Before I can dive into this topic I must first make sure that everyone understands what I mean by these two terms.
First, what is a UX Architect? UX stands for “User Experience” and is the study of how users feel about using a digital interface like a phone or a website. As a UX Architect, I create blueprints for software and websites. When doing so I seek to optimize things for the user while still balancing the technical restrictions and the overall business goals. To do this I rely on an assortment of user-centered methods like usability testing, interviews, observation, and so on. At the end of the day, I create plans for systems that users will enjoy using.
Perhaps you are coming at this from the UX side and wonder what I mean by Game Design. As a game designer, I create tabletop board games. This is primarily about the structure of how they work, testing them on users, and refining them until it’s in a finished state. As an indie game designer, I create the “UI” or graphic design for the game. This is an important layer to the experience, but not necessarily my core strength. I do well enough to get by.
So I design games for fun and architect software for a living. Many elements of these two interests overlap. From the UX world, I brought many useful and interesting elements. I understood the notion of testing on users and iterating, I had long since learned how to empathize with “users” aka “players,” and I had years of experience rapidly prototyping. This was a lovely foundation to enter into game design with, but I was surprised to realize years later that in fact, I learned more about UX by doing game design than I ever expected. As it turns out I am a far better UX Architect thanks to all these years of attempting to design games. I want to focus on things from the game world that have radically changed me professionally.
There is no such thing as “satisficing” in game design
In the design world, there is this notion of satisficing. It means that you stop working on something when it’s “good enough.” This is often code for we don’t have any more money to throw at that problem, so make something that does an ok job (even if it could be done better), and let’s move on. I imagine this simple idea is to blame for the countless interfaces I work to improve.
The thing is that in the game design world, this simply doesn’t work. Games that take this approach typically fail to achieve any kind of real success. In many of my early designs, I thought that modeling after an existing game and just doing it slightly differently was enough, but this lack of innovation or unique appeal means there is no reason for someone to buy it.
Consider it this way, if I redesign the software used by call center employees have no choice but to use it. In contrast, if I design a game there is nothing compelling anyone to even look at it, much less buy it, much less play it. This took a while for me to absorb, but the impact is tremendously important. I now see that if I want to design an extraordinary game that gets published and finds success it will have to push past “good enough” and find greatness on its own. This is no doubt a very harsh lens to look at one’s creations, but it is the lens consumers will use.
So how did this impact me in the UX world? Well, once I realized I had a captive audience I realized just how imperative it was that I stand up for my users. After all, in many cases, real humans will have no choice but to use what I create. This gave me much greater confidence to speak out for users, to push against resistance, and to essentially demand priority for things that make it harder to release software. As it turns out, making something good for the user is typically more expensive in the short run.
I have more emotional connection than I thought
Professionally speaking I used to take pride in thinking that I was emotionally disconnected from my creations. I thought I could craft things, get feedback from users and stakeholders, and iterate on a design without getting annoyed or frustrated that they didn’t “get” my brilliant design. As I started making games I quickly realized I was dead wrong.
As it turns out I had a hard time accepting that my game designs were simply generic or no fun. I thought that somehow players must not be “getting” it. But now I see that I was far more emotionally wrapped up in my creations in both game design and UX work. This prohibited me from doing the best work possible.
Over the last few years, I have been able to better see how I feel about my designs in these two worlds. By doing so I have been able to detach myself and accept feedback. This has radically increased the level of empathy I have for those using the things I create. The result is that I can design, test, revise, and repeat with much greater speed. Instead of being caught up in being mad at stupid users for not understanding, I can more plainly see the faults in my design. I can honestly say that my professional work has grown far stronger as a result. I also find affirmation on this front in the feedback I get from clients. They see me as a partner in helping make their software better than expected. This comes through openness, honesty, and a willingness to fail.
Learnability is important
The ability for users to learn how a digital interface works is important. And in the digital world, many things are used to guide users. There are tooltips, in-line help, disabling of things, tours to get you started, and so on. Software can be made so that it guides you into using it.
In contrast, in board games, the player replaces the computer. This means that you can’t have all of these fancy support structures. As a result, the rule book and components of the game need to be very optimized to be as easy to learn as possible. This is often perceived in the world of board games as being elegant. Meaning that the game feels super easy to learn and play.
After years of creating board games, I can see how this impacted my professional work. I find myself better using the digital options at my disposal to make computer interfaces that are easier to learn. Instead of relying on the crutches of things like tooltips to explain things I find myself striving to create experiences that don’t need them. I work hard to not use any of those supporting elements. The interface should speak for itself, and if it doesn’t then something more basic needs to be fixed.
In conclusion
I find it super interesting to reflect on the last 10 years of designing board games and consider how it has impacted my professional work. In many ways, I have come to see my day job as almost easy in comparison. Creating a great board game is incredibly hard, far harder than creating a website people have no choice but to use.
