What a couple of old phones taught me about designing museum experiences.
Lessons in digital experience can come from the most unexpected places. When visiting MOTAT with young children, there are two things that are guaranteed to have the little ones happy and occupied.
The first is a ride on the tram.
The second is a play on the phones.
There’s no great mystery behind the appeal of riding a 100 year-old tram, clattering through an idyllic lakeside park, with bells ringing, electricity sparking, and swans lazily waddling out of the way; the phones on the other hand, are a little more perplexing.
The phones are found in the Telecommunications gallery located inside bright red building “4” and signposted by an old red telephone box out the front. (The phone box still works and visitors can call any local landline for free). The gallery is entered through a pair of out-of-character glass sliding doors. Once inside you need a moment or two for your eyes to adjust to the brutal fluorescent lighting and a further moment for your head to make sense of the scene.
Every available space is taken up with a bewildering diagram, faded sign, or contraption. Dull black Bakelite blobs, wood furniture sprouting ropes, gleaming brass instruments, dials with no obvious purpose, buttons that glow beckoningly, and large steel machines covered with small switches, buttons, tight springs, and taut wires — all moving, chirping and clicking incessantly. There is tiny mechanical movement everywhere. Nothing is quiet. Numbers are across everything.
Imagine a place, created by a group of enthusiastic volunteers, who have had at their disposal a large collection of 19th and 20th century telecommunications equipment, a very small room, a lifetime of knowledge, an infinitesimal budget, 30-40 years of time, and a laminating machine. The result is the beloved and befuddling Telecoms gallery.
A sign (laminated of course) suggests starting to your right. It’s advisable to follow this flow as the space is so narrow two adults cannot comfortably push past each other. If you have one or more small humans with you, however, you won’t get very far. Immediately around the first corner are the phones. Red, green, plastic sheen, rubber spiraled, Perspex dialed and utterly irresistible.
Many patient parents have spent hours by these phones, dutifully answering each call with a theatrical “Hellloo?? Whoever could be calling me?” followed by delighted squeals of their little person, a short breathy conversation and a demand to call them back immediately. This will go on for some time.
If the adult is clever they will have brought 2 little people and they can tag out (ironically usually to their own phone). If the adult is not so clever they will have 3 or more little people and they will be refereeing whose turn it is for the next 90 mins.
Now aside from a 1960s rotary telephone being a masterclass in industrial design; the actual ‘museum experience’ provided by these phones breaks all the rules. There is no interpretation. There are no labels with dates, inventors, and credit lines. There’s no spotlight, nor cheerful wall cartoons pointing them out. There are no instructions. There isn’t even a sign telling visitors they may touch. And yet….
Kids are on them in an instant, the dwell time is off the charts, and the learning outcomes are obvious as children will simply not relinquish a receiver until they have successfully completed 10 or more phone-calls by themselves.
And no matter what UX-tested, candy-coloured character we push out onto gigantic screens in our new exhibitions, if I’m really honest, these phones remain the most successful and engaging experience on offer.
I want to know why. I want to pull apart the magic boxes and understand what makes them so freaking perfect. I want see what sends neurons firing and reward centres bursting. And then I want to take those secret ingredients and apply them to our digital experiences. I’m like Gargamel — I want to extract these phones’ smurfiness.
I should take a rigorous and thorough UX research approach to this. I should come back to this article months later with a robust breakdown of what leads to improved engagement complete with metrics and a summation of validated UX learnings. But reality of business-as-usual workloads means that will never happen and thus relegate this article to the ever-increasing, depression-feeding “drafts never to be published”. So instead I just thought about it. I might have missed some really obvious bits, but I landed on a couple of things that I’m going to try to keep in mind when designing future digital experiences.
Five things that make these phones so bloody great
And what I can take forward into designing future digital experiences.
1. Discovery
Kids find these phones for themselves. We don’t push them to engage. We allow the thrill of discovery. “Look what I found! Oh they make a noise! Hey look at this Grampa!”
This is wonderful open play in action. Whereas with digital, every move up to and during the experience is anticipated, prompted, and designed for. We make damn sure they get on it with screaming calls to action. Maybe a black screen and a blinking cursor in the corner might be just as enticing and a lot more thrilling?
Allow the thrill of discovery.
2. Curiosity
Right now this phone is an unknown object. A cartoon brought to life — familiar and yet foreign. “Can I touch this? What does it do? How does it work?” No answers are given, they must be unearthed through trial and error, or passed down from a nearby, wise old adult. The compulsion to touch and figure this thing out is so strong that it overwhelms fear of breaking the rules. Curiosity feeds a need to engage.
Sometimes it’s better to prioritise curiosity over learning.
3. Physical and mental challenge
Lift the receiver, turn the dial, all the way till it stops, hold the phone to your ear — and your mouth, now don’t pick it up yet, wait for it to ring. Now! Oops! don’t hang up!…. It’s a confusing and merciless system. It requires physical accuracy, mental acuity and synchronization with a partner. One mistake and you must start again, from the beginning. But once they’ve done it — they are forever masters over the machines! Our digital games provide prompts and helpful suggestions, “oopsies!” and “Are you sure?” to prevent the trauma of failure.
I bet the first thing we do when this gallery is renewed, is give a step by step instruction on how to use these phones and usability test any chance of failure right out of the experience. I’ll be sad when we do.
Perhaps without failure there can be no true sense of mastery.
4. Multi-sensory
The telephone receiver is smooth, curved, heavy moulded plastic. The rubber cord is made for curling around fingers and toes. The dial makes satisfying audible and physical clicks as it counts off the opposite number to that dialed. The ringtone distorts strangely through the receiver. It’s a delight of unusual, tactile, audible, and visual experiences. Sure beats the familiar and slightly icky drag of fingers across cold glass.
Screens are hard, flat, cold, and boring. Engage more than the eyes.
5. Authentic reward
The success of making a call is a literal connection. The reward is immediately amplified because it is shared. Can there be a better reward than to make a joyful and immediate connection with another person?
Digital badges, hatching characters, zaps and boings are great. But do they make a difference to that user’s life outside of the experience? If not, are we just feeding a compulsion loop?
If the reward is trivial, keep working on it.
So that’s it. Five things. Five honestly difficult and possibly impractical things. Three of which will set me at odds with UX designers and “best practice”. But I’ve arrived at this because I can’t help but feel that something needs to be shaken up. The ‘unreal’ and often impermanent nature of digital is forgiving to triviality. Digital experiences that manage to be meaningful, memorable, and fun are still rare. Technology itself frequently forms the experience. The user is treated as a problem to be managed and solved.
I’m hoping that maybe these ‘in-the-wild” observations of a wonky old museum experience will help me along the path towards designing a digital experience that’s as thrilling, authentic, and rewarding as that moment you figure out a new way to talk to your best friend.
