Tag: Schittenkopf

Over the past days and weeks, I had the opportunity to talk with several people whose perspectives strongly influenced the direction of my master’s thesis: Anika Kronberger, Martin Kaltenbrunner, Ursula Lagger, and expecially Horst Hörtner.
Although these conversations were very different in tone and focus, one shared insight gradually became clear: my thesis is not primarily about design decisions or visual outcomes. At its core, it is about ethics.

During my talk with Horst Hörtner, one sentence in particular stayed with me:

“Freedom is not the absence of rules, but the absence of oppression.”

This statement fundamentally changed how I think about my project. Until then, I often approached freedom in digital spaces as something that emerges when rules are removed. However, this idea reframes freedom as something more complex. Rules can exist without limiting freedom, as long as they are not oppressive. This immediately raised deeper questions for my thesis: Who defines these rules? Who enforces them? And can systems designed by humans ever truly be neutral?

Through further discussions with Anika Kronberger and Martin Kaltenbrunner, these questions became even more concrete. We talked about interfaces not just as tools, but as systems that structure behavior. Every interface sets boundaries, even when it appears open or playful. This led to an important doubt: Is a website really the right medium for my project?
While a website is accessible and familiar, it might already carry too many expectations and conventions. Other possibilities came up, such as a browser add-on, a plugin for Google Maps or Google Earth, or interventions that sit closer to existing infrastructures. These alternatives could make rules and control more visible, rather than hiding them behind a neutral-looking interface.

My conversation with Ursula Lagger further reinforced this shift in thinking. We discussed the responsibility of designers and how design decisions always reflect certain values, even when they are framed as purely functional or technical. This made me realize that my artefact should not aim to provide answers or solutions, but rather to expose tensions: freedom versus control, participation versus regulation, action versus permission.

At this stage, I am not fully certain what form my final artefact will take, and I am learning to accept this uncertainty as part of the process. What is clear, however, is that I need to engage more deeply with ethical questions. I want to talk to more people, especially from different backgrounds, to better understand how morality, power, and responsibility intersect with design. Broadening this perspective feels necessary before committing to a specific medium or implementation.

Right now, my outlook is open but focused. I know that my thesis will deal with freedom under rules and with the role design plays in shaping what is allowed, visible, or possible. This shift from form to ethics feels challenging, but also motivating. I am excited to see where these conversations will lead next — and I am genuinely stoked to continue this journey.

While researching digital activism and intervention for my master’s thesis in Interaction Design, I came across the work of etoy, an international art collective founded in the mid-1990s. Although their work predates many of today’s debates around digital activism, platform power, and interface control, it feels surprisingly relevant to current discussions in interaction design.

etoy became widely known during the so-called Toywar in the late 1990s, a legal and cultural conflict between the art collective and the toy company Toys “R” Us over the domain name etoy.com. What makes this event important is not only the legal outcome, but the way etoy treated the internet as a contested cultural space rather than a neutral technical infrastructure. Their actions were not about usability, efficiency, or communication, but about intervention, appropriation, and visibility.

From an interaction design perspective, etoy’s work challenges the idea that digital systems are primarily tools to be optimized. Instead, they used corporate language, branding, and online infrastructures as material for cultural action. By adopting the structure of a corporation and exaggerating it to an absurd degree, etoy exposed how power, ownership, and control operate in digital environments. Interaction here was not about completing tasks, but about participating in a situation.

This approach strongly connects to the core ideas of my future master’s thesis. My project investigates digital activism not as content production, such as posting messages or sharing information, but as action through visual intervention. Similar to etoy’s practice, the focus is not on what is said, but on what is done. In both cases, meaning emerges through interaction rather than explanation.

Another important aspect of etoy’s work is its ritualistic character. Projects such as Mission Eternity treated digital space as a place for symbolic action and repeated participation. These projects were not efficient, clear, or goal-oriented. Instead, they created moments of reflection and engagement that resisted traditional design logic. This idea directly informs my own approach, which aims to design an artefact where users intervene visually without guidance, ranking, or optimization.

etoy’s work also highlights a key issue in contemporary interface design: the illusion of neutrality. Many digital interfaces present themselves as neutral and objective, while silently enforcing certain behaviors and values. By intervening in these systems, etoy made these hidden structures visible. This resonates with my thesis, which treats interface intervention as a way to expose control, authorship, and power relations embedded in design.

In this sense, etoy can be understood as an early example of interaction as cultural practice. Their projects demonstrate that digital systems can be used not only to communicate or function, but also to resist, disrupt, and question. For my master’s thesis, etoy serves less as an aesthetic reference and more as a conceptual precedent. Their work supports the idea that interaction design can operate beyond usability and become a medium for activism, ritual, and cultural expression.

One project that strongly influenced my thinking during my master’s thesis is Moral Machine, an online experiment developed by researchers at the MIT Media Lab. The Moral Machine explores how people from different cultural backgrounds make ethical decisions when faced with unavoidable harm, using the example of self-driving cars. Users are asked to choose between different fatal outcomes, such as whether a car should save passengers or pedestrians, children or elderly people, humans or animals.

What makes the Moral Machine particularly interesting from an interaction design perspective is not only its topic, but the way it maps moral decisions to cultural patterns. By collecting millions of decisions worldwide, the project revealed that moral judgments are not universal. Instead, they are deeply influenced by cultural, social, and regional contexts. For example, some cultures tend to value the protection of the young more strongly, while others prioritize law-abiding behavior or social roles.

This approach highlights an important issue in interaction design: interfaces are never neutral. Even when they appear objective or technical, they embed values, assumptions, and worldviews. In the case of the Moral Machine, the interface becomes a space where users actively project their cultural norms and moral beliefs onto a system. The design does not tell users what is right or wrong; it forces them to act and take responsibility for a choice.

This idea strongly connects to my master’s thesis, which explores digital activism as a form of action rather than communication. While the Moral Machine focuses on ethical decision-making, my project investigates visual intervention and digital appropriation as cultural practices. However, both approaches share a key concern: how interaction reveals underlying values and power structures.

In my thesis project, users intervene visually in interface representations without explanation, ranking, or optimization. Similar to the Moral Machine, the focus is not on reaching a “correct” outcome, but on exposing differences in behavior, emotion, and intention. Where the Moral Machine maps moral choices across cultures, my project highlights how people express critique, resistance, or frustration through visual interference. In both cases, the system acts as a framework that makes invisible attitudes visible.

Another important parallel lies in the rejection of efficiency as the main goal. The Moral Machine does not optimize for usability comfort; instead, it creates discomfort by forcing users to confront difficult decisions. Likewise, my project deliberately avoids smooth interaction and clear guidance. This friction is intentional. It opens space for reflection and turns interaction into a cultural act rather than a task.

Ultimately, the Moral Machine demonstrates how interaction design can function as a research tool for understanding society. It shows that digital systems can capture complexity, conflict, and difference without simplifying them into single solutions. This perspective strongly supports my thesis: that interaction design has the potential to go beyond usability and become a medium for cultural expression, ethical questioning, and activist practice.

As part of my research for my thesis, I conducted an initial exploratory study to better understand how people express emotions, critique, and resistance through visual intervention. The broader context of my thesis focuses on digital activism as a form of action rather than communication, and on how individuals appropriate digital interfaces as cultural spaces.

For this first study, I worked with four participants. Instead of using interactive prototypes or digital tools, I chose a deliberately simple and low-tech approach. I selected a range of websites and printed them on paper. These included websites that are often considered controversial by the general public, as well as neutral corporate websites and generic online stores. Each participant received one printed website.

The task was intentionally open-ended. Participants were asked to draw, write, mark, or alter the printed website in any way they wanted. The only instruction given was to express their thoughts and emotions freely and to react honestly to what they saw. There was no specific goal, no design task, and no expectation to improve the interface. Participants were not given a time limit and could stop whenever they felt finished.

To avoid influencing the process, I left the room during the exercise. This decision was made consciously, as I wanted the intervention to feel private and unobserved. The absence of the researcher reduced performance pressure and allowed participants to treat the activity as an emotional outlet rather than a test situation. In this way, the act of drawing or marking became closer to a spontaneous reaction than a designed response.

The results of this study are a collection of visual artefacts. Participants crossed out elements, added aggressive or ironic comments, highlighted specific interface components, exaggerated logos, or covered parts of the page entirely. Some interventions were chaotic and emotional, while others were more precise and symbolic. Despite the small number of participants, clear patterns began to emerge. Many participants focused on branding elements, headlines, or images rather than functional components such as navigation or buttons. This suggests that emotional reactions are often directed toward symbolic aspects of an interface rather than its usability.

It is important to note that this study was not intended to evaluate usability, efficiency, or user satisfaction. Instead, it functions as an exploratory intervention study. Its purpose was to observe how people visually appropriate interfaces when they are allowed to act freely and without constraints. In this sense, the printed format proved valuable, as it removed technical barriers and enabled direct physical interaction.

This first experiment strongly influenced the direction of my master’s project. It confirmed that visual intervention can act as a form of expression and critique, even without clear messages or explanations. More importantly, it highlighted how interfaces can become sites of emotional and cultural engagement, not just tools for task completion. These insights directly informed the concept of my final artefact, which aims to translate this act of visual intervention into a digital, but equally non-optimized, environment.

ACTS OF INTERFERENCE: DIGITAL ACTIVISM BEYOND CONTENT

Lately I listened to the Dive Club episode with Emily Campbell. Emily is known for Shape of AI, a collection of design patterns for AI products, and her experience gave me a clearer understanding of what makes AI UX both exciting and challenging. While I am really against writing my Thesis about anything involving AI as I am sick and tired of it, this episode helped me reflect on what skills matter in the future of design. Some key insights that stayed with me in no particular order.

Trust as a design goal
Emily talks about how AI systems often behave in an “agentic” way – meaning they make decisions, give suggestions, or perform tasks on their own. Because of this, users can feel uncertain or even anxious. She explains that trust becomes a central design element.
Designers need to focus on transparency: showing what the AI is doing, why it is doing it, and how users can stay in control. I found this helpful because it connects with classic interaction design, but adds a new layer of responsibility.

The rise of AI UX patterns
One of the parts I enjoyed most was the discussion about AI pattern libraries. Emily explains how patterns can support designers who work with unpredictable systems. These patterns help structure prompts, guide outputs, and define how the system communicates.
Creating or analysing AI UX patterns could help designers build safer, clearer interfaces. It suggests that AI UX is becoming mature enough to have shared vocabulary and best practices.

What strong AI UX designers look like
Emily also describes the qualities she looks for in people joining AI design teams. Beyond visual design skills, she values curiosity, comfort with uncertainty, and strong empathy. Good AI designers should understand how systems behave and anticipate user worries or confusion.
I found this inspiring because it shows how the role is evolving. AI UX is not only about screens; it is also about system thinking and ethics.

Whats in it for me

This episode helped me to rethink areas of my research. I now see the importance of studying the relationship between trust, transparency, and pattern-based design. AI systems challenge traditional usability rules, but they also create opportunities to design new interaction models.
This could support safer and more predictable experiences – and while I don’t really want to have my thesis ai related, It helped me broaden my field of Idas and open up my mind.

Listening to Emily Campbell made me realise that AI UX is not a small branch of design – it is probably becoming a core part of how digital products work. The future of interaction design will require us to understand machine behaviour as much as human behaviour.

Link to the Podcast Episode

After finishing Design Against Design, I read Ian Lynam’s War With Myself, and for me it felt like a continuation of the same kind of reflection. It was again a strong reminder of how closely design is connected to the systems around us. Lynam does not only talk about design as a practical activity. He also looks deeply into the cultural and historical forces that influence it. He explains how design still carries traces of empire, violence, and inherited aesthetics, even when we do not want to see them. What we often call “good design” can in fact be part of narratives of power and exclusion.

Similar to Lo, Lynam points out the uncomfortable truth that design is never neutral or only visual. Every decision — a typeface, a layout, or a digital system — belongs to a larger cultural structure. It can repeat old hierarchies, even when we believe we are designing something modern or progressive. The struggle he describes happens both inside and outside the designer. It is the designer questioning their own education, habits, and biases. It is the realization that our work can unintentionally support cultural dominance or aesthetic violence simply by following what we have learned to see as “normal.”

For Lynam, meaningful design is not about showing cultural references or using the language of critique on the surface. Instead, it means asking which histories we continue, whose aesthetics we center, and which voices are missing. He argues that real responsibility in design does not come from performative actions or quick activist gestures. It comes from facing the uncomfortable history of the discipline itself. According to him, design becomes more ethical only when we accept both its problematic sides and its potential — not as a tool for branding or personal style, but as a way to question, disrupt, and rethink how culture is represented.

Lynam’s ideas also raise important questions for digital work. When we look at his arguments through the lens of web design, they become even more relevant, because digital interfaces shape everyday life at a massive scale. To better understand how his thinking can influence our own practice, the following four key learnings show how the themes from War With Myself translate directly into web design.

Design is shaped by history and culture, not only by aesthetics

Lynam shows that design is never created in isolation. It always carries influences from history, politics, and culture — including difficult topics such as colonialism and violence. This means designers must understand the past to avoid repeating harmful patterns in the present.

„Good design“ can still support systems of power

The book explains that even professional, clean, or widely accepted design can reinforce existing hierarchies. Without critical thinking, designers can easily reproduce ideas that exclude or silence certain groups, even if this is not their intention.

Designers must question their own training and assumptions

A central theme is the inner conflict of the designer. Lynam encourages us to reflect on what we learned in school, what we consider “normal,” and where our biases come from. This self-reflection is necessary to understand how our practice might contribute to cultural dominance.

Ethical design requires confronting uncomfortable truths

Lynam argues that real responsibility does not come from surface-level activism or aesthetic gestures. Instead, ethical design means engaging with the uncomfortable history of the discipline, asking critical questions, and being willing to rethink how we represent culture through our work.

Relation to web design practice

For web design, Lynam’s ideas are especially meaningful because digital interfaces have a strong influence on how people see and interact with the world. 

Websites and apps often follow established patterns that look neutral but actually come from specific cultural and historical traditions. This means that web designers also have a responsibility to question their choices and understand the systems they are part of. Whether it is the structure of a navigation menu, the use of certain interaction patterns, or the way content is presented, every decision carries values and assumptions. By looking at web design through Lynam’s perspective, it becomes clear that ethical and thoughtful digital design requires more than good visuals — it requires awareness, critical reflection, and a willingness to challenge what is considered “normal” in the digital space.

Lynam, I. (2024) War With Myself: Essays on Design, Culture & Violence. Set Margins Publications.

AI (Perplexity and ChatGPT as well as DeepL) was used to check spelling and grammar and better clarity.

I recently read the book Design Against Design by Kevin Yuen Kit Lo. It was a really good read and I learned a lot about design and the power it holds. Tho a lot of points made are obvious, most of the time we Designers dont think about them that much. Its important to hear them again and again to remember what power design holds.

In the book, Lo writes about how graphic design often ends up reinforcing the very system it claims to critique. He writes about the tension between wanting to work in solidarity with social movements while operating within an industry built on commodification. The designer, he says, has to confront the reality that every aesthetic choice sits inside a political and economic structure. True resistance is less about producing “radical-looking” visuals and more about participating in relationships, communities, and struggles that exist outside of commercial design. For him, design becomes meaningful only when it serves collective goals rather than brand visibility or personal authorship.

After finishing the book and thinking about topics for my thesis I sat down again and tried to distill my key learnings from the book. Here are six points I found to be very helpful for myself.

Design is never neutral

Lo insists that graphic design always takes a position because it mediates language, visibility, and voice, even when it claims to be “just” functional. 

“Socially engaged” work is structurally constrained

The book shows how client relationships, funding models, and institutional contexts limit how radical a design practice can be, even when it works with progressive causes. 

Dissident practice is about relationships, not just aesthetics

Lo frames dissident graphic practice as a way of working with movements over time: building trust, sharing risks, and recognizing the designer as one collaborator among many rather than a neutral expert. 

Materiality and production matter politically

The book links politics to the material conditions of design: how things are printed, circulated, and produced, and how those choices intersect with labor, scarcity, and access. 

Autonomy is partial and negotiated

Lo is critical of romantic ideas of the fully autonomous radical designer; instead, he describes autonomy as something limited, negotiated inside real economic and institutional constraints. 

Formal experimentation can be tied to struggle

The book connects typographic and layout experimentation to political and emotional conditions: dissonance, urgency, refusal, solidarity, and care. 

Relation to web design practice

As Im very much into web design and as it looks right now – this will also be the outline topic for my thesis, I wanted to connect these learnings, coming mainly from a graphic design stand point, to web design.

Design Against Design encourages treating the website not just as an interface but as an arena where power, labor, and community are negotiated through form. It invites designers to question supposedly “standard” patterns—dark patterns, extractive tracking, engagement‑at‑all‑costs—and to explore dissident alternatives that foreground accessibility, mutual aid, and situated narratives, even when that means resisting established best practices or business metrics.

Lo, K.Y.K. (2024) Design against design: cause and consequence of a dissident graphic practice. Eindhoven: Set Margins.

AI was used to check spelling and grammar and better clarity.

At the Usability Congress in Graz, I attended a talk by Alipe von Bernhaupt about accessible usability for neurodivergent people. It really changed the way I think about inclusion and design — not only as something nice to do, but as something essential for both people and business.

Understanding Neurodiversity

Up to one in five people is neurodivergent. That means about 20% of users experience the world and our designs in very different ways. If we don’t design with them in mind, we lose around 20% of potential users — and that’s a big part of the market.

Alipe also mentioned that at least half of adults are undiagnosed. So even if we think we’re not designing for neurodivergent people, we probably are — we just don’t know it. Another important point was how women with ADHD are treated worse than men. Men are often seen as just “energetic” or “a bit different,” while women are more likely to be judged or ignored.

What It Means for Design

Neurodivergence can look very different from person to person. Two people with ADHD, for example, can have completely different challenges. Neurodiversity is really about people whose brain structures work differently — there isn’t one single way to describe it.

The digital world can be especially hard for neurodivergent users. Changing layouts, flashing images, or strong colors can make using websites and apps stressful or confusing. And there’s another layer to this: energy. Many neurodivergent people experience very different energy levels from day to day. That means it’s harder to plan long-term or follow strict routines. When design expects constant focus and consistency, it can quickly become overwhelming.

What Really Stuck with Me

My biggest takeaway from the talk was a bit uncomfortable but very true: if we want companies and stakeholders to care, we have to speak their language. Talking about inclusion and empathy is important, but talking about losing 20% of market share gets their attention. Sometimes, it’s not the human argument that makes change happen — it’s the business one.

Conclusion

Designing for neurodiversity is not just about accessibility checklists. It’s about understanding that people experience the world differently — and that this difference is normal. When we include those needs in our design, we make better products for everyone. It’s not only the right thing to do, it’s also smart business.

Climbing boards have become a cornerstone of bouldering, shaping how climbers train, connect, and engage with the sport. Over the course of exploring various aspects—technology, inclusivity, sustainability, and human-centered design—it is evident that climbing boards are not just tools for physical training but catalysts for innovation and accessibility in bouldering. This conclusion synthesizes insights from the research, reflecting on how climbing boards are redefining the sport.

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Technology as a Driving Force

One of the recurring themes across the research is the transformative role of technology. Climbing boards like the MoonBoard, Kilter Board, and Tension Board have paved the way for integrating interactive features such as LED systems, apps, and global route-sharing platforms. These technologies have connected climbers worldwide, enabling standardized training and fostering a global community.

Further innovations like augmented and virtual reality (AR/VR) have added layers of immersion and interactivity. AR projections simplify route guidance, while VR creates safe spaces to practice complex outdoor scenarios. These tools, combined with data-driven insights from wearables and AI, have transformed climbing boards into intelligent systems that personalize training and optimize performance.

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Inclusivity and Accessibility

Another critical aspect of climbing boards is their potential to make bouldering more inclusive. Adjustable wall angles, modular holds, and simplified digital interfaces ensure climbers of all abilities can participate. For example, human-centered design principles emphasize the importance of catering to diverse skill levels and physical needs, fostering a welcoming environment.

Community-driven features like collaborative route creation and multiplayer climbing modes further enhance inclusivity. By prioritizing accessibility, climbing boards have the power to break down barriers and bring people together, making the sport truly universal.

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Sustainability in Climbing Board Design

Sustainability is an essential consideration in modern climbing board development. The environmental impact of climbing gym equipment is mitigated through the use of recycled materials, energy-efficient systems, and modular designs. Boards that are durable and easy to maintain not only reduce waste but also extend their usability, ensuring long-term value for gyms and climbers alike.

For smaller gyms, creative solutions like projector-based route visualization and DIY board setups offer cost-effective alternatives that align with sustainable practices. These approaches ensure that even gyms with limited budgets can contribute to an eco-conscious bouldering ecosystem.

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The Role of Design in Enhancing the Experience

Effective communication through design is at the core of bouldering. Clear route identification, intuitive interfaces, and thoughtful visual hierarchies enhance the climbing experience by reducing cognitive overload and improving engagement. Features like color-coded holds, grading systems, and AR overlays ensure climbers can focus on solving problems rather than deciphering complex layouts.

Moreover, climbing boards have evolved into platforms for storytelling and connection. Imaginative routes, gamified challenges, and collaborative climbing modes demonstrate how design can transcend functionality, creating spaces that inspire creativity and build community.

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The Future of Climbing Boards

Looking ahead, climbing boards are poised to become even more sophisticated. From motion-tracking systems that offer real-time feedback to AI-driven personalization and temperature-controlled holds, the possibilities are endless. However, the challenge will be to balance innovation with accessibility and sustainability, ensuring that climbing boards remain inclusive and environmentally friendly.

At the same time, climbing boards have the potential to deepen their role as social hubs. Features that prioritize collaboration and shared experiences can transform bouldering from an individual pursuit into a communal activity, fostering stronger connections among climbers.

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Conclusion: A Convergence of Innovation, Inclusivity, and Sustainability

Climbing boards are far more than training tools—they are evolving ecosystems that reflect the future of bouldering. By integrating technology, prioritizing accessibility, and embracing sustainability, these boards have redefined how climbers train and interact with the sport. Whether it’s through AR-guided routes, modular DIY setups, or community-driven features, climbing boards have shown that innovation and simplicity can coexist.

As we move forward, the lessons from this research highlight the importance of designing for both performance and inclusivity. Climbing boards are not just shaping better climbers—they’re creating a better bouldering culture, one that is connected, creative, and mindful of its impact. The future of climbing is bright, and climbing boards will undoubtedly play a central role in guiding the sport to new heights.