long a minute actually was — we actually now think we can tell how long 23 minutes and 42 seconds is (spoiler: we can’t, especially when we’re enjoying ourselves!).

Now we have “digital” time reckoning, which bears almost no resemblance to how we actually experience time. If you have the misfortune of using time tracking software like TimeControl, then you will likely recognize this fantastical, farcical, FrankenTime:

Screenshot from Microsoft's TimeControl

According to this, a mythical interaction designer named Joseph Gardner spent 8 hours and 20 minutes on Sunday “design interface.” Ignoring the assault on proper grammar for a moment, let’s take a step back and understand what this means. First off, Poor Old Joe was working on Sunday. Notably, TimeControl allowed this kind of time use, despite the fact that it likely broke overtime laws. But secondly, how long is 8 hours and 20 minutes? Did Joe forgo the need for bathroom breaks? Was he glued to the chair for precisely 8 hours and 20 minutes? How long did he actually spend in that chair anyway?

Digital time allows to represent time in impossibly tiny fragments, and to work impossibly long hours. This kind of time would never be recorded in one’s Filofax — there simply isn’t room for all those hours. Moreover, the time it takes to record one’s time in a Filofax also requires one to contemplate the implications of 8 hours and 20 minutes of work on a Sunday.

In short, the difference between analogue and digital time is that digital time is even less like cognitively experienced time than “clock time.” Digital time can be schedule effortlessly, without any thought to the physical need for sleep, food, or relaxation. Digital time is a faster, manifold version of clock time, one that makes it possible for use have multiple, synchronous events.

We all seem to be running out of time. Time use is an important but often overlooked aspect of design. What do designers need to know about time and time use?

• Types of Time

We don’t all use or experience time in the same way. Scholars call two types of time “monochroncity” and “polychronicity.” Polychronicity is defined as the extent to which individuals do more than one task at once. �Polychrons� tend to overlap tasks, dovetail their activities to �hit more than one bird with a stone� and are overall more comfortable with a variability in time sequencing. Monochrons, by contrast, prefer strict planning, a knowable a predictable sequence of events, and a general uniformity in the understanding of time.

These two types of time mean two types of design outcomes: one that is intended for the multi-tasking user and one that is for the single-tasking user. Designers should know ahead of time which type of time to incorporate in their work.

• Temporal Impact On Creativity

Madjar and Oldham found that time orientation, time pressue and task rotation is related to creativity. People who were polychronic and rotated through creative tasks (creating marketing plans) tended to be produce more creative results. Monochronic people tended to produce more creative results when they proceeded sequentially through tasks. Both groups had less creative results when they perceived intense time pressure.

• Tips for Designing For Time Use

1. Temporal Disruption for Users: Recognize you are disrupting users� temporal process, which is often taken-for-granted and invisible. This disruption can be significant in that is will increase stress, anxiety and may elicit negative responses. This is especially important for designers of technology. Research has shown there is a large and often unintended impact through poorly designed technology.
2. Agency/Client Temporal Disconnect: For those of you in agencies working with clients, recognize your own working process may differ from your clients�. This may result in miscommunications about expectations of temporal consistency. Your clients may be monochrons and expect you to be the same.
3. In-house Temporal Disconnect: Managers tend to have more control over their work flow. They also tend to order themselves monochronically. But those further down the totem pole tend to have little control and are often polycrhonic as a result (often unwillingly). Managing a good design practice is ensuring that every worker has some autonomy in their temporal practice. Let monochrons be monochrons.
4. Your Own Creativity: Are you monochronic or polychronic? Your team likely has a mixture of both. Find out which one you are and try to engineer situations that match your orientation.