Building a Digital World: How to Design an Internet You Love
Declaring one’s love for the internet these days is about as groundbreaking as proclaiming a fondness for breathing air. It’s not the sort of confession that’ll get you noticed at parties. And in an era where most of my peers were baptized by the digital gods of Myspace, Xanga, and AOL Instant Messenger, it’s nearly a universal mantra.
But here I am, laying it bare anyway: I love the internet.
I can’t pinpoint the exact moment I took the plunge into this love affair. But if I were a betting man, I’d wager it was everything all at once that was the crucible of a lifelong journey of being “online.”
Let me explain.
A quick history: You, me, and the internet
Act 1
Rewind the tape back 22 years — I stumbled into a lifelong bond with two strangers I met around an obscure digital campfire, a low population message board dedicated to a very specific Christian ska band. I’d wake up, listen to the dial tone howl from the family computer, and check for new threads and messages.
Over time our conversations strayed from bad music to good friendship. And as kids did on the internet back then, we plotted on taking the leap from pixels to reality and meeting up at a music festival headlined by the band we’ve been bonding over. I’m not sure why my parents let me meet strangers from the internet. Maybe I didn’t tell them my plans, but I’m glad they did.
What ensued was not just a decade of festival pilgrimages but a life. In our post-festival era, our bonds weathered the seasons of life: weddings, the arrival of children, joyous peaks, and the inevitable valleys. Even just a month ago, I took a long drive to their state. We spent time drinking cheap beers, laughing, and smiling until my face hurt. Thank you, internet.
Act 2
In 2004, I ventured into the unknown and pieced together my first website — a digital monstrosity born out of the primordial ooze of Geocities. I didn’t know at the time but this wasn’t just a one-off; it was the opening act of lifelong web creation.
Side by side with one of my best friends, we embarked on a grand adventure in World Of Warcraft, leading a guild not merely as teenagers, but as digital Guild Masters, and we convinced ourselves we needed an online presence to make it real.
The website wasn’t good, but it also wasn’t just for kicks — it was our command center, our digital roundtable where the currency of choice was pixels shaped into gold, loot, and above all else, our guild rules.
We didn’t just run a guild; we orchestrated a group where attendance and DKP (if you know you know) were displayed with pride, all laid bare on the homepage in a poorly built HTML table for the world to see. I remember standing up in the glow of the basement, the hum of the CRT, our faithful companion, as I took a swig of Mountain Dew, and declared with certainty, “It’s perfect.”
A lot of dungeons and a lot of years later, we took a flight to San Francisco to attend the wedding of our guild Rogue. Up until then he was just a voice over my headphones yelling, “I want that [insert rare item here]!”
When I got to his wedding, it took just a moment for the voice to match the face, we hugged, and stepped back, taking in the unfamiliar elegance of formal wear instead of armor and cried. Thank you, internet.
Act 3
Last but not least — if you know me, it’s not a surprise that social media oscillates between being an all-consuming fire and a source of existential angst. I know that’s a familiar rhythm for many.
But, years ago, I was pulling inspiration for a project on Instagram, searching for artists and saving the work to reference later in a pitch as creative for a new brand. The project came and went, the client chose different references, and I let that account slip into hibernation.
Later, for some reason, I logged back in and saw a post from one of the artists I saved previously. The post was silly and seemed unimportant at the time, but I commented and somehow we got to chatting. We chatted about book recommendations, foods, and art.
That conversation continued for some time through the small black mirror of my phone and then eventually we decided to go from pixels to reality (something I was already familiar with).
We made plans to meet.
We ate Japanese food that night. We attended a gallery show of a now close friend the weekend after. And then over the coming years we fell in love and got married. Thank you so much, internet.
UX & life principles
Here we are, in 2024. I still love the internet and my place in the digital world has turned into a job — I’ve been sculpting UX experiences and helping shape the way people interact with the internet on their screen for the last 16 years.
The internet I love has transformed in ways I never would have imagined back in the day. Yet, through all its metamorphoses, the core ethos remains unaltered: forge pathways and let users connect with the things they want, in the ways they wish to do so.
The tools and languages have changed. Platforms have risen and fallen like empires of old (sorry, I’m still in the World Of Warcraft vibe after that last paragraph). Yet the heartbeat of the internet persists — connection.
I’m fortunate enough now to find myself at a company that lets me continue to build the internet I love, with people who love it as much as I do. So when the opportunity arose to write about it, I started thinking back fondly of what led me here.
If I could travel back in time, and appear to my younger self as Gandalf, The White figure, this is some of the advice I’d give myself for both my career and my life.
Begin with the end in mind
This is life advice that has taken me a lot of falling down and standing back up to put into practice, but design is life and to live life is to experience design. Knowing where you’re going, be curious of how you get there, and what it will take to end where you wish to be.
In a more literal design sense, keep your lens zoomed in on the entry point and the curtain calls of the experience. People are more likely to remember the failures than the successes. A negative experience sticks more vividly in memory than their positive counterparts.
Every step is important of course, but when crafting the journey, always keep the goal in mind. Thoughtfulness in life and in design can turn pitfalls into stepping stones, ensuring the path leads not just to satisfaction, but to confirmation and connection with why they took the journey in the first place.
Creating something beautiful is worthwhile
It’s a straightforward path to create something functional, to dust off our hands, and declare victory. And maybe, by some standards, that’s enough. But the craft of breathing life into something truly beautiful holds value beyond personal satisfaction — it enriches the experiences of those who interact with it.
Life can make me feel rushed often. But it is worthwhile to fight for that last moment to add the 5% that makes 95% of the difference. That momentary pause to make the final adjustment to an experience is a force multiplier of its value.
By the numbers, a design that catches the eye does more than just please the senses — it conjures a belief in the brain that the creation before them isn’t just pretty, but more functional, more intuitive. There’s a magic in aesthetics; it confirms, convincing people of the design’s superior functionality.
Meet people where they’re at
I look back a lot of times in both work and life and think, “I wish I had listened more.”
This mantra, this commitment to listen, to truly understand and then act in a way that aligns with the needs and realities of those before me is a journey without end. If we’re not living and creating for someone, then what’s the point of making anything at all?
In my life, this means empathy, and at work crafting experiences it’s no different. Listen, become informed, do your research, and provide what is needed without assumption.
At Liquid Web, we’re putting this into practice with improvements to how our customers connect with our products, and it’ll be a constant action to improve how we execute and what is important to the people we are listening to, both as our customers and on our team.
Bottom line
I feel very fortunate to have the opportunity to be one of many people who gets to build the internet they love with great people at my job.
Perhaps my words have danced a bit too wildly, swept up in a whirlwind of hyperbole, but it’s a tribute I hammer down on the keyboard willingly. My life is woven into the vast web of the internet — rich with memories, connections, and creations.
I consider myself lucky.