I have been involved in many training and consulting programs in recent years. I have always held the belief that it is nearly impossible for an audience to fully absorb a design skill or method in just a few hours or days. The comprehension of these concepts requires embodied practical experience. Therefore, I have been thinking about how to maximize the benefits for the audience within a limited time.

I believe that if we can help people recognize a new perspective, experience a new way of thinking, and understand a series of new design principles, then the goal has been achieved. The philosopher Aristotle often discussed first principles at the beginning of his works, and following his approach, I believe that the underlying concepts behind methods need to precede the methods themselves.

Today, I want to discuss the “why” of design, that is, the starting point of design. The starting point of design significantly influences the designer’s thinking and actions during the design process. It is necessary for designers to articulate the goals of their design at the earliest stage of design process. And it is also essential to constantly examine whether they are moving toward their goals. I, too, had been boasting about various novel design methods that could be used in a project while neglecting the important question of “why.” I now believe that answering the “why” of design must absolutely precede the selection of design methods.

Several years ago, when I was working in the UK, I used a Barclays bank card. When I opened the account, it came with a USB key, commonly known as a U-shield. In theory, such a small item is unlikely to catch someone’s attention since it doesn’t appear frequently in daily life. However, it always provided me with a “peculiar” experience, so much so that even after all these years, I still use it as an example.

I don’t know if you feel pleased by the crisp “click” sound and the “solid” movement of the stainless steel button when you toggle the iPhone’s mute switch, but I know that the feedback from the mute switch at least makes people feel “reassured” and “stable.” It informs the user of its state through both auditory and tactile feedback. You can also experience this when using light switches made of hard plastic.

Returning to the USB key I mentioned earlier, its button is soft and large, and when pressed, there is no sense of pause or resistance. The button feels like a rubber block that can be infinitely compressed, so it cannot inform the user of its state through touch. It also does not provide auditory feedback—no sound indicates whether the key press was successful. The only interface that informs the user of the input status is a faint LCD screen. Every time my sense of touch and hearing suggested that I might not have successfully entered a number, my vision told me that I had. And the success rate of inputting was surprisingly high—even if you lightly press or just press the edge of the button, when you’re convinced that the input couldn’t have been successful, there is still a high probability that it will succeed. This is what I mean by “peculiar”—the contradiction between different sensory experiences and the contradiction between psychological expectations and actual results.

I was very curious about what kind of design led to such a “peculiar” experience. Until one day, when it ran out of battery and the bank sent me a new one, I took it apart. I finally discovered the secret behind why it could both make the user feel uncomfortable and still help them complete the task. The designer had placed three conductive contact points behind the soft, large button and designed a large contact area on the PCB board. This meant that no matter where you pressed the button, as long as you applied enough force, the input would likely be successful. The designer’s choice perfectly ensured the success rate of the soft button but also perfectly ignored the user’s experience.

From this example, we can see that the designer was focused on “helping the user achieve the goal,” caring more about whether the goal could be accomplished rather than whether the process of achieving the goal was easy. They were more concerned with whether the user could successfully input the data rather than whether the experience of doing so was enjoyable. While this approach is still user-centered, it is more about designing for “needs” rather than designing for “experience.” The result is that although I could complete the task every time I used it, the accumulation of negative experiences left a lasting impression on me. The negative experience brought by this insignificant product, combined with other interactions with Barclays’ touchpoints, formed my overall impression of the Barclays brand.

The starting point of design profoundly affects the final form of the design and the user’s experience. “What do we design for” should be the first question to be thought about and answered at the beginning of the design process. Sometimes, you could not get your goal directly from your clients. As in the example above, the client’s request might be to design a USB key that can reliably complete the task, but that doesn’t mean the client is willing to compromise on the user experience. Designers need to work hard to make their goal clear through communication and reflection. Then the approach and methods for design would naturally emerge as the goals are established.

Now, what do you design for?

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