The Design Of Everyday Things - Don Norman.pdf -

He stood before the door of his high-tech apartment, a sleek slab of brushed aluminum. There was no handle, no plate, and no hinge. It was a beautiful, featureless void. Elias pushed the left side; nothing. He pushed the right; a red light blinked mockingly. He tried to slide it. Finally, he leaned his entire body weight against the center, and it hissed open. "Great design," Elias muttered, "if you’re a ghost."

He retreated to the bathroom to wash his face. The faucet was a triumph of minimalism—a single, chrome sphere. He rotated it left. Cold. He rotated it right. Cold. He pulled it. Nothing. He pushed it. Nothing. He spent three minutes waving his hands under it like a desperate magician until a jet of scalding water blasted his knuckles. There was no until the pain arrived.

Inside, his kitchen was a minefield of . His stove featured four induction burners arranged in a square, but the control knobs were lined up in a straight row. Every morning was a game of Russian Roulette with his omelets. He’d turn the third knob, expecting the back-right burner to heat up, only to find his coffee pot on the front-left melting into a plastic puddle. The Design of Everyday Things - Don Norman.pdf

The apartment was no longer a minimalist masterpiece. It was messy, labeled, and "cluttered." But for the first time since he moved in, Elias knew exactly how to live in it. He sat back, watched his correctly-heated stove, and realized that beauty is a poor substitute for a door that actually tells you how to open it.

Should we try a , like a story about a "smart city" where even the sidewalks have bad UX? He stood before the door of his high-tech

The city of New Veridia was a marvel of “smart” engineering, but for Elias, it was a daily battle against invisible enemies.

In a fit of frustration, Elias grabbed a permanent marker. He drew a small arrow on the door indicating "PUSH." He taped a diagram of the burners onto the stove. He scratched a tiny 'H' and 'C' onto the chrome sphere in the bathroom. Elias pushed the left side; nothing

By noon, Elias had reached his breaking point. He sat down to use his new "Universal Remote," a device so "intuitive" it replaced fifty buttons with a single touch-sensitive glass surface. He wanted to lower the blinds. He swiped up. The TV turned on at maximum volume. He swiped down to kill the noise. The fireplace ignited.