Table of Contents
Praise
ALSO BY DONALD A. NORMAN
Title Page
Dedication
PROLOGUE
PART ONE - The Meaning of Things
CHAPTER ONE - Attractive Things Work Better
Three Levels of Processing: Visceral, Behavioral, and Reflective
Focus and Creativity
The Prepared Brain
CHAPTER TWO - The Multiple Faces of Emotion and Design
Working with the Three Levels
Objects That Evoke Memories
Feelings of Self
The Personality of Products
PART TWO - Design in Practice
CHAPTER THREE - Three Levels of Design: Visceral, Behavioral, and Reflective
Visceral Design
Behavioral Design
Reflective Design
A Case Study: The National Football League Headset
The Devious Side of Design
Design by Committee Versus by an Individual
CHAPTER FOUR - Fun and Games
Designing Objects for Fun and Pleasure
Music and Other Sounds
Seduction at the Movies
Video Games
CHAPTER FIVE - People, Places, and Things
Blaming Inanimate Objects
Trust and Design
Living in an Untrustworthy World
Communications That Serve Emotion
Always Connected, Always Distracted
The Role of Design
CHAPTER SIX - Emotional Machines
Emotional Things
Emotional Robots
Affect and Emotion in Robots
Machines That Sense Emotion
Machines That Induce Emotion in People
CHAPTER SEVEN - The Future of Robots
The Future of Emotional Machines and Robots: Implications and Ethical Issues
EPILOGUE
Acknowledgements
Notes
References
Index
Copyright Page
PRAISE FOR EMOTIONAL DESIGN
“Norman’s analysis of people’s emotional reactions to material objects is a delightful process.... His readers will take away insights galore about why shoppers say, ‘I want that.’”
—Booklist
“Norman’s analysis of the design elements in products such as automobiles, watches, and computers will pique the interest of many readers, not just those in the design or technology fields.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Donald Norman’s relentless and exacting exploration of the universe of everyday objects has brought him to the final frontier of design: emotions. His exquisite psychological analysis provides a solid and reliable reference and a most valuable tool.”
—Paola Antonelli, Curator of Architecture and Design, Museum of Modern Art
“Don Norman does it again! He asks the important questions and gives the right answers. I wish this insightful book had been available forty years ago so that I could have done a much better job as a designer.”
—Dr. Robert Blaich, former Senior Vice President of Corporate Design, Royal Philips Electronic
“This is a valuable book.... It will help the design world to do great work.”
—Patrick Whitney, Director, Institute of Design, Illinois Institute of Technology
“Amazing . . . Norman does a wonderful job making these ideas come alive.”
—Daniel Bobrow, Research Fellow, Palo Alto Research Center
ALSO BY DONALD A. NORMAN
The Invisible Computer
Things That Make Us Smart
Turn Signals Are the Facial Expressions of Automobiles
The Design of Everyday Things
The Psychology of Everyday Things
User Centered System Design: New Perspectives
on Human-Computer Interaction
(Edited with Stephen Draper)
Learning and Memory
Perspectives on Cognitive Science (Editor)
Human Information Processing (With Peter Lindsay)
Explorations in Cognition
(With David E. Rumelhart and the LNR Research Group)
Models of Human Memory (Editor)
Memory and Attention:
An Introduction to Human Information Processing
To Julie
FIGURE 0.1 An impossible teapot. (Author’s collection. Photograph by Ayman Shamma.)
FIGURE 0.2 Michael Graves’s “Nanna” teapot. So charming I couldn’t resist it. (Author’s collection. Photograph by Ayman Shamma.)
FIGURE 0.3a, b, and c
The Ronnefeldt “tilting” teapot. Put leaves on the internal shelf (not visible, but just above and parallel to the ridge that can be seen running around the body of the teapot), fill with hot water, and lay the teapot on its back (figure a). As the tea darkens, tilt the pot, as in figure b. Finally, when the tea is done, stand the teapot vertically as in figure c, so the water no longer touches the leaves and the brew does not become bitter.
(Author’s collection. Photographs by Ayman Shamma.)
PROLOGUE
Three Teapots
If you want a golden rule that will fit everybody, this is it: Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful.
—William Morris “The Beauty of Life,” 1880
I HAVE A COLLECTION OF TEAPOTS. One of them is completely unusable—the handle is on the same side as the spout. It was invented by the French artist Jacques Carelman, who called it a coffeepot: a “coffeepot for masochists.” Mine is a copy of the original. A picture of it appears on the cover of my book The Design of Everyday Things.
The second item in my collection is the teapot called Nanna, whose unique squat and chubby nature is surprisingly appealing. The third is a complicated but practical “tilting” pot made by the German firm Ronnefeldt.
The Carelman pot is, by intent, impossible to use. The Nanna teapot, designed by the well-known architect and product designer Michael Graves, looks clumsy but actually works rather well. The tilting pot, which I discovered while enjoying high tea at the Four Seasons Hotel in Chicago, was designed with the different stages of tea brewing in mind. To use it, I place the tea leaves on a shelf (out of sight in the pot’s interior) and lay the pot on its back while the leaves steep. As the brew approaches the desired strength, I prop the pot up at an angle, partially uncovering the tea leaves. When the tea is ready, I set the pot upright, so that the leaves are no longer in contact with the tea.
Which one of these teapots do I usually use? None of the above.
I drink tea every morning. At an early hour, efficiency comes first. So, upon awakening, I pad into my kitchen and push the button on a Japanese hot pot to boil water while I spoon cut tea leaves into a little metal brewing ball. I drop the ball into my cup, fill it with boiling water, wait a few minutes for it to steep, and my tea is ready to drink. Fast, efficient, easy to clean.
Why am I so attached to my teapots? Why do I keep them out on display, in the alcove formed by the kitchen window? Even when they are not in use, they are there, visible.
I value my teapots not only for their function for brewing tea, but because they are sculptural artwork. I love standing in front of the window, comparing the contrasting shapes, watching the play of light on the varied surfaces. When I’m entertaining guests or have time to spare, I brew my tea in the Nanna teapot for its charm or in the tilting pot for its cleverness. Design is important to me, but which design I choose depends on the occasion, the context, and above all, my mood. These objects are more than utilitarian. As art, they lighten up my day. Perhaps more important, each conveys a personal meaning: each has its own story
. One reflects my past, my crusade against unusable objects. One reflects my future, my campaign for beauty. And the third represents a fascinating mixture of the functional and the charming.
The story of the teapots illustrates several components of product design: usability (or lack thereof), aesthetics, and practicality. In cre-ating a product, a designer has many factors to consider: the choice of material, the manufacturing method, the way the product is marketed, cost and practicality, and how easy the product is to use, to understand. But what many people don’t realize is that there is also a strong emotional component to how products are designed and put to use. In this book, I argue that the emotional side of design may be more critical to a product’s success than its practical elements.
FIGURE 0.4 Three teapots: works of art in the window above the kitchen sink. (Author’s collection. Photograph by Ayman Shamma.)
The teapots also illustrate three different aspects of design: visceral, behavioral, and reflective. Visceral design concerns itself with appearances. Here is where the Nanna teapot excels—I so enjoy its appearance, especially when filled with the amber hues of tea, lit from beneath by the flame of its warming candle. Behavioral design has to do with the pleasure and effectiveness of use. Here both the tilting teapot and my little metal ball are winners. Finally, reflective design considers the rationalization and intellectualization of a product. Can I tell a story about it? Does it appeal to my self-image, to my pride? I love to show people how the tilting teapot works, explaining how the position of the pot signals the state of the tea. And, of course, the “teapot for masochists” is entirely reflective. It isn’t particularly beautiful, and it’s certainly not useful, but what a wonderful story it tells!
FIGURE 0.5 The MINI Cooper S.
“It is fair to say that almost no new vehicle in recent memory has provoked more smiles.” (Courtesy of BMW AG.)
Beyond the design of an object, there is a personal component as well, one that no designer or manufacturer can provide. The objects in our lives are more than mere material possessions. We take pride in them, not necessarily because we are showing off our wealth or status, but because of the meanings they bring to our lives. A person’s most beloved objects may well be inexpensive trinkets, frayed furniture, or photographs and books, often tattered, dirty, or faded. A favorite object is a symbol, setting up a positive frame of mind, a reminder of pleasant memories, or sometimes an expression of one’s self. And this object always has a story, a remembrance, and something that ties us personally to this particular object, this particular thing.
Visceral, behavioral, and reflective: These three very different dimensions are interwoven through any design. It is not possible to have design without all three. But more important, note how these three components interweave both emotions and cognition.
This is so despite the common tendency to pit cognition against emotion. Whereas emotion is said to be hot, animalistic, and irrational, cognition is cool, human, and logical. This contrast comes from a long intellectual tradition that prides itself on rational, logical reasoning. Emotions are out of place in a polite, sophisticated society. They are remnants of our animal origins, but we humans must learn to rise above them. At least, that is the perceived wisdom.
Nonsense! Emotions are inseparable from and a necessary part of cognition. Everything we do, everything we think is tinged with emotion, much of it subconscious. In turn, our emotions change the way we think, and serve as constant guides to appropriate behavior, steering us away from the bad, guiding us toward the good.
Some objects evoke strong, positive emotions such as love, attachment, and happiness. In reviewing BMW’s MINI Cooper car [figure 0.5], the New York Times observed: “Whatever one may think of the MINI Cooper’s dynamic attributes, which range from very good to marginal, it is fair to say that almost no new vehicle in recent memory has provoked more smiles.” The car is so much fun to look at and drive that the reviewer suggests you overlook its faults.
Several years ago, I was taking part in a radio show along with designer Michael Graves. I had just criticized one of Graves’s creations, the “Rooster” teapot, as being pretty to look at, but difficult to use—to pour the water was to risk a scalding—when a listener called in who owned the Rooster. “I love my teapot,” he said. “When I wake up in the morning and stumble across the kitchen to make my cup of tea, it always makes me smile.” His message seemed to be: “So what if it’s a little difficult to use? Just be careful. It’s so pretty it makes me smile, and first thing in the morning, that’s most important.”
One side effect of today’s technologically advanced world is that it is not uncommon to hate the things we interact with. Consider the rage and frustration many people feel when they use computers. In an article on “computer rage,” a London newspaper put it this way: “It starts out with slight annoyance, then the hairs on your neck start to prickle and your hands begin to sweat. Soon you are banging your computer or yelling at the screen, and you might well end up belting the person sitting next to you.”
In the 1980s, in writing The Design of Everyday Things, I didn’t take emotions into account. I addressed utility and usability, function and form, all in a logical, dispassionate way—even though I am infuriated by poorly designed objects. But now I’ve changed. Why? In part because of new scientific advances in our understanding of the brain and of how emotion and cognition are thoroughly intertwined. We scientists now understand how important emotion is to everyday life, how valuable. Sure, utility and usability are important, but without fun and pleasure, joy and excitement, and yes, anxiety and anger, fear and rage, our lives would be incomplete.
Along with emotions, there is one other point as well: aesthetics, attractiveness, and beauty. When I wrote The Design of Everyday Things, my intention was not to denigrate aesthetics or emotion. I simply wanted to elevate usability to its proper place in the design world, alongside beauty and function. I thought that the topic of aesthetics was well-covered elsewhere, so I neglected it. The result has been the well-deserved criticism from designers: “If we were to follow Norman’s prescription, our designs would all be usable—but they would also be ugly.”
Usable but ugly. That’s a pretty harsh judgment. Alas, the critique is valid. Usable designs are not necessarily enjoyable to use. And, as my three-teapot story indicates, an attractive design is not necessarily the most efficient. But must these attributes be in conflict? Can beauty and brains, pleasure and usability, go hand in hand?
All these questions propelled me into action. I was intrigued by the difference between my scientific self and my personal life. In science, I ignored aesthetics and emotion and concentrated on cognition. Indeed, I was one of the early workers in the fields that today are known as cognitive psychology and cognitive science. The field of usability design takes root in cognitive science—a combination of cognitive psychology, computer science, and engineering, analytical fields whose members pride themselves on scientific rigor and logical thought.
In my personal life, however, I visited art galleries, listened to and played music, and was proud of the architect-designed home in which I lived. As long as these two sides of my life were separate, there wasn’t any conflict. But early in my career, I experienced a surprising challenge from an unlikely source: the use of color monitors for computers.
In the early years of the personal computer, color displays were unheard of. Most of the display screens were black and white. Sure, the very first Apple Computer, the Apple II, could display color, but for games: any serious work done on the Apple II was done in black and white, usually white text on a black background. In the early 1980s, when color screens were first introduced to the world of personal computers, I had trouble understanding their appeal. In those days, color was primarily used to highlight text or to add superfluous decoration to the screen. From a cognitive point of view, color added no value that shading could not provide. But businesses insisted on buying color monitors at added cost, despite
their having no scientific justification. Obviously, color was fulfilling some need, but one we could not measure.
I borrowed a color monitor to see what all the fuss was about. I was soon convinced that my original assessment had been correct: color added no discernible value for everyday work. Yet I refused to give up the color display. My reasoning told me that color was unimportant, but my emotional reaction told me otherwise.
Notice the same phenomenon in movies, television, and newspapers. At first, all movies were in black and white. So, too, was television. Movie makers and television manufacturers resisted the introduction of color because it added huge costs with little discernible gain. After all, a story is a story—what difference does color make? But would you go back to black-and-white TV or movies? Today, the only time something is filmed in black and white is for artistic, aesthetic reasons: The lack of full color makes a strong emotional statement. The same lesson has not fully transferred to newspapers and books. Everyone agrees that color is usually preferred, but whether the benefits are sufficient to overcome the additional costs it entails is hotly debated. Although color has crept into the pages of newspapers, most of the photographs and advertisements are still in black and white. So, too, with books: The photographs in this book are all in black and white, even though the originals are in color. In most books, the only place color appears is on the cover—presumably to lure you into purchasing the book—but once you have purchased it, the color is thought to have no further use.
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