Essay on Victor42

The Digital Dark Age

hi@victor42.work (Victor42) — Sun, 22 Mar 2020 15:50:10 +0000

Historians piece together ancient civilizations using official records for the timeline and personal accounts for the details. Tax burdens, farming, culture—it’s all in everyday writings and letters. These firsthand accounts show us what life was really like.

The people writing this stuff probably didn’t think it was important, or even bother saving it. But it was on paper. Physical. It didn’t need some company or technology to survive. Empires came and went, but the paper stuck around. It could rot, sure, but even trivial bits had a shot at making it to us centuries later.

Today, everything’s centralized. Your messages, writings, photos—they’re on your phone, your computer, or some company’s server.

How long will your phone’s data last? Maybe your lifetime, if you are lucky. How much survives after switching devices? And a lifetime later, will those old devices even work?

Server data? You’re at the mercy of whoever runs it. Company goes bust, service shuts down? Your data’s probably gone. Businesses don’t have to keep it. The good ones might let you export it, but who actually does that? And stores it safely? Things change fast. This could all happen before you die. A lot of your digital life could just vanish.

Ironic, isn’t it? I made this point years ago, tried to find the post, and… poof. Gone. Had to rewrite it.

A century from now, official records—medical, ID, residency, education, taxes—might prove you existed. But your life story? Your passions? The ups and downs? Future historians might find a big, blank nothing.

Reconstructing our time could get tricky. The big, official stuff will be there, but firsthand accounts of daily life? Slim pickings.

Electronic media made information spread like wildfire, but also made it incredibly fragile. Here today, gone tomorrow.

Thoughts on Kitchenware

hi@victor42.work (Victor42) — Mon, 25 Feb 2019 01:36:28 +0000

I’ve been pondering kitchenware. If I could only have one item, what would it be?

The answer’s obvious: a rice cooker! Back in my tiny rental, I didn’t even have a proper kitchen. Yet, I cooked everything with it. I’d cook rice, and steam Chinese sausage, veggies, and potatoes in a basket above. The sausage drippings flavored the rice. The veggies might’ve yellowed a bit, but a dash of seafood soy sauce fixed that.

The rice cooker reigns supreme because it’s so versatile. Steaming, boiling, stewing – it handles all water-based cooking without creating a greasy mess. And, as a Southerner, rice is my staple.

If I could add a second item? A wok, hands down. Given that kitchen-less rental, it’d need a small, flat bottom for gas and induction stoves. For versatility, the wok’s a champ, beating even the rice cooker. It excels at oil-based cooking: stir-frying, braising, and pan-frying, rounding out the essential techniques.

The third item? Things get interesting. I’d choose a clay pot, the kind you use directly on the flame. It expands what I can do. Neither the rice cooker nor the wok is ideal for stewing, where the clay pot shines. Plus, it’s about using both burners. While stir-frying and cooking rice, I can have something stewing. Why stewing? It takes the longest but needs the least attention, minimizing fuss.

Four items? A microwave. It’s not just for reheating; it’s great for steaming. I use it for fish and eggplant. Its real strength, though, is speed. Microwaves are fast by design. Adding a last-minute dish is a snap.

Fifth: a stockpot. For soup, the rice cooker, wok, or clay pot could work, but the first two are often in use, and the clay pot’s slow. I often just want a quick veggie soup, spiced up, not a long-simmered stew. A metal stockpot’s perfect; it might even see more use than the clay pot.

Number six: an electric steamer, mainly for the timer. It’s my breakfast staple. I prep the night before, set the timer, and wake up to warm sweet potatoes, taro, and eggs. Why not the rice cooker? It has a timer, but it’s small, and steaming isn’t its strong suit. Food gets soggy if left too long.

Seventh: an oven. Baking’s unique. But it’s not an everyday thing, and given its size, I haven’t gotten one yet.

After that, it’s a free-for-all. Electric hot pot, electric clay pot, frying pan, instant noodle pot… you could say you can’t cook without them, right?

The order isn’t key; the decision process is. Most people follow similar logic: start with essentials. Then, choose versatile items for maximum coverage. It’s good to have options, even if you don’t use them all. Only then do you specialize, adding tools for specific tasks. Finally, you address niche, less frequent needs.

Consider my grandparents’ cooking. No gadgets. Rice in a pressure cooker, with that translucent plastic paddle. Everything else, a single wok. No outlets, so no rice cooker, let alone an oven or blender.

Society’s progress gives us choices, refining cooking. The move from all-in-one to specialized tools happens everywhere; it’s the same logic. It’s how people choose, so it’s timeless. This, in turn, becomes a yardstick for an industry’s maturity.

The world changes, but some things endure. Finding these constants can unlock many answers.

Old Tales from World of Warcraft

hi@victor42.work (Victor42) — Mon, 18 Feb 2019 17:02:35 +0000

Some old World of Warcraft stories came to mind. I joined late, during the Burning Crusade. I played off and on until Warlords of Draenor, and haven’t touched an MMO since.

Despite mixed opinions, WoW is undeniably a legendary MMO. Its classic status comes from a vast world, diverse classes, and a wealth of details and Easter eggs.

I remember being a newbie Night Elf priest, teaming up with a classmate in the Scarlet Monastery library. After clearing some enemies, I randomly opened a book on a table, and it actually detailed Azeroth’s history. I told everyone, “Hold up, check this out,” and started reading. Suddenly, our paladin charged in with a train of mobs, and we wiped… But nobody yelled at me. After, we all spent half an hour reading that book.

These details are an obvious reason for WoW’s success, making it feel real. But there’s another factor: the language barrier between Alliance and Horde. It’s a subtle but crucial design choice.

Once, in Terokkar Forest, I saw two Horde players fighting that big bone dragon. I’d already done that quest. The dragon was huge, visually stunning as it swooped down. Figuring we’re all players, I decided to help. But as soon as I dismounted (un-cat-formed, rather), the Orc warrior charged me, while the Troll hunter kept attacking the dragon. His pet got swatted and died.

I guess the warrior panicked, thinking I was there to grief them. He had a point. That quest was brutal, requiring you to collect items and kill mobs to summon the dragon. Failing meant starting over. Seeing me dismount, he must have gotten anxious.

I ignored him, cast Fear, and went all-out on the dragon. I even pulled aggro; Shadow Priests were strong in TBC. The Orc realized my intention, turned back to the dragon, and even taunted.

The dragon fell, the Horde players looted, and looked at me. They probably thought I wanted to do the quest too. But we couldn’t communicate. I jumped a few times, they jumped back, and I mounted up and left. That’s my most memorable cross-faction moment.

This happened occasionally; sometimes Horde players even helped me unprompted. Actual PvP was rare; mostly, people minded their own business. Trusting each other without communication is also rare, of course.

This unique fun is missing from most MMOs, and it made WoW incredibly immersive. It’s like drivers interacting without words, using only lights and honks to express goodwill, malice, humility, or anger. I wondered, why did jumping become the default way to show friendliness? How did that convention start?

It’s interesting. Players from opposing factions are on edge, relying on body language. Standing still increases tension. Speed is key. Emotes like bowing are slow. The readily available actions, besides some harmless spells, are moving and jumping. Spells like Levitate vary by class and aren’t standard (and who has Levitate hotkeyed…?). Movement can be aggressive, especially a melee class running at you. Running away ends things.

Jumping is all that’s left. Harmless, it doesn’t change the standoff. But this extra action defuses tension. Like in real life, when things get heated, someone needs to break the ice.

Even in a virtual world, players rely on basic instincts. Even with communication cut off, if there’s interaction, people find a way to express themselves. It reminds me of another game: Journey.

Excellent fundamental design makes a classic. Engaging these primal instincts should be the focus, rather than shoehorning IPs onto existing gameplay. Perhaps:

“Classics are often complex enough, but not overly complex.”

Bricklaying and Trailblazing

hi@victor42.work (Victor42) — Sun, 28 Jan 2018 21:17:08 +0000

Developers often joke about being IT coolies, just “laying bricks.” Outsiders often don’t get what they face daily, or why they make these self-deprecating jokes.

I recently teamed up with a classmate on a WeChat H5 page with data submission. I handled design and front-end; he took care of the back-end, server, and domain. This gave me a glimpse into back-end development, and I suddenly understood the “bricklaying” analogy. I gained a much deeper appreciation for the challenges developers face. It’s a different world compared to other professions. If you’re not familiar with development, I’ll explain it in plain terms.

We used a standard front-end/back-end separation. Think: front-end is close to the user, back-end is far away, connected by networks. My work involved creating the page’s look, displaying it, and handling user-side logic. For example, email fields need an “@” symbol to be valid. My classmate’s work involved receiving user info, storing it in a database, and handling statistics.

We needed to collaborate on the “interface” – how I’d format and send user input, and what feedback he’d send back, including errors.

We were interdependent. I finished the front-end first, but how could I test the interface code? I needed the back-end to know if my code was correct. Since his code wasn’t ready, I had to wait. Of course, developers don’t just wait around. There are ways to simulate each other’s work, which is what we did.

He wrote some Python to simulate the interface locally. I knew nothing about Python and was lost. After staring at it, I got a clue. Combining it with our agreed interface, I roughly understood it. My task: turn my computer into a mini-server, run his code, and submit content to it. His code would give feedback, letting me test.

But it failed miserably. The problem? Running his Python code. Prerequisites: First, Python. macOS comes with Python 2.7, so that was fine. Then, I needed common Python modules his code relied on. Installing these threw errors.

I first thought: macOS permissions. I tried getting superuser access, but no luck. Developer forums suggested upgrading/reinstalling modules – didn’t work. Then: Python version? I installed Python 3.6, replacing 2.7, and reinstalled. This time: syntax error. Python 3 changed some syntax. I fixed it, but the original error reappeared. A module he used was deprecated in Python 3, needing replacement – beyond my skills. I gave up on switching back to 2.7. Dead end.

I switched to a tool he recommended, simulating back-end data. Limited compared to raw code, but it worked, solving the problem.

This showed me how tough developers have it. Design tools are stable. Problems? Restart, reinstall. We focus on design. Developers’ tools – languages, modules, environments – are far more fragile. Incompatibility, settings, weirdness. Like a construction worker with a broken saw or drill. Fixing these isn’t development, but they spend time on it.

Front-end, which I know, is similar. Example: mobile button press feedback, like mouse hover. Hidden pitfall: code to darken a button on press might not work. You find you need a seemingly pointless line of code. Like picking up a chess knight, waving it, putting it back. No move. But it makes the effect work. Makes no sense, but you must write it. Solving this creates nothing, but it’s common. Tedious, unrewarding. Creative work brings accomplishment.

Development is amazing. Making something from nothing. Tech gurus complain about bugs, broken interfaces. Developers get stuck on unrelated technical issues. But they’re like pioneers. Venturing into the wilderness, making tools, building houses, laying railroads. Solving countless problems, creating infrastructure for later prosperity. Our stable products are thanks to their exploration.

I don’t enjoy this. I learn enough front-end to get by. I might have made inaccurate comments. With awe, I’ll stick to design!

The Texting Experience

hi@victor42.work (Victor42) — Sun, 11 Dec 2016 01:20:29 +0000

Image from Dribbble.

The title might be misleading. I’m not discussing the UX of messaging apps, but the reading experience of chat content.

Number OCD

My supervisor recently asked for my phone and ID numbers for some paperwork. We were chatting on DingTalk. I replied “OK” and sent:

×× (My Name) Phone: 186×××××××× ID: 360103××××××××××××

I stared at the message and thought I could do better. So, I resent it:

×× (My Name) Phone: 186 ×××× ×××× ID: 360 103 ×××× ×××× ××××

I mentioned it was easier to read. My supervisor quipped, “OCD kicking in again, eh?” I replied, a bit pretentiously, “User experience is everywhere,” followed by a grinning emoji.

That was that. But since I’d mentioned UX, I figured I’d explore it further. It wasn’t just me being nitpicky. My initial message wasn’t exactly user-friendly.

Formatting a reply is a design task, tied to the user and goal. The user was clear: my supervisor on DingTalk mobile. But the goal? I hadn’t asked. She needed the numbers for documents, but she wouldn’t be preparing them herself. She’d pass the info along. How? Jot it down or forward it? That’s a big difference!

Writing it Down

If she was writing it down, it’d likely be the old-fashioned “read-memorize-write” method. I can’t control the writing, but the reading and memorizing depend on my formatting.

Research suggests people can only remember about 7 digits at a time. Anything longer needs chunking. We remember five and seven-character poems. Nine-character poems exist, but they’re rare. Qu Yuan’s Li Sao is an exception, but even there, most meaningful content stays within 7 characters, thanks to the modal particle “兮”.

Seven is the limit, though, not ideal. Think about verification codes: usually 4 or 6 digits. We can recall 4 digits easily, but 6-digit codes get broken into 3+3. This suggests the sweet spot for easy recall is under 6 characters. China’s 11-digit phone numbers are commonly read as 3+4+4. We say, “Call my 186 number.” Online, the middle 4 digits are often masked. We also tend to remember the last 4 digits. This shows how ingrained this grouping is. ID numbers aren’t usually split up visually, but they have inherent sections: 6 (region) + 4 (year) + 4 (month/day) + 4 (last four). That’s likely how most people memorize them.

As an aside, is the magic number 4 or 5? I lean towards 4, though I lack hard proof. But the examples above hint at it. Bank card numbers, too: different lengths, but when deliberately grouped, they never exceed 4 digits per chunk.

However you format a long number string, that’s how the recipient will read and memorize it. We should all offer this courtesy to each other.

Forwarding on Mobile

Back to the point. If the numbers were to be forwarded and copied into a system, things change entirely.

I couldn’t know if the system handled spaces. Pasting the “easy-read” format might result in “186 ×××× ××”. Also, my supervisor, on Android, couldn’t use clipboard tools like Pin. Extracting the numbers would be a hassle.

Mobile IM often forces you to copy the entire message.

So, for copying from IM, the best format is:

Name:

×× Phone: 186×××××××× ID: 360103××××××××××××

This reminds me of my WeChat public account. I mostly just post articles, so I set up an auto-reply directing people to my Weibo.

For a while, the auto-reply just said: “I don’t check this account often. Contact me via private message on Sina Weibo: @我_ColaChan.”

Then I messaged myself. It was a pain to copy just the nickname. So I changed it: “I don’t check this account often. Contact me on Sina Weibo. Reply ‘Weibo’ for my username.” Replying “Weibo” triggered a message with just “@我_ColaChan”.

An extra step, but much easier to extract the information.

Eliminating Typos

Text chat isn’t just about numbers. Everyday conversation is key. What defines “good” or “bad” here?

In middle school, we didn’t have cell phones. We chatted on QQ via computer. A classmate once said chatting with me was reassuring. Why? Because I never made typos.

Thinking back, it’s true. Life’s faster now, and with auto-suggestions, typos happen. But attitude matters. I proofread my messages and always fix typos.

Many people don’t check their messages. They don’t check after typing, or even during. They just fire off a message. Even if they spot a mistake, they often can’t be bothered to fix it, assuming the other person will get it. This leads to gibberish like “Enai” (should be “En Ai,” meaning “love”) or “Bu hui ni o” (should be “Bu hui you ni o,” meaning “won’t have you”). Misspelled keywords require serious guesswork, even considering homophones and keyboard layouts. I’ve dealt with printers and developers whose messages are incredibly hard to decipher. Sure, being busy is understandable. But typo-free chat is a better experience for everyone.

Language is Serious

I’ve gotten messages like this before, a jumbled mess:

are you there Does UI need hand-drawing? Can’t do it without hand-drawing? No response to resume Is it not enough experience What are the ui specifications do I need to look at both ios andriod Are you there are you there、 What to do without a portfolio?

That’s not verbatim, but it captures the essence. Missing punctuation, misused punctuation, spaces instead of commas, extra spaces, mixed Chinese and English punctuation, misspelled words, misused words, no clear topics… It’s a catalog of common communication errors.

Language’s main purpose is communication. It’s the agreed-upon system for expressing concepts. Ignoring language norms is like disconnecting from that system. It’s a big deal. Even in casual texts, I think it’s important to use “的,” “地,” and “得” correctly. These details are often overlooked. It’s not about language purity; it’s about making things easier for the reader. Standard language helps.

The Mindset of Writing a Press Release

Think of your messages like press releases. Unless you’re just shooting the breeze with a close friend, there’s usually a point.

The jumbled message above, besides being imprecise, suffers from scattered topics. How do you even answer that? If you’re confused and need help, write a clear request for help. The example above isn’t even an outline.

Clear messages have structure. Start with a sentence stating the topic, then elaborate, point by point. If you’re informing someone, state the key facts. If you need something, explain why, and ideally, offer a solution. If you’re reporting a problem, give enough details for troubleshooting.

When friends ask for computer help, they often just say, “My computer’s broken, help!” And then they wait for me to ask questions. I wish just once someone would proactively tell me the error message, if it’s happened before, when it started, what they did before and after, what they tried, and what the results were.

Imagine a robbery. The police arrive, and the victim just keeps saying, “I’ve been robbed! Catch the thief!” The case won’t get solved.

Focused conversations are efficient. A ten-minute explanation can drag on for an hour due to poor communication. Wasting someone’s time is a cardinal sin.

Modern Big-Character Posters

China has a thing for slogan banners and posters. For urban planning: “Gather all forces, plan water management, build a harmonious city, promote the water town image, and establish a legacy.” For construction safety: “Safety creates happiness, negligence brings pain. Safety is efficiency, safety is happiness.” For hospitals: “Create a safe hospital, build harmonious doctor-patient relations.”

Let’s not even get into the slogans themselves. The point is, the people behind these didn’t consider their audience or tone. A slogan near a military area was actually good: “Obey the Party’s command, be able to win battles, and have a good work style.” It’s hierarchical and logical. Most importantly, it’s clear and unambiguous.

News and official outlets use vague language to be inclusive and cover all bases. But this isn’t just a media thing. We’ve all encountered people who write in an overly formal or flowery style at work. Think of those landing pages: a confusing illustration with shopping carts and money flying everywhere, and text like, “Enjoy endless discounts.”

I remember one ad clearly. I forget the brand, but it showed traditional soy sauce making. The spokesperson, standing by a field of drying soybeans, said plainly, “Just dry it here, just rely on the sun.” A less direct approach might have been: “XX hectares of soybean processing, natural air-drying.” That’s uninspiring. No matter how accurate or fancy, it lacks imagery.

You can see the ad’s directness here: http://t.cn/RcxcZ3I.

It reminds me of a joke with my classmates:

“The rolling Yangtze River flows eastward…"

“Get to the point!" “The river flows east!"

Topic Guardian

After I started working, someone commented on my chat style again, saying I was “chatting with my life.” They explained that with others, it’s a back-and-forth. With me, they’d see me “typing” for ages, sometimes over ten minutes. They’d return from getting water to find a massive, multi-paragraph message from me, addressing every tangent from the earlier conversation.

So, I do have that habit! I don’t let topics die; I need closure. I can see how this would be tiring in casual chats. I don’t want to be like this. I’d prefer to stick to one thing. But once the conversation derails, even if it’s not my fault, I feel compelled to keep it going. If the other person is fine with this style, I’m the one who ends up exhausted.

Long messages have pros and cons. The downside is making people wait. But the upside is preventing further tangents. If, mid-reply, something reminds the other person of something else, they might interrupt, creating more branches. It’s very common.

This is a dilemma. Wasting time is bad, so shouldn’t I avoid long waits? But if I don’t control the topics, forgotten points might need revisiting later, which also wastes time. In text chat, prioritizing the other person’s experience means choosing the less time-consuming option. Letting topics explode seems like a lesser evil.

Oh, Hehe, [Grin]

These are the worst replies, the ultimate conversation killers. Why? They’re short and meaningless, yes. But the real problem is they don’t reflect the sender’s state. They replied, but didn’t actually respond. You don’t know if they understood; they could have been typing those replies mindlessly.

It’s like sending an email with no loading indicator or confirmation. The compose window stays open. You close it, and the email’s nowhere: not in Sent, Outbox, Drafts, Inbox, Junk, or Spam. WTF?

It sounds ridiculous, but these conversations happen all the time. An Android developer asked me for an asset. I asked how he planned to use it – fixed size or .9 patch? He replied, “Okay.” I thought he’d hit send accidentally. But after 30 seconds, not even a “typing” indicator. The topic died, forcing me to start a new round of questions.

Tech people should understand feedback. The TCP/IP handshake is a prime example: Client sends to server: “I want to connect.” Server replies: “Is this what you sent? Is it you?” Client confirms: “Yes, it’s me, let’s connect.”

Humans are good at context, machines less so. But even with context, clear feedback is crucial. At the very least, reply with “OK” or “Received.” If there’s a choice, repeat the chosen option.

Conclusion

Looking back at my IM interactions, there’s a clear divide. Some people are a breeze to communicate with; others make you want to just call. The same task, expressed differently in text, leads to vastly different experiences.

Experience design is everywhere, and it’s practical. Strip away the methodologies, and you’re left with one core principle: Put yourself in the other person’s shoes.

A Newbie's Perspective

hi@victor42.work (Victor42) — Sun, 13 Sep 2015 15:50:00 +0000

Work had slowed down, and with some personal stuff happening, I’d fallen out of touch with tech and design. After a few days, I felt off, like I was losing my creative spark.

Normally, I’d dive back into work or explore new designs. But this time, I went further. I suspected something valuable was hidden in that “ignorance is bliss” mindset.

So, for two months, I avoided design blogs, tech news, and industry trends. I cut myself off as much as I could. I stuck to basic work, kept up my weekly translations, and that was it. My free time was all about personal life: hanging out with friends, dining out, sleeping in, gaming, reading, and watching movies. It was a great life, honestly, but it felt off.

Initially, I was anxious, feeling myself getting rusty. Design ideas became scarce. Then, I adapted, even got comfortable – a no-brainer, right? Finally, I was immersed. A different life, a different mindset, with its own way of operating and perceiving. And new ideas started emerging, the most valuable part of this whole experiment – I’d successfully become a tech newbie, seeing the world from their perspective: what mattered to them, and what didn’t.

Newbies Aren’t Dumb, They Just Don’t Care

We tech and design people tend to look down on newbies. Like, “You don’t know you can change your profile pic by tapping? You turned off notifications and now you’re complaining? You left your files at home? Heard of the cloud?”

Now, I’m one of them, and I understand the “tech ignorance.” My tech instincts haven’t disappeared; I can still figure things out faster than most. But now, I’m impatient. I have novels to read and games to play.

My 16GB iPhone 5 was constantly complaining about low storage. I used to check storage, meticulously clear caches, and delete downloaded data. I still can’t remember which apps let you clear the cache and which don’t. As a newbie, I found the easiest, most drastic solution: delete WeChat and QQ, then reinstall. Boom, hundreds of MBs freed up.

It sounds extreme, but it’s logical. Deleting, reinstalling, and logging back in takes five minutes, max. I know exactly how to do it. Clearing caches might take two minutes, but that “might” is key. What if it takes 15 minutes and doesn’t even work?

If I don’t view my phone as “fun,” I won’t waste an extra minute on it. It’s not central to my life.

Notifications, Updates… Who Cares?

My friends, Dee and Shuai, both in IT, have completely different phone setups. Dee’s is a classic product manager: tons of folders, neatly organized by function. Shuai’s is the opposite: few folders, many screens, endless scrolling, and red notification badges everywhere. On his home screen, the App Store badge showed over 70 updates.

It’s the classic “red dot OCD” debate. I used to update everything, open every notification (though not necessarily read them). It was like doing daily quests in a game – I had to clear those exclamation marks before logging off. Dee used to tease Shuai, “You’re a front-end engineer, and your phone looks like this?” I didn’t chime in, but I did think it reflected someone’s self-discipline.

Turns out… it’s not that at all. At some point, I became indifferent to the red dots, probably because of WeChat Official Accounts. An app can only push so many notifications; you can clear them quickly. But subscribed accounts? You follow first, worry about reading later. When notifications flood in, you become numb, and the red dots lose their significance. WeChat’s like, “Blame me?” You’re like, “Blame me?” Nobody’s fault.

It’s like a zombie apocalypse. I enter a supermarket with a gun. If there are two zombies, I’ll eliminate them and lock the door. If there’s a horde, even with enough canned food for 20 years, I’m out of there.

Lately, apps have gotten creative with their App Store update notes. Opera Coast used to write clever one-liners; Medium wrote poems. I’d chuckle, briefly amused. Then… I wouldn’t open the app. I’d just return to the home screen, every time.

What the Heck is a “Field”?

I haven’t touched front-end tech in about a year and a half. I don’t need to anymore. I have to strain to recall some tech concepts. Now, actively avoiding tech, I was slightly worried this might be a turning point in my design career.

One day, I was signing up on a website, and it said “This field is required” next to an input box. I knew what “field” meant, but it felt alien. What the heck is a “field”? I stared at the words, wondering if the developer had mistyped something.

And “cache,” mentioned earlier, I’m going to ask my mom this year, “What do you think ‘Clear local cache’ means?” If she says it clears her location info, I’ll take it, because I’ve thought that too.

At work, there’s a constant debate about a design detail: after a complex process, should there be a “back” button? Where should it be placed? As a newbie, my actions showed me it’s irrelevant. I follow the product’s flow, going in and out step by step, naturally. Let me paint the picture: task complete – press home – (if it’s a battery hog like maps, double-tap home to close it) – lock screen – back in pocket. I found that excessive, so after some lazy attempts, I figured it out: task complete – lock screen – back in pocket. The key is “back in pocket”! That’s my end of the process, not exiting your feature.

Back to being a newbie, holding this perplexing glass screen, I just want to share a song from NetEase Cloud Music to Sina Weibo. It says my Weibo authorization expired, so I need to log in again. I patiently enter my username and password. This happens frequently, in other apps too. But for the first time, I instinctively blamed NetEase, not Weibo. Then I realized, NetEase was the scapegoat.

If I were a true newbie, I might never realize that, and NetEase would be forever blamed. Tech details, product logic, I don’t know, and I don’t care. The situation tells me someone’s at fault. Maybe I slip on a wet floor in a restaurant, and a server apologizes for the cleaning crew, and that’s that.

Are You Reminding Me, or Am I Reminding You?

You rarely see people using Siri, right? I understand. Talking to a device in public, hoping for the correct response, feels awkward. It’s noisy, and it might pick up random sounds. Plus, it’s a privacy concern; people know your business.

But, it works. I’m walking home, listening to music, and remember I need tissues. I’ll forget by dinner. So, I long-press the earphone button to activate Siri: “Remind me to buy tissues at 9 PM.” No need to even pull out my phone.

I used to be a productivity app fanatic: email, calendar, notes – all front and center on my home screen… though I rarely used them. I tried every to-do app, so many well-designed ones, each with unique features. I settled on Any.do, loving its simplicity. Pull down to add a task, swipe right to complete. I categorized tasks by context: “buy laundry detergent” under “life,” “update annotations” under “work,” “research Pixate” under “learning.” Tasks with deadlines went into their calendar app, Cal. I was meticulously managing myself, precisely as Any.do intended.

Then I lazily used Siri once, and I couldn’t go back. I’m a newbie, not a pro. Bamboo reminds me to buy fruit; HR reminds me to make a name card for the new hire. What’s the difference? At some point, I remember something I need to do, and that’s all. Why report back to the to-do app afterward? Is it reminding me, or am I reminding it?

Once the reminder pops up, I don’t need it anymore. If you could do it for me, great, tell me the result. But you can’t, so you remind me, and I do it myself. No app can cook me scrambled eggs with tomatoes. Finishing the task on time is the best self-management. Who cares if the to-do app is a mess?

A good servant comes and goes as needed.

We’re Penny-Pinchers, Especially with Time and Money

I moved to a place with a KFC, my go-to when I can’t decide on dinner. KFC is great; they have mobile payments, so I only need cash for my bus fare.

Alipay has had an 8.8% discount forever, and Bamboo and I always get it before ordering. Her phone is still on 2G, so it stalled halfway. We found a table, struggled with it for 10 minutes, finally got the discount, and ordered.

Sometimes I go alone, same no-network problem, probably the carrier’s fault. I’m too impatient to deal with it, and I don’t want to hold up the line. Five bucks isn’t worth two minutes of a hungry queue’s time. If mobile payment fails, I just use cash. Pull it out, hand it over, get the change, pocket it, done. And I don’t have to stare at a tiny screen, trying to tap even tinier buttons.

Same situation, two completely different reactions. Bamboo wants the discount, even if it takes 10 minutes. I’m starving after walking across Hangzhou; I don’t want to wait a second. Neither has anything to do with mobile payments.

Looking at my WeChat history with Bamboo, it’s nothing significant. We see each other all day; urgent matters are a phone call, non-urgent things can wait till we’re home. Even so, we’re constantly sending each other food delivery coupons. The shifts in our chat history are revealing.

For a while, we’d send each other Ele.me coupons around lunchtime. One day, she started sending Meituan coupons; I kept sending Ele.me. After a few days, I switched to Meituan too. Then, I started sending Ele.me again, and she followed. Recently, we both switched back to Meituan, almost at the same time. What happened?

I randomly remembered this and asked Bamboo why we kept switching. She accused me of copying her; I said she copied me later. We hashed it out and reached the obvious conclusion: Ele.me had a “15 RMB off 8 RMB” deal, so we started ordering takeout frequently. The discount dropped to “15 RMB off 6 RMB,” and Bamboo discovered Meituan’s “15 RMB off 7 RMB.” I was slower, but one day I felt like it and installed it, and rarely opened Ele.me after that. But I didn’t delete it, until I saw it had a “20 RMB off 12 RMB” deal, and I started using it again, keeping Meituan too. Obviously, Bamboo noticed as well. It didn’t last long, of course, it was 12 RMB off! We watched it drop to “15 RMB off 8 RMB,” then “10 RMB off 6 RMB.” And we happily started sending each other Meituan coupons again.

If you’re going to have a price war, nobody cares about usability.

Final Thoughts

Now, turn on your phone, glance at your home screen icons. Think, are they trying their hardest to get your attention? Look here, look here, look here! But I’m a newbie; I just want to check the bus route to the subway. Everyone’s enthusiasm stresses me out. I dive into the maps app, find my route, shut off my phone without looking back, and go on my way.

My two months as a newbie felt schizophrenic. In a good mood, I’d tap anything, download random games and apps, and forget how I found them the next day. In a bad mood, everything was noise. I’d pull down the notification center, it was a nightmare, and I’d silently push it back up, pretending I hadn’t seen anything.

It’s hard to grasp; people are so unstable. Newbies are fickle; they change their minds; opening an app is basically mood-based. During this time, I felt like my thinking was stream-of-consciousness, my actions were “goto” statements, unpredictable.

I thought the newbie state was temporary, but it’s a great feeling, and part of it has permanently influenced me. There’s more to say, but I don’t want to write anymore. While writing this, the designer in me is resurfacing, the newbie feeling is fading, and there are some mindsets and perspectives I don’t want to give up.

The conclusion might be a bit pessimistic, or maybe there’s no constructive conclusion at all. But during this time, I experienced what was real, and maybe this is what tech life should be.

The Eternal Life of Machines

hi@victor42.work (Victor42) — Sun, 23 Aug 2015 22:39:00 +0000

Summer in Hangzhou was brief this year, quickly giving way to cool, rainy weather. Walking beneath the streetlights, the city’s nightscape reflected in the puddles. My gaze landed on the plain, beige, checkered folding umbrella in my hand. Umbrellas were invented during the Spring and Autumn period by Yun, Lu Ban’s wife. Their purpose was simple: protect from sun and rain, much like the old oil-paper umbrellas. They’ve been around for over 3,000 years, largely unchanged. Why?

Consider the evolution of the Chinese character for “umbrella” (伞). It’s quite telling – it’s looked like this since ancient times. Compare the character to umbrellas, past and present. Have the ribs really changed that much?

Today, we have straight and folding umbrellas. Folding ones even come in three-fold and four-fold versions. There are unconventional designs, like the Senz umbrella. But open them up, strip away the fabric, and they’re fundamentally the same. You probably see my point. It’s not about how umbrellas could be improved, but why they haven’t been replaced.

There are alternatives. Raincoats are a classic, but less convenient, used mostly when we need both hands free. The Air Umbrella uses air jets to create a shield, pushing raindrops away. I haven’t tested it, so I can’t speak to its energy use or noise. But one thing’s certain: any energy-using umbrella will always cost more than a purely mechanical one. This will hold true, no matter how technology advances, until umbrellas disappear entirely.

Other alternatives surround us: cars, buildings, underground walkways. If anything truly obsoletes mechanical umbrellas, it won’t be a new umbrella, but a combination of factors. Perhaps garages will become ubiquitous, cities will develop extensive underground tunnels, or covered walkways will proliferate. Maybe, like Asimov’s Trantor, the entire planet will be domed. I certainly hope not.

But I’m getting sidetracked. Let’s not dwell on how umbrellas might vanish. Instead, why have they persisted in this form for 3,000 years? Is this their optimal form?

I believe so. By “optimal,” I mean the most enduring, lowest-consumption way for umbrellas to coexist with us. There are things we only think about when needed. Otherwise, we don’t care. Umbrellas, air conditioners, streetlights, map apps, spare tires… What do we want from them? Durability and low consumption. If I wear a watch just to tell time, why buy an Apple Watch and charge it daily?

Mechanical umbrellas excel in both. First, low consumption: money, space, time, effort. Folding umbrellas are already optimal: light, compact, and zero-energy, apart from the calories burned opening and closing them. Imagine a scenario where, by some mysterious force, we lost all electricity – no computers, lights, batteries. What would still be valuable? My bicycle. Purely mechanical, human-powered things are inherently zero-consumption.

Then, durability. Many mistakenly believe advanced things are less prone to breaking due to “better quality.” Not true. Adding advanced tech grants powerful functions, but also increases complexity. Complexity shortens lifespan. It’s a law of physics – without external energy, maintaining a stable, ordered state long-term is impossible, regardless of quality. The most enduring way to preserve text and images? Not hard drives. Ancient paper, ink, and bamboo slips can last millennia; electronic media can’t. Even paper and ink decay. Stonehenge comes to mind.

Of course, we don’t need heirloom umbrellas. But I also don’t want it demanding attention or wasting energy. This is where mechanical devices shine. We’ve seen the smart home appliance craze. Smart chips are crammed into everything, providing computing power, network connectivity, and data transmission.

I once thought appliance control would centralize into a single remote, an app, or voice activation. But that doesn’t hold up. A mechanical light switch can last decades. To add another way to turn on a light, we add a wireless module, constant power, maintain Wi-Fi, incorporate voice recognition, handle the coordination between electronic and mechanical controls, occasionally replace components, and bear the costs… I’d rather just install extra mechanical switches.

A rational look at technology and progress shows that nothing goes to extremes; things settle into their most suitable form. For items with simple functions and structures, mechanical control is their destiny.

This is the eternal life of machines.

Expectations and Determination in Life

hi@victor42.work (Victor42) — Mon, 03 Aug 2015 23:34:00 +0000

We all lead different lives – some constrained, some challenging, some luxurious, others simple. Even in The Truman Show, a fabricated life is still a life. Everyone has one.

How much determination do you need to live the life you want? It’s a tricky question, difficult to measure. I came up with a visual analogy, though. Remember those liquid density experiments from middle school?

Think of a U-shaped tube. Orange liquid represents your life expectations; blue represents determination. The orange liquid’s density shows how clearly you see your ideal life. The blue’s density is your drive. A float separates the liquids. When balanced, it rests at the bottom. If it shifts left, negativity prevails; right, positivity prevails.

What does this mean? Here are some scenarios:

Low expectations, low determination: The float stays put. You’ll likely have a peaceful life.
High expectations, strong will, hard work: Equilibrium. You earned it.
Envy others, feeling it’s out of reach: Float shifts left. You’ll likely be stuck, blaming the world, full of negativity.
Aiming too high, lacking skills: Blue liquid’s too light, float shifts left. You’ll be spinning your wheels, feeling sorry for yourself.
Idealizing, seeing only the good: Orange liquid’s too dense, float shifts left. Life will seem harsh; you might get discouraged and lose your way.
Seeking simplicity, but believing in better: Float shifts right. You’ll sense life’s richness and excitement.
Modest goals, no strong will, but taking small steps: Blue liquid’s dense, float shifts right. Your rewards may exceed expectations.

There’s an extreme, like in Trainspotting: “I choose not to choose.” Complete spontaneity, no plans, no goals. No responsibility. This kind of aimless life needs zero determination, zero expectations. The U-tube is empty; the float’s balanced. Avoid this balance.

Conversely, there’s no opposite extreme. Desires and drive vary greatly. Everyone’s U-tube is different. That’s what makes the world diverse.

This model isn’t perfect, but it’s useful for self-reflection.

I’m not a workaholic. No job, not even entrepreneurship, has ever consumed me entirely. I always reserve time – sacred time – for friends, sleep, reading, writing, or simply relaxing and daydreaming. Nothing else really captivates me, so my expectations aren’t high.

My ideal life? A comfortable home, ample free time, a few close friends. And, like now, a relaxed pace. Satisfying my curiosity, becoming a knowledgeable person. This seemingly inexpensive life actually requires a solid financial base, which I lack. But money isn’t the core issue; there’s a way to live at any level. At least the goal is clear.

I tend to be inert. My resolve isn’t that strong. My current life isn’t threatened, so where’s the urgency? If a crisis hits, and life gets hard, I hope I’ll find the will.

Regarding drive, I have some strengths. I’m decisive on small matters. I might not be fully prepared, but I’m quick. For big decisions, I don’t get lost in details and rarely second-guess myself. I’m good at turning ideas into action.

Finally, since I’m generally happy, my U-tube would show: both sides low, blue slightly denser, float a bit to the right.

Am I content with that? Hmm… I’m not sure.

The Role of a Designer in a Startup

hi@victor42.work (Victor42) — Sun, 12 Oct 2014 10:19:24 +0000

It’s been over a year since I started a business with my buddies, and it’s been a blast. I want to share this experience and discuss my role as a designer in a startup.

There’s no one-size-fits-all answer; a designer’s role depends on more than just design. If you’re confident and have strong ideas, you might lead product direction. Or, if you’re a stickler for pixel-perfect details, you can find your niche. It’s about proactively finding your place in a changing environment.

Getting Started

Our main product is a parking app, so most of my work revolved around its design. Initially, we were mostly part-time, cobbling together the prototype on weekends. No wireframes, no detailed specs – just core functionality. My job was to quickly create basic UI mockups for discussion and development. We had teammates focused on product positioning, and we were all aligned.

“Quickly” actually took a while; it was my first mobile project. I’d only done web design, with some mobile dabbling on my personal site. The first version had fewer than 10 screens, but it was still daunting. Dealing with Android’s resolutions and the iOS 6 to iOS 7 style shift was a steep learning curve. It was a new world, and I had to shed my web experience and start fresh.

In the early stages, when everything is stretched thin, you naturally do what you do best: focus on visuals and interaction, and help turn the startup idea into a reality.

Integration

Once the core product launched, the main roles were set. We realized the manpower shortage was even bigger than expected. There was a ton of tedious but crucial work: promotional materials, third-party API applications, app store listings, etc. And things not directly product-related: company registration, office space, interviews. It was tough to assign these tasks. If I could do it better than others, I did it.

Developers always had more work, and business development was limited by external factors. Designers often have more free time at this stage. I couldn’t just relax. I became a multi-tasker, filling the team’s gaps. The startup was a steel frame; I was the cement.

When developers struggled with UI implementation, I learned their principles, weighed priorities, and made adjustments with them. I made detailed UI annotations. I found a tool to link UI mockups with click-throughs, clarifying the business logic. Marketing was just starting, and having a professional designer boosted results. Banners, Weibo templates, company and product websites – I’d quickly create them. I also thoroughly tested each version, providing detailed bug reports. If I wasn’t the best person to solve a problem, I’d note it for the team to prioritize. Speed was key. Early on, getting these supporting tasks done matters more than perfection.

This stage is messy and fast-paced. The goal is to adapt, integrate, and connect scattered tasks.

Review and Consolidation

As the team progressed, the product entered a stable iteration cycle. Marketing and business development improved. Design workload stabilized, and it was always less than other roles. Everyone’s work was specialized; I couldn’t help much.

I saw this as a chance to pause, review, connect the dots, and think strategically. The significance of the previous stage’s tasks became clear: our design lacked a soul. We lacked standards. The product, materials, and modules were disconnected. The external image was inconsistent, mostly improvised. It looked okay, but it was white noise, not a melody.

So I dove into iOS and Android guidelines, comparing design styles and studying leading products. I felt like starting over, but changes must be gradual.

I created the company’s VI system and applied it to all external materials. I extracted a color scheme and visual style, refined them, and wrote guidelines. App components were unified, with platform-specific differences. Standing on the shoulders of giants is wise.

Everything can have standards: visuals, interaction, animation, sound, data display, units… I wrote them down and kept adding. It’s a long-term project.

Beyond tangible standards, we needed to establish abstract ones. What impression do we want to create? What emotions should we evoke? I’m still pondering this. While this can be established early, it’s unstable. Business and product changes affect it. It takes time, iterations, and refinement for it to emerge. That’s the design’s soul; you can’t force it.

With standards and guidelines, design became simpler, and results improved. Standards drive consistency, and consistency refines standards. This should be done early. When the team grows, its impact is even greater.

I had more time, perfect for fixing legacy issues! Newbie mistakes and edge cases needed addressing. One basic mistake: tiny click areas in our early Android version, violating the 48dp standard. These problems were in core functions, so fixing them was urgent. I also revamped the product website with new technologies.

By now, the team had good chemistry. My teammates’ abilities drove the product. I couldn’t fall behind. I needed to improve through learning and apply it immediately. I learned more that year than in the previous three combined: mobile development, responsive design, HTML5 animation, AE motion graphics, browser APIs, even drawing. Most importantly, my design skills improved.

Keep exploring, venturing beyond design, injecting fresh ideas. Think of yourself as a one-person Google X – a job to get designers’ hearts racing.

Conclusion

Starting a business is exciting, but tough. If you’re prepared to start or join a startup, you’re not just a designer, but an entrepreneur – a problem-solver. Your responsibilities include anything you’re good at that helps the team. It depends on your expertise, personality, and thinking. You’re part of the team, driving it forward.

How I Became a Designer

hi@victor42.work (Victor42) — Fri, 01 Nov 2013 14:59:42 +0000

People often ask me why and how I became a designer, given my electronics background. In interviews, I have plenty of answers for “why.” But with friends, I’m stumped, because they’re asking “how.” Recently, a UISDC editor asked me the same thing. I couldn’t answer immediately, so here’s my attempt, at least to clarify it for myself.

First, a disclaimer: this isn’t a how-to. It won’t make you a designer. It’s just my story.

I think most people feel their lives really begin in college. We’re asked what we want to be, but it takes a decade to truly answer. Dreams and college, however, are different beasts. My reason for choosing electronics was simple: I disliked my city. The easiest escape? A so-so major at a so-so university elsewhere. My application became about picking a city, which simplified things.

Electronics was duller than expected, at least initially. It was clear this major, focused on capacitors, resistors, and circuits, wasn’t for a right-brained person like me. After failing to switch to English, I knew I had to do something.

The library was full of options. After some novels, my first turning point came: an advertising magazine. Advertising was a lifeline for many confused young people – inspiring, passionate, individualistic. But I got sidetracked. I grew to dislike the clever marketing and focused on the beautiful visuals. This might have been my first encounter with “design.”

Photoshop seemed like the answer. Luckily, I’d dabbled before, so it was easy to pick up. But I fell into a trap. I spent six months on videos and tutorials, learning all sorts of effects, yet I couldn’t design a simple book cover.

In my sophomore year, I interned at a graphic design company. That’s where I got on track. After learning some software, I was tasked with designing a business card. The result was predictable, but some details were praised – thanks to imitating good designs, not Photoshop tricks. Imitation is key initially, as my boss later confirmed. I spent a long time copying flyers, brochures, and real estate pamphlets, which made color matching and composition my strengths. By graduation, my boss said I was at a senior graphic design major’s level, and he wasn’t wrong.

So, I started in graphic design, on par with design majors. But that became irrelevant. My first job showed me that a typical graduate’s skills aren’t enough. I struggled with an 8-page brochure for a month, needing help from an experienced colleague to finish. Simultaneously, the company’s website development needs were huge, so I assisted the front-end developer, beginning my journey into front-end tech.

On-the-job learning is incredibly effective. I learned by doing, and within two months, I was comfortable with HTML and CSS, creating pages without animations. Later, I realized front-end skills are valuable for designers. I recommend learning them quietly, or at least understanding the principles. Why quietly? We’ll get there. The company finally found a use for me. I handled daily news feature pages. Initially, senior designers designed, and I built. Gradually, I could create decent pages myself, and my work stabilized.

Once, with free time, I was sent to the advertising department to create brochures. My first client project, and a government one at that. I couldn’t communicate directly with the requester, leading to endless overtime and revisions. The contact was a short-tempered, harsh guy who’d also studied design, so I was bossed around and mocked for two months. I don’t know how I survived. Though we were never going to be friends, I learned some design from him. And one more thing: don’t get angry needlessly.

I’ve changed jobs, but always stayed within the Internet. I also built and redesigned my personal website several times, improving my design and front-end skills, and giving me a broader perspective on products. So far, my work has been mainly web design, sometimes front-end. However, holding two roles isn’t a badge of honor, but the start of a vicious cycle. I realized this late, and it was hard to reverse.

Specialization is crucial. Design and development are distinct mindsets. Switching constantly hurts efficiency. Limited time and energy are split, reducing output. I feel this with every job change and my thin portfolio. So, learn front-end, but discreetly. Don’t flaunt it, unless you’re in an early-stage startup. Some may disagree, but for designers, personal growth trumps company tasks.

Is that all it takes to be a good designer? I thought so until I joined a PC software company. My first encounter with software products. Their complexity far exceeded regular websites. Function trumped content. Four interfaces spawned dozens of PSDs. Fortunately, I led the design from start to finish. Unfortunately, massive layoffs killed the project.

This made me rethink the definition, or categories, of designers. Design has two mindsets: content and product. Print, banners, event pages, and some corporate sites are the former; social products, e-commerce, management systems, and most apps are the latter. They overlap, but the former emphasizes visuals, the latter usability. A great designer needs both, but for me, “warped” by front-end, the latter is a better entry. This doesn’t mean narrowing your focus. Broad exposure is vital, mastering trends in graphic, web, UI – all are welcome.

The direction became clear. As tech deepens its reach, product thinking will become increasingly important. User experience is now a must-have for designers. Learning resources aren’t structured. What matters is a love for technology and life, and a “no compromise” approach.

Before I finish, one question remains: Do I really like design? Well… it’s my favorite among all professions I know. The brainstorming and inspiration phase is the most fun, and the focused execution the most rewarding. Though progress becomes harder to see with time, looking back at my work sometimes surprises me – I actually created that.

Once a designer, it’s a lifelong commitment. Even if I stop designing professionally, I can’t stay away.

It’s become my worldview.

Essay on Victor42

The Digital Dark Age

Thoughts on Kitchenware

Old Tales from World of Warcraft

Bricklaying and Trailblazing

The Texting Experience

Number OCD

Writing it Down

Forwarding on Mobile

Eliminating Typos

Language is Serious

The Mindset of Writing a Press Release

Modern Big-Character Posters

Topic Guardian

Oh, Hehe, [Grin]

Conclusion

A Newbie's Perspective

Newbies Aren’t Dumb, They Just Don’t Care

Notifications, Updates… Who Cares?

What the Heck is a “Field”?

Are You Reminding Me, or Am I Reminding You?

We’re Penny-Pinchers, Especially with Time and Money

Final Thoughts

The Eternal Life of Machines

Expectations and Determination in Life

The Role of a Designer in a Startup

Getting Started

Integration

Review and Consolidation

Refinement and Exploration

Conclusion

How I Became a Designer