I Think Poor Design is a Good Thing

I was lucky enough to get sick during the second half of my first week in Taiwan. Was I surprised? No. I had done a lot of traveling and germ-touching this summer, and knowing my immune system, I was overdue for catching a cold. Could I have prevented it? Most likely.

sick goodies from meichun, bethany, and erin

My curiosity and growing adoration for Taiwan has made me trusting of its street food— something I was warned not to do in the previous Asian countries I’ve been to. It could’ve been a delicious soup that got me ill. Or even a steamy bun I found a man selling on a cart one afternoon. Despite being sick for two days and missing out on Pinglin Tea and the National Palace Museum, I got the chance to take that time to rest up, enjoy the microwavable congee bowls they sell at 7 Eleven, and get a little too philosophical about design.

I think poor design is a good thing.

I know, it's a big claim. Funny that a week spent in a study abroad program about design brought me to that conclusion. In the interaction design program at UW, I’ve been taught to optimize experiences to be frictionless, seamless, beautiful, and organized. A measure of good design is how mindless a user can be in the experience. The task requires little brain power? That’s good design.

But that principle doesn’t feel as true as I thought it to be. I once read somewhere that humans need friction. We’re built for it. But, I’ve noticed that modern innovation— whether that be technology, physical products, or architecture— is now inspired by convenience, speed, and comfort. Our first lecture from an NTU professor was even about the environmental consequences of human convenience. 

It’s interesting to me that I was evolved to withstand harsh climates, scavenge for food, and constantly survive being eaten, but I find myself spending much of my life taking shortcuts. I use Google Maps to get to a place the most efficiently, use Google Translate to read a menu, and use Tiktok or Google Reviews to help me decide which restaurant has the best food near me.

I complain outloud whenever a website doesn’t work.
“Whyyy isn’t the textbox working???? Who built this??”

Or, when the way-finding experience of a mall doesn’t make sense
“Oh my god who designed this????”

But I’m starting to think there’s beauty in the lack of seamlessness. I’ve been noticing it in Taiwan more than ever. I like the way some of the uneven streets of Taipei make me more present.My footsteps become just a little more intentional.

I like how some street food menus in Da’an don’t have an English translation or pictures. I get to ask the person behind the counter if they can speak English. If they do, we have a nice conversation about their favorite item.

I like not constantly checking my phone with Google Maps open. I get to explore with spontaneity rather than precision. Only then, do I notice locals lounging on their parked mopeds, on a smoke break. Other tourists smiling and eating their way throughout the streets of a night market.

Don’t get me wrong— I love when apps and websites make my life easier. But, my severe reliance on seamlessly designed tech, products, and architecture shortened my patience for anything that isn’t perfectly convenient.

So, maybe poor design is a good thing.

cool alley

So, that’s what I learned during the second half of my first week in Taiwan. Hoping for more revelations like that, but hopefully I don’t have to be sick to get to them.