Some companies do something special. They give you less and they charge you more for it and you are grateful for it. Apple Inc. is without doubt the most famous of these.
Dear Reader, I hear grinding teeth. Please, let me finish my dissertation: I am not finished.
'Quality' is a difficult word to define. 'Value-for-money' is just as hard. If you take an Apple product and write a table of features compared to a competitor product it will look like a loser. It seems stupid to do it if you care about quality rather than features, but… magazines, websites and intelligent people continue to do it.
I (and I hope you, Dear Reader) will usually choose the Apple product. The big question is: why should we?
In the golden days of cathode ray tubes and infrared, I would always try to buy (and advise to buy) a Philips. If you have ever held a Philips remote control in your hand you will understand this. It was 'quieter'. It had less buttons. Every button did something.
Every button did something! Imagine: No button was redundant! You, as an average user would get use out of all the buttons. Even better, the buttons you used the most were directly beneath your fingers and thumb. This was not (and is still not) the case for their rivals.
Did the Philips TV cost more? Well, yes! But not that much more and there were more expensive machines that had worse design.
Dear Young Reader, I do not jest when I say that, in those bad-old days the number of buttons on the remote was a selling point, just as the number of keys on a keyboard was. It was a number on the table of features.
When I got my first Apple remote I lay it beside my old Philips remote and I laughed. This was a remote that had more functionality than the Philips remote. It did more. But it had a fraction of the buttons.
So, if you compare an old Philips remote to a new Apple remote in one of those old feature lists it will lose. Horribly. It only has three (or six) buttons (depending on how you count them). But, the Apple remote has more functionality, because it has been designed with the attention that the box it talks to has been designed with. Neither was designed to a feature list.
Fast forward a few years and you will find me with my third 3G phone. It is the second phone to promise video calls and internet. It takes great photographs but the Orange branded UI is a dog's breakfast. The 'internet' is WAP not HTML and goes through an Orange portal not a normal search engine. It is slow and pretty much unusable. I can read the BBC headlines if the planets align above me, but not much more. It also claims to have tethering but when I try to use it with my Powerbook all I get is horrible ghosts of web pages that have been fed through a filter that makes everything look as bad as it does on the phone. I would also have had to pawn my trousers to use it regularly. I soon give up.
With each 3G phone me and my pal Matt upgraded to (Nokias and Sony-Ericssons) we sat in the pub and tried to make a connecting video call. We never, ever succeeded. Not even a whiff. It was the only reason we had bought them. Well, that and the huge feature list that we had poured over.
Most of the features on the big long list were unusable: video calls, email, internet, MP3 player. The only things that worked well were bluetooth and the camera - and that was more than partly down to the quality of the Mac software for both.
Fast forward to now. I no longer look at feature lists. I look for those companies that offer less but charge a little more and are honest about it. This is not because I am stupid (but I have been called stupid on many occasions). I look for companies that make promises that they will keep.
This essay was never supposed to be about Apple, Philips, Nokia or Sony-Ericsson. It could have been about the iPhone or Nintendo Wii but it is not.
It was supposed to be about a small company called Moo.
Moo are to business cards as Apple are to tech. Moo are to stickers as Philips were to remotes. Moo give you less for your money – physically less.
You can get loads more cards if you order from a 'real' printer. But you have to speak print-shop and know about bleeds, spot colours, card-stock, dpi, the whole ugly shebang.
Try to order from your local printer and you probably won't be given a price until the end of an ordeal. The cards will be wrong, they'll take ages to come, the card will be too thin, there'll be a misprint, some of them will be smudged and you will get 10 times as many as you wanted.
Most importantly, you won't really like them. You'll fling them about as if they are disposable. You'll give them to people with a face that says "Meh".
Moo's cards are smaller. You get less. They cost more. and they… err… come in a cute box.
But, Moo give you something far more valuable.
No, not the box. Not a stupidly easy process, not a lovely company to work with, not a quality that you can feel, not stupidly small runs and fantastically beautiful cards every time. No, not the fact that you don't have to talk print-shop talk, not that you can use Flickr photos if you have them, not that you can do it all by internet. No not that you'll know the price before you order, can pay be credit card and you'll know when they'll arrive, nor the fact that you will really have to try hard to make an ugly card.
All of these reasons are true, but they're not the fundamental reason to use Moo to make your business cards.
You should use Moo because Moo will make you a card that you can hand to people with a smile on your face and body language that says, "I spent 10 pence on this card. Giving it to you means something to me".
That, Dear Reader, is worth far more than 10p.
(Here's my card by the way…)
Forgive me, Dear Reader, for I have sinned.
My first sin was a splash screen. Apple apps don't do splash screens, they just present a screen grab of the last time you used it. So, you and I stab frantically at the glass until the app loads for real and things sometimes get accidentally deleted. An Apple-style screen done by a third-party developer is usually even worse. This is because Apple apps tend to launch very quickly. But third-part developer want to impress and impressing means loading lots of images. We are guilty here: our app, sadly, doesn't launch very quickly. We chose to have a splash screen because we felt it was probably more honest. It also gives us something to try to optimise away.
My second sin was gestures. Yes, Dear Reader, we added a non-standard gesture: a swipe-up to open a menu at the bottom of the screen. It feels natural-enough when you do it and I'm sure you will see it appear in other apps. But, the blame will always land here with me (Or more rightly: Bert). Worse than that, the swipe up does something different on the home screen! This should be a sin in itself. (But it isn't.)
My third sin was help buttons. A good app should be so simple and self-explanatory that help should not be needed. But, partly because of my second sin, some sort of help was needed. I bit the bullet and tried to make the help as fun as possible. I also included a setting to get rid of it. Thus I also killed a UI fairy (every user setting does so).
My fourth sin was a wizard. Yes. A wizard. No self respecting Mac or iPhone programmer would consider a wizard. Wizards are for Microsoft! Wizards are Clippy! Oh the shame! Was I talked into it by Bert? Was I weak? Well, yes and no. I do think we need one, so that is clearly a failure on my part. But, I have conveniently convinced myself that what we have here is in fact not a wizard at all: it's just the normal setup process; it's where you create your profile. Every web app has such a thing as does any app that talks with the internet. Am I deluded? Most certainly.
My fifth sin was audio. Why would an iPhone app need audio? It doesn't. Clearly. But it was a bit of fun and it adds to the experience in places. I like it. But many people won't, so there is a setting to turn it off (and another UI fairy needlessly dies).
My sixth sin was a feedback option. Surely anyone who likes the app can manage to leave feedback without an option in the App itself. Indeed. But, a quick and easy way to send us an email might be handy, especially if our app is buggy. So we have a feedback option and I injected some humour into the usually dry affair. I will resist any notion of those Twitter, Facebook and Digg icons that appear on people websites and, more recently, in other people's apps… yuk!… unless Bert convinces me.
My seventh sin is a disclaimer. Dear Reader, I hate disclaimers. I hate what they stand for; I hate that they might have purpose, or worse: power over people. Disclaimers represent a sector of modern society that ruins modern life for the rest of us. "Ptoo!", I say. But, Dave wanted one ; so I wrote one. Then I buried it deep in the settings.
Dear Reader, I was rubbish.
Good design is all about opinion and on this matter I held both no opinion and too much opinion. Even worse, I was in favour of both opinions.
The internet records that: Bill Cosby, when asked "Is the glass half full, or half empty?" said "It depends on whether you are drinking or pouring".
This is indeed my dilemma: are we drinking or pouring?
In Payday, the lights that go around your daily budget are an indication of how close you are to payday. Every light represents a day. But should they count up or count down? Should a light come on or go out?
Both arguments are clear and make perfect sense.
It should be a countdown! Each light represents one more day to get through. Each light represents your money. No one counts up to payday, everybody counts down!
No! It should be a count-up! Each day nearer to Payday gets a light. The brighter the screen the closer you are to payday. This mirrors clocks, wait cursors and (of course) the Countdown quiz show's clock.
What do do?
"Put a preference", in suggested Bert. "No way!" I said sniffily, "every preference we add will kill a UI fairy. I do not want to be responsible for elficide".
So I made an arbitrary decision.
What swung it in favour of the count-up was the thought that on payday you would get no lights at all. Every light lit up seemed like a far more satisfying experience.
Every Payday is a little Birthday after all.
Our first icon was a rounded rectangle. It was green and a bit stripy and had a dollar sign in the middle. It looked OK. Professional and… well… OK.
Dear Reader, I am a snob.
I judge every app in the first second I see it. I judge it before I have tried it, before I read its name, before I visit its website.
I used to have an RSS feed of every new and updated iPhone app that I would check on a daily basis. I would scroll through the feed clicking on any icon that looked worthy and it was clear that, although there wasn't a one-to-one relationship, there certainly was a clear correlation between the quality of an icon and the quality of its app.
This was life before the flood.
Before long I had to check the feed twice a day and then every hour and soon after I gave up. It wasn't exactly that there were too many apps – there were just too many hideous icons.
Reader, I will not even look at a an iPhone app with an ugly icon.
During development I looked at our icon every day. It wasn't a bad icon, it was just a bit 'Meh'. It looked like every other icon. It was certainly an icon that I would have clicked on had it appeared in that feed, but it just wasn't the icon I wanted to be seen out-and-about with. I wanted an icon I could put on my t-shirt. I wanted an icon that I could see emblazoned on the wall in my local Apple store. I wanted an icon that people would instantly recognise.
Our second icon was a beautiful flower. It looks lovely and I love it. But you might, rightfully hate it.
You see, Dear Reader, our second icon isn't a rounded rectangle.
Thus, our icon is controversial. People as snobbish as I will judge it immediately and accuse it of being inconsistent. They may think it flawed.
You, Dear Reader, may be one of these people and if you are, you are entitled to your opinion.
I, however, am looking forward to affording myself a t-shirt.
Dear Reader, "you don't have to be mad to work here – but it helps!"
"Were all a bit mad here! A bit weee! A bit oooh! You should hear him: he's hilarious. He should be on the TV! And me – you should hear some of the things I get up to. "
"…what things? Well. You know. 'Wacky' things."
No. Just don't. Just shut the fuck up.
Dear Reader, I detest 'wacky' people almost as much as I detest amateur jugglers and people who ride unicycles in the park. I detest wear-your-pyjamas-to-work days. I detest city men in indian trousers and I spit upon fluorescent odd socks.
But, Dear Reader, as you may already have learned: I am a Hypocrite.
I regularly wear odd socks because I am lazy. I'd love to be able to juggle if only to impress small children. I've never been to Goa but I'd probably really like swanning along the beach in floaty trousers. I even once learned a couple of magic tricks.
I am also a huge fan of Terry Gilliam.
Is Terry Gilliam 'wacky'? He is known for wearing big colourful shirts and I would guess he may be prone to the occasional floaty trouser. He hasn't (as far as I know) appeared on 1980s television wearing huge red glasses hitting people over the head with an inflatable hammer. But he might have.
Terry Gilliam is not 'wacky' and I will tell you why, Dear Reader.
Terry Gilliam is a genius and therefore he gets an instant exemption. Terry Gilliam is his art and his art is certainly 'a bit mad' but it is also passionate, intelligent and thought-provoking. He has provided some of the most memorable visual moments of the late 20th century. Terry Gilliam is also very, very funny.
And just to be totally sure: Richard Feynman was not 'wacky' either. Yes, he played the bongos. Yes, he was prone to sandals and floaty trousers in his later years. But he was authentic. These were not affectations. Feynman also did years of hard work in a dark suit and thin tie to deserve the right to hang loose a bit.
Feynman was, and Gilliam is, the real deal.
So where am I going with this, I hear you ask. It's nice to have hero's n'all but what has this to do with design?
Well, Dear Reader, I am clearly not about to compare myself to Feynman and Gilliam. I do have a big ego but not quite that big. Instead I am going to move on and talk about myself.
I love Gilliam's Monty Python designs. They are fascinating, playful, poignant, creepy and very funny. They are also very, very british (despite Gilliam being an American). They are not 'wacky'. 'Wacky', for me, implies an inherent pretence. Gilliam didn't create that look for Monty Python – that look is what Gilliam already did. He is those cartoons.
Gilliam's work is not an affectation.
I am greatly influenced by Terry Gilliam, so, Payday is influenced by the work of Terry Gilliam. Not because I purposely went out to make a Pythonesque app, but merely because I can't help but make a Pythonesque app.
It's what I do, it's who I am.
Every squint piece of text (why do I love squint text?), every silly hand, every block of register that looks like it should be over someone's eyes. That's Gilliam's influence on me.
I try really hard to design with clean, modern lines and beautiful sparse typography but it always ends up looking like an affectation. The closest I usually get to this is mimicking the Designers' Republic. I've pulled it off here and there, but my natural drift is towards Gilliam, Robert Crumb, The Dead Kennedys and Loony Tunes.
Payday was supposed to evoke money rather than Monty Python, but from the moment the curtain goes up and the squint victorian text appears I know that many people will expect a giant foot to come down to a loud raspberry.
Dear Reader, knowing when to stop is difficult.
John Lasseter likes to say that Pixar films don't get finished, they just get released. Also, perhaps to counter perfectionism, every Persian carpet is purposely given a fault to ensure that a flawless rug is never created: only Allah is perfect.
Version one of Payday is complete. It is not perfect, but it is complete.
Some of its flaws are due to external restraints; some are due to design decisions that cannot (and may never) be revisited; some have grown to become charming to me, so they will remain.
Most of the imperfections that remain in Payday exist because the designer is a flawed, imperfect individual and it was designed for a flawed, imperfect individual: Me.
Payday began before I owned an iPhone; it began before the iPhone existed. It is a tool I have been wanting for years and a tool that has existed in various unsatisfactory forms in spreadsheets, Palm Pilots and notebooks throughout the years.
Dear Reader, I must confess. I am useless with money.
I am one of those unfortunate souls who has neither the courage nor short-term memory to keep my bank balance in my head at all times. I have tried on so many occasions to organise, sort, tally, tabulate and ration. Some days I have succeeded but never for more than a few days. My problem is that while I am perfectly capable of sorting my finances out, I am incapable of the level of daily admin required to keep my calculations relevant.
Dear Reader, I must confess. I loath bureaucracy.
When the iPhone beamed from heaven into my life, Payday was the first Application I craved. I evaluated every personal finance app I could but was bitterly disappointed: they were designed for people who were good with money! Organised people! People with short-term memories! People who could be bothered!
The fundamental flaw with every personal finance app on the market toady is that they are essentially a time and motion study. They require you to collect every receipt and enter it. If you miss just one entry then you are fucked and your finances are built on lies.
Payday is built the other way round because that is the way I think.
With Payday, I have to spend at most five minutes every month setting it up and then I should never have to touch it. In fact, if I behave and keep within my daily budget I can get away without touching it ever again.
There is only one thing to remember: how much I can spend today and if I can't even remember that, Payday will tell me. If I misbehave all I have to do is confess my sin and enter a new bank balance. My penance is a slightly reduced budget tomorrow. No more lies.
Payday's initial customer is Me.
So, Dear Reader, please note that (unless you are my long-lost twin) Payday has not designed for you… yet. You will have different habits, different problems and vital edge cases that I have not considered. But, if you are more similar to me than to an accountant, there is a good possibility that Payday is the finance app for you, too. With feedback and iteration I hope it will become perfectly designed for you in time.
Gradually, I intend to address your unique problems but I can only do this once I understand you. As long as your problem is one that is shared by people like me (namely: the fuckwit-admin-o-phobic) I will endeavour to solve your problem with my little app.
However… Payday will never be an app for people who are already good with money. Those people are already well served. More importantly, I do not understand them, so how could I honestly design for them?
Payday does contain a few things that aren't personal issues: I am not paid twice-monthly, I do not use dollars and I don't need help as I already know how to use the app. Thus, these are probably some of the weaker parts of the design. I assume they will be revisited once real people use them.
The future roadmap contains a number of items that weren't personal issues when I originally designed Payday. Some have become issues since; some are my best-guesses at what other similar users might reasonably require. It would be great to get some feedback before we implement them.
Payday will never have professional features, like:
Unless, of course, I need them!
Dear Reader, I had a bee in my bonnet.
"Let's make a finance app!", I said.
"Wha?" they said. "No. We're making games."
"Bah", I said.
"Let's make a finance app!", I said.
"Not again", they said. "No. We're a games' company. We make games."
"Bah", I said.
More months passed.
"So", they said. "Games aren't doing so well."
"Let's make a finance app!", I said.
"Why?", they said, "There are loads of finance apps".
"But mine is different", I said.
"Explain", they said.
So I explained and they looked even more confused than before I had explained.
"But you're no good with money", they said.
"Exactly", I said.
Dear Reader, I kissed him.
He turned up at his job interview, at a games company in Dundee, wearing a blackwatch tartan kilt and a pair of mirrored sunglasses perched on his shaved forehead. His diabolic tattoos peeked out at the end of his sleeves. His monstrous boots evoked Dr Frankenstein; his hood evoked a Franciscan monk.
He spoke fast and knowledgeably in a clear, thick italian accent. He enunciated each syllable as if reciting Cicero or Byron. He grinned like a ferret about to snap at your smalls. He incanted of .Net and of C#, of Redmond and dinner at the Gates Mansion. He spoke with passion. He was a Guru.
His name was Diego: an Italian man with a Spanish forename. He was a little imp of a fellow with devilish eyes and a wicked grin floating with malice above his small pointy beard. If he wasn't a devil for real he sure was a devil of a man.
He got the job. And so began a love affair.
Diego already loved Scotland: he immediately bought another kilt, enrolled in bagpipe lessons with a retired policeman and sent for his wife and his ferrets.
I already loved Italy: I tried to impress Diego with the few words of Italian I knew and I presented him with a bottle of my parents' hand-made olive oil. In return he anointed me a Lord.
The love affair between Diego and his coworkers was unlike anything I have ever seen before: Diego was a cult.
Diego was passionate. Diego shouted with delight and swooned with fake distaste. Diego spoke with his hands and swore like an astronaut. Diego named his classes after "sexy guys".
Diego was tactile. Diego grinned when he saw you, clapped his hands at the pleasure of your presence and put his arms around you. Diego stroked your shoulder as he helped you program. Diego laughed at your jokes and told people you were a genius.
Diego hugged big, hairy, scottish men and big, hairy, scottish men hugged Diego back. Big oppressed presbyterian scottish men cuddled Diego and soon they started to cuddle each other. Diego's diabolic magick had converted them into cuddling cultists.
Diego was cheeky. Diego told fibs so wonderfully huge that they flipped over absurdity and back into plausibility. Diego made up words as often as he made up 'real' italian hand gestures. If it wasn't for Diego's lovely wife his fabrications, deceptions and inventions would have remained in the realm of reality and Diego would never be known as a spinner. But, Alessia was there, pin in hand, to burst his bubbles once in a while. Thus everything we knew of Diego, and Italy through his eyes, was built upon sand.
So… Bert needed a name for his iPhone software company: something exotic, something touchy-feely… Something Italian perhaps?
Naturally, Bert asked Diego…
"Toccame!", Diego announced with a flourish. "It means, 'Touch me … in a dirty way'".
Diego grinned broadly and made a hand gesture suggesting someone stroking a naked body in a loving way. Then, with a glint of his eyes, he turned his palm skyward and made another gesture that looked a lot more sensual.
"It is to caress", he affirmed with his teeth.
Dear Reader, I still have no idea what Toccame really means.