The year was 1980. I decided that college wasn’t for me, so I dropped out to pursue a career in retail management at JC Penneys. A steady paycheck and a frugal lifestyle allowed me to make 2 large purchases that year. The first was a brand new silver Honda Civic. The second was a microwave.
I purchased the car on a whim. My own inexperience and a fast talking salesman caused me to buy it without any advance thought or planning. Luckily, everything worked out. My impulse purchase ended up being one of the best decisions of my young life.
The microwave was a different story. When I first heard of the potential of a microwave, I considered it a miracle. Imagine the ability to reduce a task from an hour to minutes. At the time, microwaves were not commonplace, nor were they cheap. My heart told me to buy one. My brain told me no.
My store had an Appliances Department and I found myself wandering down the microwave isle on occasion to check them out. I learned about cooking modes, adjustable racks, and meat probes. I was wooed with tales of fast-cooking baked potatoes, frozen dinners, and roasts. Think of the timesavings! “With the time I could save, I could practically get a second job”, I thought. I decided to buy one. How could I afford not to?
My next step was to decide on a model. The entry-level model was too small. It had only one cooking mode. The ultra deluxe superior model was too large. It would take too much space in my small apartment. The deluxe model was just right. It had 10 cooking modes, 10 temperatures, and an assortment of special cooking pans.
I took it home and read the owner’s manual and accompanying recipe book. I quickly concluded that if I was going to use the device to its highest potential, I was going to have to go back to college. It was complicated. “Place contents in pan. Cook 3 minutes using the low temperature setting. Turn pan. Cook 5 minutes using the casserole-cooking mode. Move contents to a specialty pan. Cook 5 minutes on high. Enjoy your rubbery meal.”
I eventually settled on a fair and reasonable use for the microwave. Its main purpose was clear. Use it to heat, use it to reheat, but don’t use it to cook. No amount of specialty pans or recipe books will make microwave-cooked food taste good. I threw away the user manual and set it for the default temperature and cooking mode.
This experience began my awareness of usability. I realized that as a consumer living in the emerging digital age, I must just say no to items having features that I will not use. If use of the item requires something other than basic intuition, it is likely not for me.
Decades later, as I watch my frozen enchilada and rice meal rotate in the microwave oven, I still marvel at its usefulness. They took away the silly features and simplified the core features. If it is essential to turn the food while it cooks, then rotate it automatically. If most users cook frozen dinners, baked potatoes, and popcorn, then provide them with preset controls. If it takes up too much space on the countertop, then design it to fit above the stove.
The concept of changing the complex to the simple is the cornerstone of my usability and design passion. Determine the primary purpose of the item and make it perform this function perfectly. If advanced features are possible, then great. Go crazy. Just make sure it does not get in the way of the primary purpose.
This is how Honda designed my cute little 1980 Civic, and it transformed a car industry. Think about it.