What we owe the people who use our research
A tale of seeking the context that makes research work
Back when I did more design than research, I worked for a client who had an on-site research suite, and a full staff to run it. We'd get paired up with a researcher; we’d brief them on the design; and they'd take it from there.
When sessions began, we folks who worked on the design would join the research staff in a room on the other side of mirrored glass. Despite the dim lighting, it was more cheerful than the observation rooms you see in crime shows. A mini-fridge stocked with soda and juice sat in a corner, and one wall would be covered with sticky notes of observations from the last study. Three long tables took up most of the space, and a large monitor to one side showed what the participant saw on their computer, so we could easily follow what they were doing.
The first studies I witnessed were an inspiration. Our researcher collaborated with us to decide what to cover in the sessions, and she was poised when she guided participants through their tasks. I learned so much as I watched her let them explore while she faded into the background, only occasionally leaning forward with gentle, open-ended questions when they were really needed. Her skill extended to analysis and delivery, always giving us concrete findings that enabled us to make our designs even better than they were before.
A few projects in we were assigned a different researcher. As our study began, I realized that things were amiss. This researcher interrupted participants too often for them to get comfortable, and her questions were often leading. I could easily tell what she thought of the design, and that meant she was likely affecting the participants' perspectives, too. When she delivered the analysis, I saw that my fears were warranted; off topic comments had been included, and suspicions had been prioritized over observations.
Thanks to having been coached to use "self governance" at my alma mater and to have plain conversations by my therapists and career coaches, I decided to talk with the new-to-me researcher. I was nervous, knowing that she had no reason to think that I was skilled in research, but I also knew that I did not want to agree to the recommendations from a flawed study.
The conversation did not go well.
She said that she was using a process that had worked for her for many years, and that she trusted what participants thought. Her tone was defensive and definitive enough, and I was junior enough, that I didn't try to talk about the nuances I was beginning to understand about balancing participants' perspectives with designers' expertise.
In retrospect, though, the problem wasn't that she was defensive. Especially with the subtle discrimination of being a woman, a person of color, or other marginalized identities layered on top, it can be exhausting to practice UX research today for teams that often don’t quite understand it.
The problem was that we never got to discuss the heart of the matter—why do our methods work, and what do we get (or not get) by using the ones we choose? We never came to an understanding, and instead parted when our projects naturally concluded.
When I lead research studies today, I remember this unfortunate situation. Even though it can be frustrating to be doubted, I do my best to consider my colleagues' critique, and respond to it transparently. Whether their doubt is founded or mistaken, the conversation it inspires often helps us better understand the strengths and weaknesses of research, which in turn helps us make more thoroughly informed decisions.
Practicing UX research relies on these conversations—as well as the transparency we researchers can proactively offer—to provide the most help to our teams, and therefore, to our audience.
Thanks for joining me for the second of four Finding Out issues introducing the roles of people in UX research. The next introduces what we owe our fellow researchers.