Android: the missed opportunities

There are a few Android devices I have respect for: the Amazon Kindle Fire is one, the B&N Nook another, and the Cisco Cius is the third. To a lesser extent, the Sony tablet also fits this category.

I don’t tend to like the Galaxy Tab, the Xoom and similar tablets so much, and most of the phones are lacklustre too. So what’s the difference? Why should some of these products be good and some bad, when they’re all just Android touch screens?

Android is a technology, not a product.

A term that appears in Ars Technica’s review of Ice Cream Sandwich really brings home my argument:

Ice Cream Sandwich is the closest to a “finished” version of Android I’ve ever seen.

Reasoning by inference we can conclude that all versions of Android appear unfinished. And this is the nub of the issue. The products I’ve listed as respectable above—the Kindle Fire, Cius and so on—are not Android tablets. They are eBook readers, business communication tablets, media controllers. The ones I don’t like are Android tablets.

Using Android in a touchscreen device is an extension of using Linux in any other computing scenario: I might like the solution, but I don’t want to see your working. I own countless Linux boxes: a couple of network routers, some eInk readers, a Drobo, that sort of thing. They all have in common that they take Linux and then build something on top of it that solves a problem I have. While all of these devices are successful products that all use Linux, Linux itself as a standalone thing is not successful among the same people who buy Linux routers, Linux NAS and so on.

Indeed even Linux desktop OS distributions have failed to take over the world, but don’t they solve the problem of “I want a desktop OS”? There are two issues here: the first being that no-one has that problem. People have problems like “I want to e-mail my aunt” or “I need to write a report on deforestation in the Amazon”, and it turns out that PCs can support those people, and that a desktop OS can be part of the supporting solution. The second issue is that Linux distributions have traditionally given you all the bits of a desktop OS without helping you put them together: you wanted a sports car, well here’s enough Meccano that you can build one.

Colour in up to the lines

Let’s return to the issue of why the not-so-good Android products are not so good. They are to smartphones or tablets as Linux distros are to PCs: some assembly is required to get a functioning product. By and large, these things give you Android itself, a slathering of “differentiating” interface tweaks and access to the Android Market. Where you go from there is up to you.

Of course, fixing the user interface is a necessary (dear God is it necessary) part of producing a complete Android product, but it’s far from sufficient. Where the respectable products like the Kindle Fire work is that a problem has been identified (for example: I want to be able to read a wide range of books without having to carry a whole library of paper around) and they solve that problem. The engineers use Android to help arrive at that solution, but they colour in all the way up to the lines: they don’t just give you the line drawing and let you buy crayons from the marketplace.

So where are the opportunities?

Well, where are the problems? What is there that can’t be done, and how would you design a product to do it? If the answer involves a touchscreen, then there are a couple of ways to do it: either with an app running on top of a touchscreen platform, or with a touchscreen device. Which is appropriate to the problem you’re looking at?

It seems that in most cases, the app is the better approach. It’s cheaper to engineer and distribute, and allows customers to take advantage of their existing touchscreen products and potentially integrate your app into workflows involving their other applications.

One situation in which an app is not a sufficient solution is where you need hardware capabilities that don’t exist in off-the-shelf touchscreen kit: maybe ambient light sensors, motion sensors, thermometers, robotic arms and the like. In that case it might still be possible to adopt an existing platform to support the software side, and provide a peripheral using USB or Apple’s 30-pin connector for the custom hardware requirements. That could work, but it might not be the best experience, so perhaps a complete integrated hardware+software product is the better option.

A place where you will definitely need to consider building a complete hardware+software product is where the existing software platforms don’t provide the capabilities you need. For example, you require the ability to share data between components in a way that isn’t supported by apps on phones. Of course, the hardware could still be largely off-the-shelf running a custom software platform.

In either of these last two scenarios, building something custom on top of Android is a good solution. Giving your customers Android with the app on top is not a good solution.

These scenarios represent the missed opportunities. Start-ups could be taking Android and using it as the core of some great integrated products: not as the “app for that” but as the “Kindle for that”. A single device that solves the bejeesus out of a particular problem.

Worked example: there’s a Kindle for cars.

Modern cars suffer from a lack of convergence. There’s a whole bunch of electronics that control the car itself, or provide telemetry, and feed back information to either the dashboard or a special connector accessible to service technicians. There’s the sat nav, and then they often also have a separate entertainment system (and possibly even a dock for a separate media player). Then there’s the immobiliser, which may be remotely controllable by something like Viper smart start.

A company decides that they want to exploit this opportunity for an integrated car management system. The central part of the user experience would be a removable touch-screen display that allows drivers to plan routes and mark waypoints when they’re out of the car. They can subscribe to feeds from other organisations that tell them about interesting places, which can all be mashed up in the navigation display. For example, a driver who subscribes to English Heritage in the navigation system can ask where heritage sites within one hour’s drive are. Having seen pictures and descriptions of the sites, she could request a route from the current location to Stonehenge, where the return journey should pass by a service station (locations of which are supplied by her Welcome Break subscription).

The display also integrates with the car’s locking system, so the doors automatically lock when the display is taken outside the car. It must be connected to the car’s power/data port to enable the engine to start. While the car is in motion the display provides navigational information, and allows control of the entertainment system. Where notifications are sufficiently important, for example warnings from the car’s diagnostic system, they are announced over the display and the car’s speakers. Where they’re unimportant they’re left in the background to be reviewed once the journey is finished.

In this situation, we need both custom hardware (the interfaces to the immobiliser and the car telemetry, which for a good user experience should be a single connector that also provides power and sound output to the car speakers) and a custom software experience (the route-planning part, integrating with feeds provided by the third parties which are also available in the viewer “apps”, and the variable-severity notification system that off-the-shelf touchscreen platforms don’t provide).

Getting this product to market quickly would be benefitted by taking Android and customising it to fit the usage scenario, so that the core parts of the touchscreen software platform don’t need to be written from scratch. However providing a vanilla tablet experience with the various components implemented as apps would not make a good product.

Conclusion

Android can be a great part of a whole range of different touchscreen products. However it is not, in itself, a product.

Why your security UI sucks

The principle recurring problem in user experience is creating a user interface that supports the user’s mental model of how an app works, while simultaneously enabling the actions that are actually supported by the implementation’s model of the problem domain. Make the interface too much like the app internals, and the user won’t be able to make it fit their view of how things work.

A useful technique in this field is to present the user with a metaphor, to say “the thing you’re using now is a bit like this thing you’ve used before”. That worked much better in the old days when computers were new and people actually had used those things before. Now, metaphors like address books, landline handsets and envelopes are getting tired, and a generation of people have grown up without using the things these metaphors are based on.

So how do security metaphors stack up? Well, here the situation is even worse. In these situations even though people do use the real-world devices, the metaphors are strained beyond the point of usefulness.

Locks and Keys

You’d be hard pushed to find a security vendor or industry blog that doesn’t include a picture of a padlock on it somewhere. There, mine does too! A lock, using a particular mental model, is something that keeps you from using the door to a place or container (or keeps you in and other people out). The key permits you to act almost as if the lock weren’t there when you want, and almost as if the door didn’t exist (i.e. that the wall is solid) when you want.

There are few places in security UIs where locks exist (ignoring Keychain, which is already a response to a security/usability fail in itself), but plenty of keys. Keys that don’t interact with locks, but instead turn readable messages into unreadable messages. In the real world, that is (or was) done by an envelope, or by choosing carefully who you tell your message to.

Keys in software can be magically created from passwords. So hang on, does this door need a password or a key to get through?

Keys in software can validate the integrity of data, showing that it cannot have changed since the keyholder saw it. How does that map onto real world keys? Oh, and we call this a signature. You know, exactly unlike how you sign your name.

Finally, there are some types of key that you can give to anyone, called public keys. These can be used to lock things but not unlock them. WTF?

Certificates

Certificate

While we’re talking about keys, we should remember that they can be stored on keychains, keyrings or certificates. Wait, what?

In the real world, certificates that I own tell me that I am a motorcycle’s registered keeper, that I have completed a variety of different academic and training courses, and related information. The certificate is usually issued by the body that’s best placed to assert the truthiness of the certified statement: the DVLA, the academic institution and so on.

A digital certificate is more like a notary statement of identity than any of those certificates. Except that, far from being issued by a notary, it’s issued by anybody. Some certificates are issued by organisations who pay attention to other people’s notary statements about the holder’s identity. Sometimes, those certificates tell you (though not in plain language, of course) about how seriously they checked the identity of the holder.

How do you find out the identity of the organisation that issued the certificate? Why, with another certificate, of course! Imagine that my degree certificate was stapled to a certificate saying that the signer worked at the tutorial office, which was stapled to another saying that the tutorial office was part of the administration department, was stapled to…

So we need better metaphors?

No, we need to acknowledge that most security behaviour is internal to the software system that’s being secured, and keep it out of the user interface. A field worker in sales thinks “I’ve got an e-mail from my boss, I’ll read that”, so let her read that. Do the signature/certificate stuff internally. If that e-mail turns out not to be from her boss then rather than showing the certificate, don’t let her think that it is from the certificate.

No UI is good UI, right?

Here’s the security UI Apple added to Mac OS X in Lion.

So if Apple is no longer putting security user interface in their product, that must make it the universally blessed approach, right?

Not so fast! One limitation of many security systems is that they do rely on some user involvement. It’d be great to make it all entirely invisible, but some of that user involvement is necessary: software is used in an environment that is only partially technological, but is partially social. Requirements for things like confidentiality and integrity that are born of meatspace needs still must be supported by user involvement.

And that’s where we meet another problem. If we completely remove security UI from our products, we lose any chance to remind people that they too have skin in this game. Where data is confidential, if it doesn’t look confidential it doesn’t switch the reader into “remember to keep this secret” mode. Switching the software into that mode is almost trivial in comparison.

As an example, both Mac OS X and iOS have shipped forever without a user password and without requiring the user to set a password. Great, no security UI. But do the people using Macs and iPhones understand the difference in security posture—particularly on iOS with data protection—implied by setting a password? It doesn’t fit into the password metaphor, where a password just lets me in and doesn’t do anything about encryption.

Conclusion

There are two problems when it comes to security UI. Traditional UI in this arena exposes too many details of the software internals, and relies on flakey metaphors that do not translate either to the user’s mental model nor the software’s implementation model of the security feature. On the other hand, if we just remove this UI then users aren’t reminded of their part in the security of the overall, socio-technical system.

Thankfully solving these problems is not mutually exclusive. By communicating with users on their own terms at relevant times, an application’s interface can encourage users to take part in the overall security of the system without either confusing them or turning them off of engaging by using overly technical language and concepts.