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February 03 2014

14:30

Designing Digital Strategies, Part 1: Cartography

As digital products and services come to comprise an increasingly important part of our everyday life, the division between the digital and the physical begins to blur. We can, for instance, see a washing machine on TV, read reviews of it online, purchase it on our phone, and have it installed by our local shop—all without leaving our computer. The sum total of these processes functions as a single, continuous experience. Designers can more prudently frame the experiences they create by incorporating ecosystem thinking into their process.

In 2011, the newly appointed CEO of Nokia, Stephen Elop, wrote:

The battle of devices has now become a war of ecosystems, where ecosystems include not only the hardware and software of the device, but developers, applications, ecommerce, advertising, search… location-based services, unified communications and many other things. Our competitors aren’t taking our market-share with devices; they are taking our market share with an entire ecosystem. This means we’re going to have to decide how we either build, catalyse or join an ecosystem.”

An ecosystem is the term given to a set of products, services, and people that function together in a symbiotic way. As an interaction designer working at a consultancy, I often meet clients who want to integrate all sorts of functionality into their digital solutions—email, Facebook, SMS—without really considering if that inclusion will actually add value for their users. Rather than unilaterally connecting all possible digital channels and launching a “family” of related products and services, designers need to determine ways in which ecosystems can act together in service of their client’s business goals.

Nike’s “plus” products work together to create something greater than the sum of their parts.

Designers do this through the creation of a digital strategy. Despite the fact that numerous voices suggest their creation, however, the actual details of creating one remains elusive. That’s where this two-part series comes in. In the first part we’ll review the elements that comprise an ecosystem as well as how to create an ecosystem map (a useful tool for facilitating a shared vision) by way of digital cartography. In the second part, we’ll see how ecosystem maps can be used to to develop digital strategies, helping companies fit together the various pieces that shape their digital puzzle.

The basics

The word ecosystem comes from biology wherein it describes a network of interacting organisms and their physical environment. From a technological standpoint, though, an ecosystem is better described as a network of people interacting with products or services. As Dave Jones defines them, ecosystems include:

  • users,
  • the practices they perform,
  • the information they use and share,
  • the people with whom they interact,
  • the services available to them,
  • the devices they use, and
  • the channels through which they communicate.

Ecosystem thinking, likewise, is the inquiry method used to analyze and understand ecosystems, both the problems they pose as well as the business opportunities they might present. Instead of focusing on a single product or service, however, designers who practice ecosystem thinking evaluate user behavior at the intersection of various inflection points. They ask:

  • Who are our users?
  • What practices do they perform?
  • What information do they need? (and where do they seek it?)
  • With whom do they interact?
  • What services are available to them?
  • What devices do they use?
  • Through what channels do they communicate?

Answers to these questions provide designers with all of the raw data they need in order to better understand the ecosystem in which they’re working. Turning that data into actionable information is the job of ecosystem maps.

An ecosystem map is simply a graphical representation of the relationships examined via ecosystem thinking. Ecosystem maps are closely related to other diagrams with which designers are likely familiar, including service blueprints, experience maps, and concept maps. They differ from these diagrams, however, in that ecosystem maps are optimized to aid in the creation of digital strategies.

A concept model that explains concept models (© Dan Brown, 2010)

Service designers Polaine, Løvlie, and Reason have arguably presented one of the best examples of an ecosystem map, however, without sufficient contextual knowledge it is difficult to understand the relationships their map presents between the “who,” “what,” “when,” “where,” “why,” and “how.”

That’s where digital cartography comes in.

Mapping an ecosystem

Digital cartography is an abductive, sensemaking process that, practically speaking, only requires time and permission to iterate. It boils down to five major activities:

  1. Understanding users and their goals;
  2. Mapping the activities (both known activities and “best guesses” as to the unknown activities) that users conduct in service of their goals;
  3. Mapping the information, services, devices and channels that users employ in service of their activities;
  4. Mapping the moments in which users perform their activities; and
  5. Narrowing down the discrete set of moments (or “experiences”) upon which the design team might focus.

The most useful outcome of digital cartography is not the map itself but the insights that the mapping process generates into the idiosyncrasies of users: their needs, their behaviours, and their perspectives. No map can really encompass the full complexity of an entire ecosystem; an illustration will always be a simplification of reality. However, the creation of simplified visual representations helps us to collaboratively forge paths in our digital world.

Creating a map

Like all user-centered design endeavors, digital cartography begins with research: interviews, observations, questionnaires, analyses of web site statistics, etc. This helps us to determine the goals towards which users are working as well as how users go about accomplishing their goals. Next we draw, or map, everything we know.

Don’t worry about getting everything right immediately. Ecosystem maps are useful both for structuring forthcoming research (finding out what needs to be examined) as well as for communicating the insights of the research that’s already been performed. Use a dry-erase board or a pencil and a piece of paper. It can also be useful to put the people and devices involved in a process, called actors, on individual post-it notes in order to move them around. This helps us to spatially reflect where actors fall in the process (left-to-right, top-to-bottom) as well as the relationships between them.

After spatially arranging the actors, have the team illustrate any/all of the activities undertaken by users as well as the information, services, devices, and channels they use for doing these activities. Next, cycle through the questions comprising ecosystem thinking: When do users perform activities? How do people send out invitations for, say, a birthday party? Who sends the invitations? How do they know who will come to the party?

It is easy to be overwhelmed with unknowns, especially in the beginning. Uncertainties (such as the order of certain events or the kind of channel that’s used for performing a specific activity), should be drawn as a “best guess” and marked with a questionmark for further investigation. Later, this information helps us to make a plan for how we can find out more about our ecosystem. For example, perhaps we could return to our research by conducting interviews with parents about how they usually invite children to their kid’s birthday party.

The final step is to determine the activities that our team will support through design. Not everything that is part of an ecosystem should be integrated into a digital product or service; it’s all about making strategic, informed choices. This helps us to distinguish “what is necessary” from what is “nice to have.” Moreover, it helps us determine which features might give our experience a competitive edge.

An example

Let’s continue using the example of an event-organizing application in order to illustrate how an actual act of digital cartography might unfold.

When organizing an event, people usually begin by discussing how, when, and where the event should take place. One person might take on the responsibility of securing the event space and sending out invites. Invitees might then contact the organizer to RSVP. Next, the organizer might wish to delegate tasks to the people who are attending (such as bringing stuff, preparing food and so on.) After the event, attendees might opt to send thank-you notes or share pictures from the event.

The ecosystem map, shown below, does not include all the activities that take place around an event, but it does include the more salient ones.

An ecosystem map for an event-planning application. I chose a circular presentation to indicate how the success of the app relied on repeated use.

The map also shows how activities are performed through the use of icons: invitations, questions and responses can be submitted through regular mail, e-mail, text message, in person, over the phone, or through Facebook. Timeframes for the various activities appear as green, dotted lines. In this case, I chose to use large timeframes as the timing varies a great deal across different types of events (planning a wedding might take six months, whereas planning a night out at the movies might take hours).

The inner circle of the map shows the activities that the app currently supports; the other circle shows what’s on our minds. Deciding what to do during an event and sharing photos are but two examples of countless activities that users might perform during the course of organizing an event. This division—what users do vs. what we support—is an excellent jumping off point as we formulate our digital strategy.

The map is not the territory

I have found the use of ecosystem maps to be very valuable when working with clients. I encourage readers to draw their own maps and share their experience of applying ecosystem thinking in their design projects.

Understanding ecosystems adds a whole new dimension to designing consistent user experiences across different types of media. So far I have explained what an ecosystem is and how we can draw ecosystem maps. Yet, it is not really about the map, but where it might take us. In the next (final) part of this series, we’ll see how to use ecosystem maps as tools, informing the creation of digital strategies.


The post Designing Digital Strategies, Part 1: Cartography appeared first on UX Booth.

November 19 2013

14:30

Fail Fast, Fail Often: An Interview with Victor Lombardi

Retrospectives are common. You’ve likely conducted one before. But how many companies are actually good at them? How many companies actually have the courage to be open and honest about their own shortcomings? My experience tells me that very few are. And that’s why Victor Lombardi’s recently released book, is so necessary: unlike the ones designers are used to seeing, Lombardi’s stories are full of objective, thoughtful, and insightful commentary.

An award-winning product designer, Victor Lombardi’s had a hand in over 40 different software and internet projects throughout the course of his career. And during that time he’s clearly paid attention to one thing: namely, all of the different ways in which a project can unfold. His new book, Why We Fail, tells over a dozen stories of projects gone awry.

So why do design projects fail? Many reasons. Lombardi attempts to answer the question from a number of angles: product ideation, design, development, and marketing. After reading his book, we brought additional questions to the discussion: How does bias factor in? Or branding? And, on a different level, what can we learn from healthcare.gov?

Our full interview appears, below. Additionally (as is always the case when we interview an author published by Rosenfeld Media) the publisher has graciously offered to give away a few books to readers. More information on that follows the interview!


Hey, Victor! Thanks for taking the time to chat. Throughout the book, you note a wide variety of places in which cognitive biases might affect an organization (“survivorship bias,” for example, is a perspective that exclusively favors success). Were you aware of bias and its effects from the outset or did you simply start to see bias the further you delved into your research?
I wasn’t expecting to hear about bias when I interviewed people for the book. Maybe that’s because I didn’t think people would open up this way. But they did.

I think it’s good therapy for us to talk through not only what we did during a project but also what we thought and felt. From there I brushed up on my psychology—Max Bazerman’s “Blind Spots” was particularly helpful—to explain the cognitive science behind the issues that led to failures.

Many companies find it (understandably) difficult to financially justify a culture that “embraces” failure. What advice do you have for them?
If senior management rules by ego, believing that the people at the top have the best ideas, then I’ve got nothing to say. They won’t hear my message.

For others, I think the overt message of “fail fast” is actually better framed as “experiment fast.” The most effective innovators succeed through experimentation. They’ve updated the traditional R&D department by stepping out of the lab and interacting directly with customers, running thoughtful experiments, and executing them quickly to learn quickly what works and what doesn’t.

Anyone doing user-centered design is already 80% of the way there. It makes a huge difference just to shift your process towards the scientific method, phrasing research questions as hypotheses and iteratively testing towards them. A key difference is in the results: instead of a lot of usability data to analyze and interpret, you get a true or false result. This makes it much easier to decide what to do next.

I recommend reading up on methods like customer development, lean startup, or by starting with the final chapter of my book.

In chapter four you recount the story of Wesabe and Mint, two startups who approached the financial space from slightly different perspectives. Wesabe suggested that users manually upload their financial data (in the name of privacy and security) whereas Mint.com automated this task (at the risk of perceived security). Both were minimum viable products, but one failed while the other succeeded. Can you speak a little as to what startups can learn, generally, from Wesabe and Mint.com’s subtle differentiation?
Wesabe was a useful service with a smart Web 2.0 strategy. Given more time and investment it would still be around. But certain classes of startups are dependent on attracting large numbers of customers in order to attract more investment. Mint.com chose features and designed them in a way that excelled at attracting customers. They won the competition even though Wesabe was superior in many ways.

But this isn’t true in every case. In the book I cover a broad spectrum of products: startups and mature products; mobile, web, and desktop software; hardware; and services. Different situations resulted in different lessons. I summarize the lessons at the end of each case study.

One of my favorite case studies in the book is Google Wave, in which you suggest that the first sign of trouble was that everyone had a different definition of what a “wave” actually was. Personally, I think this speaks to the strong connection between user experience, semantics and branding. How do we fail in this regard and how might we do better?
The UX field generally is not good at the conceptual design stage of creating new products compared to, say, industrial design or architecture. We fall in love with our first idea, and we can quickly and cheaply move from idea to working prototype—it isn’t natural to stay in the idea stage for a while to explore alternate solutions.

It’s unfortunate that Google Wave failed because the problem still exists. The solution was close. …maybe “Concept Design” should be my next book ;-)

Chapter 7, titled “Do the right thing,” tells the story of Plaxo and Classmates.com, two companies who each decided to employ dark patterns to “better” their business. What other kinds of stories/examples did you consider including in this chapter that exhibited bad behavior?
In cases like Classmates.com I had no doubt the behavior was unethical. Others were less clear cut. Some of the things Plaxo did [ed: such as mass emailing its members’ contacts] that annoyed us back then are now accepted practice. So it’s relative. I decided against including others because there was no smoking gun, so I’ll refrain from mentioning them here as well. If you really want to know, you’ll have to buy me a drink sometime.
Last question! I know it’s a bit premature, but what, if anything, do you think designers might learn from the (highly publicized) failure of healthcare.gov?
Let’s say we solved for the myriad of political and vendor integration problems that plagued the project. What’s left are some intriguing customer experience issues. One seems to be that a long registration process is required before the customer can view prices of health plans, because the plans and prices are determined by your registration information. I don’t know how they ended up with that design, but the decision to design it this way sounds like a policy decision made around a conference table rather than through a design process that included running experiments.

What you can do if you find yourself in this situation is to acknowledge, out loud, that the goal of not showing prices prematurely is a good one, but the solution of making the customer do a lot of work up front is risky because more people will abandon the process before receiving any value from the site (see Wesabe vs. Mint). To mitigate this risk, you can generate alternate designs, mock them up, and test them out with customers.

Offhand, I can think of a few options:

  • Let visitors browse plans upon arrival and show the range of prices next to each plan to give people a general idea of cost. Then show them the actual prices after registration.
  • Show some realistic content so visitors know what factors will influence the price, like “Sally, a single mother of two in New York will pay $100/month for Plan X which includes benefits A, B, and C.”
  • If just a bit of data is needed to determine price, like state and income, just ask for that data, and require registration later when people are ready to buy a plan.

Thanks, again, for taking the time, Victor! Your book was a pleasure to read.

If you’re as jazzed about learning from failure as we are, I’d strongly suggest entering for a chance to win a copy of your own, courtesy of our friends over at Rosenfeld Media. To enter, simply follow UX Booth on twitter and leave a comment on this post answering the question: What’s your favorite story of design failure (one you’ve witnessed firsthand or otherwise) and what lessons to you think it provides? Rather than pick the winners at random, as we usually do, we’ll work with Victor to pick the three best stories of failure. Their authors will receive copies of the book. Entries must be made by Midnight, PST of November 21st. Good luck!


The post Fail Fast, Fail Often: An Interview with Victor Lombardi appeared first on UX Booth.

October 03 2013

13:30

Digital Literacy, Part 1: Cadence

What does it mean to be literate in a digital age? While our conventional definition implies reading and writing, that definition also pays no mind to new media’s inherent malleability. It’s only by scrutinizing the ends to which our digital creations are used that we’ll come to better understand our ability to effect change via those creations.

It’s has been called a publishing platform and a conversation medium, but it’s also been used as a collaborative encyclopedia, a code playground and a canvas for art. Is there anything the web can’t do? (and should there be?)

After all, analog media was relatively simple by comparison. Everything we needed to know in order to think critically about the written word came down to reading and writing. But the web is different. Not only does it allow us to create new ideas along existing channels – we can post on Facebook and/or Twitter, for example – it also allows us to create new channels altogether, such as Tumblr and Medium. So what does this mean for our conventional definition of literacy?

Media theorist Clay Shirky offers a clue. In his foreword to the the book Mediactive, Shirky provides a media-agnostic definition, suggesting that “Literacy, in any medium, means not just knowing how to read that medium, but also how to create in it, and to understand the difference between good and bad uses.” And this definition, in particular, resonated with me (indeed, I might go so far as to say it should resonate with all user-centered designers who seek to understand what it means to create a “good,” useful web), inspiring an investigation to something I’ve currently termed digital- or “web design literacy.”

In the following three-part series I’d like to share digital litearcy as I’ve come to understand it. In the first part (the one you’re currently reading) I’ll recount a story highlighting some of the web’s more esoteric aspects, the elements that make it similar to – but altogether different from – print. In the second, I’ll briefly discuss the prominent double-diamond model of design thinking and explore how “design posture” might affect our ability to navigate that model. In the third, I’ll point to nascent trends in our profession, ways in which both investigative journalism and teaching might pertain to work that we do.

A design villain

In May of 2009, an interaction designer named Dustin Curtis published an open letter on his personal website entitled “Dear American Airlines” suggesting that the company take a look at his vision of what their future home page might look like:

The difference was profound. Instead of providing users with a cramped, uninspiring sea of text, Dustin placed the booking process – arguably the most important interaction on the page – front-and-center. He even included a photo of island getaway. Few people could argue that he isn’t onto something, so that’s precisely when Dustin decided to turn up the heat, asking American Airlines to “fire [their] entire design team,” who, he added, “is obviously incapable of building a good experience.” He concluded by suggesting that American Airlines “get outside help.”

As those watching the saga unfold later learned – in a response from a designer working at American Airlines named “Mr. X ” – what prohibited American from redesigning its website wasn’t a lack of desire or its in-house talent. No, it was their corporate culture. As Mr. X explained it, the public probably wouldn’t see the fruits of his group’s labor for at least another year simply due to the degree to which teams at American depended upon one another (i.e. bureaucracy). This meant that the company actually had two problems: not only did it have a poorly designed homepage, it also had a poorly designed organization that made it difficult to affect change.

In his most recent book, The Connected Company, management consultant Dave Gray tackles this
problem head on, suggesting that organizations of the future adopt a “podular” structure (not pictured above) to allow for more dynamic problem solving. Illustration copyright © Dave Gray. Used with permission.

In many ways the state of affairs at American Airlines probably came as no surprise to Dustin – or anyone else for that matter. Of course they had a poorly designed organizational structure; why else would their homepage have fallen into such disarray? That’s a fair question and, in fact, it’s probably what led Dustin to publish his open letter. A more prudent question, however (one that apparently nobody thought to ask), is: what should American Airlines have done? Clearly they couldn’t just fire their entire design team, as Dustin suggested. How should they have gone from where they were to where they need to be?

The answer is complex. Readers likely have an idea as to where we might start (stakeholder interviews, anyone?), but none of us could possibly devise “a set of steps to take the company from bad to good” without knowing the way in which American Airlines operates on a day-to-day basis. To begin, we’d ask a whole bunch of questions.

It’s the question that drives us

To better understand how a designer might begin to solve the organizational problems plaguing American Airlines, it’s worth taking a step back and more thoroughly considering the role that Dustin played with regards to American Airlines vis-à-vis the publication of his open letter. There are many ways in which Dustin could have expressed his opinion, after all: he could have called customer support; he could have sent an angry letter (you know, in the mail); he even could have written a Yelp review (customers occasionally comment on websites as part of their business reviews). But Dustin didn’t do any of these things. Instead, he published an open letter, subjecting his inquiry to the web’s seldom-discussed-but-nonetheless-profound political affordances.

A “political affordance” is simply an amalgamation of concepts originating from the fields of social science (politics) and psychology (affordances). Whereas a perceived affordance allows an actor – a person, say – to determine the potential utility of his/her implements by way of what he or she perceives (e.g. the shape of a hammer’s head affords hitting, its handle affords holding, etc.), a political affordance describes someone’s ability to assemble and direct a public – to “call an audience into being” – by way of his/her media.

Political affordances have a profound impact on the way in which we create and consume information. By contradistinction, consider a web designer who places a redesigned version of American Airlines in their online portfolio in hopes that the finesse it demonstrates will garner them future employment. This happens all the time. But while both our hypothetical designer and our actual designer, Dustin, have each presented “alternate realities,” the web’s political affordances greatly magnify the ramifications of the ways in which these designers have chosen to express their respective sentiments. Our hypothetical designer’s message is likely considered “friendly” regardless of its reach. Dustin’s open letter, on the other hand, is almost certainly seen as adversarial precisely because of its reach. Not only does Dustin’s letter call an organization into question, it does so in a way that incites others to feel the same.

Distinguishing between these two modes of presentation might seem superfluous – and, indeed, it would be of less consequence – if it weren’t for the sheer fact that questions lie at the heart of what we do: designers ask questions in order to better understand the boundary between form and function; designers ask questions in order to understand what users want; and designers ask (rhetorical) questions when they present wireframes, prototypes, etc. to their team. (None of these actions is explicitly “at odds” with a system, though. Quite the opposite, in fact; designers generally question things in order to attain a shared understanding.)

In his 2009 TED Talk – incidentally given the same year as Dustin published his
open letter – psychologist and author Barry Schwartz “makes a passionate call for “practical wisdom’ as an antidote to a society gone mad with bureaucracy.” This is a challenge that creative consultants frequently face.

The difference today is that the internet forces us to more thoroughly consider the timbre of conversations we facilitate. When criticism happens in private, organizations and individuals are more likely to be open-minded and develop a sense of wisdom. When criticism happens in public, however, organizations run the risk of appearing non-empathic. Many remain silent.

Ultimately, the preceding line of inquiry raises two, related lines questions pertaining to our design process:

  • What makes a question, itself, “appropriate” or “innocent?”
  • What makes a question, itself, “inappropriate” or “threatening?”

In the interest of expediency, the difference – as far as I can tell – is tact. Tact differentiates our ability to get what we want – be that potential work in the case of a student, or a redesigned organization in the case of Dustin Curtis – and our ability to squander an opportunity. Developing an intuition with regards to tact allows us to prudently plan for change over time. In this way, there’s a certain design to Design: Asking deliberate questions in a deliberate order yields a deliberate result.

Grammatically incorrect

Finally we come to the issue of cadence, or the ebb and flow of ideas.

As with political affordances, cadence behaves drastically different across the digital and analog worlds. Online, the web affords both linear and non-linear narratives. In other words, a designer can either architect a system such that a user sees a predetermined set, or “script,” of screens – a checkout path, for example – or she can make it such that a user can navigate those screens in any order that user chooses. The choice is up to the designer. Offline, things are different. Because “real life” requires that we experience events in a linear order – reading an article (as you’re doing right now) or pitching, selling, and actually producing a design project – Design requires a certain kind of sensitivity to the way in which information is paced.

And, as it turns out, this is precisely the function of grammar. What’s more interesting than the Design-grammar analogy, though, is observing the shift that grammar has made as it’s left the the world of traditional media and entered the realm of interactive media. Consider:

  • One of the most fundamental books in the history of grammar is William Strunk, Jr. and E. B. White’s pocket guide to writing called The Elements of Style. Named as one of the “100 most influential books written in English since 1923” by Time magazine, it condenses nearly everything an American-English author needs to know to pace their ideas (outside of words themselves) to a mere 100 pages.
  • Following suit, typographer and poet Robert Bringhurt’s “The Elements of Typographic Style” serves as kind of typographer’s book of grammar. It, too, provides everything a typographer needs to know in order to effectively use type, basic grids, etc. in service of an aesthetic.
  • Finally, comic-book theorist Scott McCloud’s comic book about comics – called “Understanding Comics” – discusses various methods of visual communication. It comprises a kind-of-sort-of “comic-book grammar.”

Star Wars director George Lucas suggests that all forms of art share the same goal: communication. He believes that contemporary educational system should reflect this notion.

By now the pattern is clear: grammar allows (graphic) designers to better determine the way information is paced in traditional media. Now for the shift. Digital grammars appear much less didactic and much more philosophical. Consider:

  • In 2007 computer scientist Bill Buxton authored “Sketching User Experiences,” in which he described the various ways in which designers might affect change over time. Buxton’s allusion to sketching suggests that the product design (UX design) process might more closely resemble a game of pictionary than a traditional publishing process.
  • In 2008, new-media theorist Clay Shirky released his book “Here Comes Everybody” explaining the potential ramifications of a post-Internet society. While extremely well received, the book also raised a number of important, difficult questions surrounding the internet and collective action (many of them dealing with political affordances).

Again I believe the pattern is clear: whereas the grammars defining traditional media (punctuation, typographic convention, grids, and visual language) helped creators better define the cadence of ideas, the grammar defining digital media is potentially much more complex. Designer Paul Boag’s recent post about the nature of the web sums this up well.

Increasingly you are not having to visit a website in order to find certain types of information. For example, if I want to know local cinema times I can simply ask Siri and she will return just the listings required without ever visiting a website. Equally, if I want to know who the CEO of Yahoo is, Google will tell me this in its search results without the need to visit a specific website.

What does a lack of digital grammar mean for designers, those of us who want to provide the best content for our end users?

The journey thus far

This article’s covered a lot of ground. We began with a question relating the analog concept of literacy to its digital equivalent, asking what does it mean to create and consume the web, to understand its good and bad uses? In search for an answer, we first heard the story of Dustin Curtis’s open letter to American Airlines. In light of that, we discussed the internet’s political affordances and the way those affordances galvanized Dustin’s role in relation to American Airlines. This led us to consider the design of the Design process itself. Finally, we discussed cadence, the way in which grammar affords our ability to control the flow of ideas.

In part two of this series we’ll take an even further step back, using the double-diamond model of design thinking to contextualize our work and the concept of design posture to explain how we navigate that model. Stay tuned!


The post Digital Literacy, Part 1: Cadence appeared first on UX Booth.

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