Author: Alessandro Zulberti

  • The Interview They Thought They Saw

    What Frost–Nixon Teaches About UX Research

    It looked like a turning point.
    In the edited clip shared with the wider team, the design lead pauses, looks down at the table, and says:

    If that’s really how users see it… then yes, we may need to rethink.

    A still from this exchange ends up in the leadership presentation. It is framed as the day the project began to listen.

    But, as in the famous Frost–Nixon interviews, this is only the part of the story that survived the cut.


    The Set-Up

    In 1977, David Frost didn’t secure Richard Nixon’s appearance by chance. There was payment—six hundred thousand dollars—that gave both sides something to protect. There were written agreements about timing and format. What the public saw as a high-stakes confrontation was also a negotiated transaction.

    This fictional research scenario borrows from that architecture. The researcher is funded by the same team whose work they are examining. The stakeholder has agreed to “hear” findings but with deadlines already fixed and certain features quietly off-limits.

    The researcher, too, carries professional pressures: the need to demonstrate value in a climate where research budgets are often questioned, the desire to secure continued involvement in the project, the obligation to maintain working relationships with a team they may need to challenge. These constraints mean they enter the room knowing that “influence” may need to be proven without directly threatening the delivery plan.


    The Performance

    In Frost–Nixon, each man had advisors. Frost rehearsed lines and silences; Nixon practised answers until they could pivot admissions into deflections.

    Here, too, the meeting is not as unplanned as it appears. The design lead has already been briefed on early findings, ensuring there will be no shocks in the room. The researcher has been encouraged to “keep the conversation constructive,” a phrase that, in practice, means avoiding blunt challenges. The polite exchanges—“We care about user voices,” “We’re keen to test assumptions”—play out smoothly, almost on cue.

    It is not that either party is lying. It is that both are working to protect more than the truth: reputation, momentum, and their own version of the story.


    The Edit

    The famous concession in Frost–Nixon—Nixon’s apparent acknowledgement of wrongdoing—was the product of hours of footage shaped by a director.

    In this fictional project, the “moment” emerges during a two-hour playback session. Several comments are removed for being “too tactical” or “off-topic.” What remains is a single, agreeable concession—safe enough to circulate outside the core team. It looks like listening. It is also an edit.


    The Reveal

    That concession does not trigger immediate change. Two sprints later, a small adjustment aligns with the finding, but it is presented as an “enhancement” rather than a response to user feedback.

    This does not make the design lead insincere. Like Nixon, they have multiple audiences in mind. The comment plays well internally, preserves credibility, and allows for gradual adaptation. The researcher, meanwhile, can point to a visible outcome—however small—that signals their influence, keeping the case for research alive.


    What a Researcher Can Do Differently

    Recognising this architecture is one thing; navigating it with integrity is another.
    For researchers who see themselves in this scenario, a few practical steps can help:

    1. Set terms early. When scoping the research, agree explicitly that findings—positive or negative—will be shared in full. A written clause can create space for objectivity, even if it’s only partial protection.
    2. Prepare the challenge. Frame difficult insights in a way that aligns with shared project goals. This reduces defensiveness while keeping the core issue intact.
    3. Anchor the moment. When a stakeholder concedes a point, document it immediately and tie it to a clear, actionable next step. Without this anchor, the moment risks being edited into something symbolic but hollow.
    4. Track the follow-through. Revisit the agreed action in later meetings. A concession without a traceable outcome is simply a performance.

    Closing Reflection

    The question “Are they truly listening to users, or only validating their own designs?” rarely has a clean answer. In most projects, listening is a mix of openness and choreography, sincerity and strategy. Just as Frost–Nixon was both an interview and a negotiated performance, so too are many moments in UX research. The value lies not in pretending these forces don’t exist, but in recognising them—and in building structures that give truth a fighting chance to survive the cut.

  • A Week of Searching

    Introduction — How to Read This Week

    This article follows a fictional character, Gordon, across seven days of digital searching. Each day captures a moment — a tab opened, a product revisited, a phrase retyped — and asks not what Gordon found, but how he moved.

    Gordon is not real.
    But everything he does is based on real patterns:

    • Deferred decisions
    • Layered intentions
    • Drift caused by distraction, rhythm, or environment

     

    The format is simple:
    A short scene. A question. A reflection.

    Each day ends with:

    • What if we made this moment bigger?
    • What was happening beneath?

     

    These are provocations, not conclusions. They resist closure. They model a form of inquiry that values observation — but insists on doubt.

    We reference Fahrenheit 451 for a reason.
    Clarisse, the quiet observer, notices what others have stopped seeing. She watches people walk. Asks why things are. That kind of attention, in a system built on speed, can be mistaken for dissent.

    We mention this not to romanticise watching — but to warn how quickly it becomes distortion.
    In research, it’s tempting to assign meaning to everything.
    But not every pause carries purpose.
    Not every tab-switch signals intention.

    And here, a tension: this article performs the very act it questions.
    It selects. It stages. It interprets.
    We do not deny that. We admit it — and slow it down.

    Gordon is not a dataset. He is a mirror.
    A way to surface our interpretive habits, our pattern-seeking instincts, our design impulses.

    These vignettes are not meant to simulate realism.
    They are composed moments, curated to hold ambiguity still — long enough to ask:
    What do we see when we’re trying not to decide too fast?

    This article does not model triangulation.
    It invites it.
    It shows what observation looks like before the method takes hold — before we resolve the tension, assign intent, or move to insight.

    The week matters as a whole.
    Not for what it proves, but for what it resists.


    Monday — The Shortcut

    Environment

    Morning commute. London bus. Phone in hand.

    Observer

    Gordon taps “B” — auto-completes to “bbc.co.uk.”
    Scrolls. Opens a new tab.

    “sony headphones pressure headache”

    Search. Rephrase. Back out. Scroll Instagram. Close app. The moment dissolves.

    What if we made this moment bigger?
    What was happening beneath?
    → A habit disrupted. Search as rhythm, not task.
    → Not yet decision-making. Just orientation. Possibly distraction. Possibly comfort.


    Tuesday — The Purchase

    Environment

    Kitchen. Standing. Eating. Phone open.

    Observer

    “best noise cancelling headphones 2025”
    “Jabra Elite 10 vs Bose 700”
    Voice notes, videos, tabs. No action.

    What if we made this moment bigger?
    What was happening beneath?
    → Activity without commitment.
    → Maybe friction. Maybe deferral. Maybe not the right moment.


    Wednesday — The Retrieval

    Environment

    Evening. Sofa. Bake Off on screen.

    Observer

    “Paul Hollywood choux tip”
    “can you freeze eclairs”
    “where to buy choux buns London”
    Lingers on bakery page. Watches the timer on the show.

    What if we made this moment bigger?
    What was happening beneath?
    → Triggered by mood, not need.
    → Sensory memory? Or just idle curiosity?
    → Search as appetite trace, not intention.


    Thursday — The Return

    Environment

    Mid-morning. Push notification: “Last viewed: curtains.”

    Observer

    Revisits product. Checks specs. Watches a YouTube review. Leaves again.

    What if we made this moment bigger?
    What was happening beneath?
    → A reactivation, not a restart.
    → Prompted externally. Response shaped by timing.
    → Was readiness present? Unclear.


    Friday — The Interruption

    Environment

    Shared workspace. Headphones in. Calendar ping.

    Observer

    “Carla Mendes climate AI”
    “AI water sensors UK”
    Banner ad appears. Clicks. Regrets. Closes. Loses thread.

    What if we made this moment bigger?
    What was happening beneath?
    → Good intent, scattered by external noise.
    → Was this poor design? Low attention? Wrong context?
    → Unresolved.


    Saturday — The Comparison

    Environment

    Evening. Bedroom. Tabs: sleep aids, shoes, Reddit.

    Observer

    Creates a table: specs, price, shipping.

    “how long does white noise take to work”
    Finds a comment:
    “depends on the texture of your worry”

    What if we made this moment bigger?
    What was happening beneath?
    → From comparison to reflection.
    → Did emotion enter the frame? Or was he just tired?
    → Not clear. But it shifted the tone.


    Sunday — The Pattern

    Environment

    Afternoon. Notebook. Clouds moving fast.

    Observer

    Looking back. Seven days. Seven different types of search.
    No grand narrative. No repeatable pattern. But small motifs recur:
    • Return
    • Delay
    • Distraction
    • Ambient trigger
    • Low-stakes drift
    • Hesitation framed as inquiry

    Clarisse asked people if they ever noticed the dew.
    That wasn’t a provocation. It was a warning.
    Don’t forget how to look. But also — don’t overstate what you see.

    And here, a limit.
    We talk about triangulation. But this article does not model it.

    There is no cross-device mapping.
    No follow-up interview.
    No second method layered in.

    Why? Because this piece isn’t about how we prove something — it’s about how quickly we try to.
    It’s an attempt to sit with what we don’t yet know.
    To hold a search open long enough to realise:

    We might be wrong
    We might be early
    We might be looking at the wrong thing entirely

    Gordon’s week isn’t insight.
    It’s a study in interpretation.
    And a caution: observation alone is never enough.

  • Silence in usability moderated tests, inspired by John Cage

    I recently watched a video of a pianist performing John Cage’s 4’33”. It is quite an inspiring performance, especially when we consider the pianist’s use of silence and how this also has relevance for usability moderated tests.

    In the video, we see the pianist first sit at the piano, then, he places a score on the stand, sets a stopwatch, and closes the piano lid – before remaining seated quietly for 33 seconds. The pianist then briefly opens and re-shuts the lid, re-sets the stopwatch and again remains seated quietly; this time, for two minutes and 40 seconds, while occasionally turning the pages of the score. He repeats the process, but only for one minute and 20 seconds. Finally, he stands up, bows to polite applause from the audience and walks off stage.

    The pianist’s performance, in three movements, is based on a unique musical composition created by John Cage. For it, Cage’s sole instruction is the use of “Tacet”, which in Latin means “[it] is silent.” This idea when used in music, is an indication that the musician is not to play anything at all.

    The performance, of course, left most of the audience members with no idea of what to make of Cage’s composition. Indeed, some of them even left in a huff. But then gradually, it became clear to the discerning that the work was intended to help the audience discover the impossibility of actual silence in life; particularly, as the coughing of audience members, the squeaking of seats, and even the footsteps of audience departing, became part of the unusual composition.

    In my view, the impossibility of silence in life is a very important concept. Silence according to NNG (2019), is a “powerful moderation technique for user interviews, usability testing, and workshop facilitation.” As further explained in the NNG article, “The Science of Silence: Intentional Silence as a Moderation Technique,” silence can build trust between a participant and a moderator, thus, leading to more accurate answers to questions.

    To understand why NNG refers to silence as a “powerful technique”, let us imagine a scenario in which a moderator is conducting a user interview and asks a participant a question. The participant responds with a brief answer, but the moderator senses that there may be more to the participant’s response. In this situation, the moderator could choose to remain silent; thus, allowing the participant time to think and provide a more complete response. If, however, the moderator is not strategic with his or her use of silence, the participant may become uncomfortable and feel pressured to fill the silence, even if s/he doesn’t have much more to say. This can result in the participant providing less accurate, or dishonest, responses.

    In contrast, if the moderator is aware of the discomfort that people may feel with prolonged silence, s/he can use silence strategically, such as by allowing a short pause after the participant’s initial response before asking a follow-up question. This pause gives the participant time to collect his or her thoughts. S/he feels heard, thus, also demonstrating to the participant that the moderator is actively listening and interested in the response.

    In this example, the concept of discomfort with silence in social interactions helps to connect the idea of the impossibility of silence in life with the power of silence as a moderation technique. By acknowledging and working with this discomfort, moderators can use silence as a powerful tool for building trust and promoting honest communication in user interviews and other settings.

    The value of silence is further reinforced by its use in Microsoft workshops, where participants were asked to practice being silent. In one exercise, participants are told to pair up and then, to ask one person to share something about his or herself for five minutes, while the other person stays completely silent. The result of this exercise is that the participants felt more connected. Additionally, trust and self-esteem are built on the listener’s ability to show active listening, empathy, and communication skills.

    The importance of being heard, especially as relates to self-esteem, is also reflected in one of five categories in a hierarchy of needs, as described by Abraham Maslow in his theory of human motivation and development. The category of interest is called “esteem needs.” According to Maslow, once a person’s physiological and safety needs have been met, they become motivated by the desire for esteem; that is, a need for respect, self-esteem, and recognition from others.

    Esteem needs can be divided into two categories:

    1.  Internal esteem needs, which refers to a person’s need for self-respect, self-confidence, and a sense of personal achievement.
    2. External esteem needs, which on the other hand, refers to a person’s need for recognition, respect, and admiration from others, as well as status, fame, and reputation.

    Maslow believes that the satisfaction of esteem needs is essential for personal growth and self-actualization, as it is the highest level of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. Maslow also acknowledges that people’s esteem needs can be influenced by cultural and social factors, and that some people may have a greater need for external validation than others.

    In conclusion as a UX moderator conducting a usability test, you need to define your “Tacet”; that is, your own technique of silence to use when you feel tempted to fill the silence in an interview. In the same way that Cage’s musical composition indicates when a particular instrument must be silent, a UX moderator should consider using a reminder to indicate when it is best to use silence, strategically, so as to obtain authentic and quality responses from participants.


    Reference

    NNG Article: The Science of Silence: Intentional Silence as a Moderation Technique

    4’33” by John Cage – John Cage Live at the Barbican – BBC Four Collections

    John Cage about silence

    Microsoft: The power of silence in customer interviews

  • Can Susan Sontag inspire inclusivity and UX storytelling?

    The problem rarely announces itself as cultural.
    It appears as a misunderstanding that no one can quite locate. The interface is clear. The copy is translated. The flow passes usability checks. And yet, users hesitate, disengage, or behave in ways the team did not anticipate.

    In post-mortems, the explanation is often vague. “Different markets behave differently.” “They understood the words, but not the intent.” Something was lost, but nothing obvious was broken.

    This is where Susan Sontag becomes useful. Not as inspiration, and not as authority, but as a way of naming what UX work often flattens too quickly: interpretation.

    Translation is not substitution

    In The Translation of Cultures, Susan Sontag argues that translation is never a mechanical transfer of meaning. It is an interpretive act, shaped by what the translator notices, values, and chooses to foreground. Words move, but context does not travel intact.

    UX teams make a similar mistake when they treat cultural adaptation as substitution. Text is translated. Icons are adjusted. Colours are swapped to avoid obvious offence. The interface “works”, but the experience does not quite land.

    The failure is not linguistic. It is interpretive.

    In practice, this shows up when teams assume that clarity equals understanding. A label is readable, therefore it must be meaningful. A flow is consistent, therefore it must feel familiar. When behaviour diverges, the explanation is pushed toward user variability rather than design assumptions.

    Research methods can reveal this gap, but only if the team accepts that something more than usability is at stake. Interviews, testing, and localisation frameworks help, but they do not replace the judgement required to interpret what a behaviour means within a specific cultural context. Translation, in Sontag’s sense, demands attention to what resists transfer.

     

    Storytelling and the problem of images

    Sontag’s On Photography sharpens a different tension. Photographs, she argues, do not simply document reality. They frame it. They select, aestheticise, and distance. What looks like evidence is already an interpretation.

    UX storytelling often relies on imagery in a similar way. Journey maps, personas, screenshots, highlight reels. These artefacts are meant to make research visible and persuasive. They succeed at alignment, but sometimes at the cost of accuracy.

    Images create confidence quickly. A smiling participant. A clean dashboard. A heatmap glowing in the right places. The team feels they have seen the user. But what is missing is harder to represent: hesitation, doubt, partial understanding, silent friction.

    This is where inclusivity quietly fails. Not through exclusion, but through simplification. When visual artefacts stand in for lived complexity, certain experiences are smoothed out. The story becomes coherent, but less true.

    Sontag’s warning is not against images themselves, but against mistaking representation for understanding. In UX research and strategy, imagery should expose uncertainty, not conceal it.

     

    Inclusivity as an interpretive practice

    Inclusivity in UX is often framed as coverage. More languages. More edge cases. More personas. These efforts matter, but they address symptoms rather than the underlying risk.

    The deeper issue is whether the team is willing to hold interpretive tension. To accept that users may understand the interface and still not trust it. That behaviour may look successful while confidence is eroding underneath. That what is visible in analytics or visuals may be the least important part of the experience.

    Sontag’s work insists on this discomfort. Meaning is never neutral. Images and translations always carry assumptions. The responsibility is not to eliminate interpretation, but to recognise where it is happening and what it obscures.

    In UX work, this means treating storytelling not as a delivery tool, but as a site of judgement. What is shown. What is left out. What feels resolved too quickly.

     

    What Sontag helps surface

    Sontag does not offer a method for inclusive design. She exposes a blind spot.

    Translation reminds us that meaning does not travel intact.
    Photography reminds us that seeing is never neutral.

    Together, they point to a recurring UX failure mode: mistaking coherence for understanding. Inclusivity breaks not when teams lack good intentions, but when they stop interrogating how meaning is constructed, framed, and consumed inside their own artefacts.

    UX storytelling becomes more inclusive not by adding more voices, but by resisting premature closure. By leaving room for what does not quite fit. By allowing uncertainty to remain visible long enough to be examined.

     

    Footnote: on Susan Sontag and the essays

    Susan Sontag (1933–2004) was an American essayist, novelist, and cultural critic. The Translation of Cultures (1970) examines translation as an interpretive and cultural act rather than a technical one. On Photography (1977) explores how images shape perception, memory, and belief, questioning the assumption that visual representation equals understanding.