A Story of Love and Hate in Design
Quickdraws, Sharpies, and peppers. A letter to my favorite designs.
When one thinks of great design they often overlook the outdoors. From camping to climbing each piece of gear is meticulously crafted. Too heavy and it can’t be carried long distances. Too light and it can’t be relied on miles into the backcountry. A climbing quickdraw contains two small carabiners attached by a piece of webbing. Although the origin of these devices is unclear, their necessity and incredible design is not. As a rock climber ascends a route they clip one side of the quickdraw to the rock and the other to their rope. The greatness in their design comes from trial and terror. As climbers began ascending harder and harder routes, the clipping processes needed to be as fast and fluid as possible. If a fall were to happen during this process multiple meters could be added to the length of a fall. This necessity for flow pushed manufacturers to consider finger placement, rope width, and even differentiation of colors to aid in a climbers ability to clip a rope to a carabiner; a simple task aided by incredible design. The result of this exists a device that does one thing incredibly well.
In the world of design greats, one of the most satisfying to use is the humble and classic Sharpie Marker. Introduced by Sharpie in 1964, this simple product remains my favorite writing utensil. A plain plastic handle sits comfortably in the hand while a firm but gentle cap covers the tip. The cotton tip itself glides across paper with ease, but requires just enough force to emote purpose in its user. In assessing why I love Sharpies so much I am left blank. My affinity lands as a mixture between their actual function, putting ink on paper, and the experience of using them. Sharpies’ allure is also a direct correlation to their quality. From restaurant kitchens to ski resort lift shacks, and infinite desks in between Sharpies write with a clarity that can be relied on. It is no wonder then why they are used by so many, a simple product designed incredibly well.
Great design can exist in all places. The above mentioned quickdraw is designed for speed and ease of use. Sharpies are designed for a particular feeling and quality. The final design fandom I possess has to do with something even simpler; chipotle peppers in adobo sauce. Not just any peppers in sauce however, specifically the jarred version of La Costeña. I began using this product several years ago to add flavor to mexican dishes but could only find it canned and with the peppers left whole. Once opened, the peppers were exposed to air in the fridge and would begin to spoil. I found this irritating as all I ever needed for a recipe was a few grams of diced peppers. To achieve my usage I would then need to dirty a cutting board, knife, spoon, and storage container. Recently however, I stumbled across their most recent iteration of the product, a sealable jar of pre diced peppers. My culinary world was changed forever. Gone are the days of dirtying dishes and letting peppers dry out. I can only imagine that my struggles somehow wafted their way into the corporate boardroom of big pepper and forced this user experience change.
These examples of great design however do not hold an emotional candle to the disdain I have for the experience of resort skiing. This is not a passage against skiing, in fact it’s the opposite. I love skiing and have spent the last two years living and working in the ski town of Aspen, CO. In order to properly address the lunacy of the current model, analysis shall happen across three parts as follows: ticket purchasing, on mountain dining, and skill inequity.
Ticket purchasing, like all other aspects I will address, has been involved in the skiing experience from the beginning. If a user wants to ride the chairlifts they must first purchase a ticket, straightforward. The experience fault comes however when hundreds of people are trying to buy tickets at the same time from the few points of sale available. This requires users to locate specific locations away from the very product they want to use, the chairlifts, and often leads to unnecessary time wasted. Self service kiosks sometimes exist to mitigate this problem but are often located within the ticket office, thus keeping the entire transaction process away from the product used. Given the availability of user specific QR codes for ticket purchase verification it baffles me that such integration does not exist.
After skiing for a few hours every user is bound to need a snack. Some may take this opportunity to warm up inside while they down their $23 small hot chocolate. Others however may not wish to take the time needed to unclick, put their skis on a rack, and walk inside to stand in line and order food. The on mountain dining experience at ski resorts then seems to serve the majority but not all users. My group of friends wishes to maximize our time skiing and seeks to minimize the time needed inside these glorified high elevation cafeterias. Resorts could take a hint from the incredibly popular fast food model present around the world, drive throughs.
The final and most irritating experience of the current ski experience is the disparity in ability levels. This dislike does not come from a place of disdain for beginners, but quit the opposite. A sport like skiing requires either of two things to become proficient, expensive one on one practice with a certified instructor or frequent and often frustrating trial and error. The latter of these can be inherently dangerous for the learning individual and others around. Although a perfect world would see all beginners with individualized instruction, the sheer number of instructors needed and capital to pay them would not function.
These inadequate designs however do not diminish my love of skiing. One does not despise the ugly duckling because of its shortcomings, but instead embraces it for the growth it may obtain. A love affair with potential.
