I bought some face masks recently.
It was one of the most overwhelming and baffling shopping experiences of my life.
Obviously there are some extenuating circumstances that help to explain this. The external pressure of an ongoing, global pandemic for one.
But when I tried to unpick just why it had felt so difficult, it became clear that I hadn’t really had any meaningful context within which to frame any of the decisions I was trying to make, or the information that was available.
Do you have an actual, pre-existing opinion about ear loops? Or how many layers of fabric your mask should have (I seem to remember seeing something about 3 being good)? Or whether it’s reusable?
Do you need something that’s medical-grade (“N95″ hovered at the edge of my memory briefly) or is anything better than nothing? What should you pay for a mask? Do you want to buy one from a specialist supplier? Or does Amazon suffice?
And the only reason I had to engage with any of this was that my partner had already had a go and given up.
Then I realised, to a certain extent, this is what it might be like if you’re trying to buy a ticket to the theatre for the first time. Or to the opera. Or to the ballet.
A billion options, jargon that makes almost no sense but that the person who wrote the text clearly thinks you care about, things that you had never previously even had an inkling were a thing anyone had opinions about, and you’re expected to make a bunch of choices and part with some cash.
You might’ve started really wanting to buy your face mask (ticket) but quickly just not leaving the house seems like a much better option.
You’re not dumbing down by using clear language and removing assumption of expertise when you produce your content.
I certainly wished the face mask merchants of the world had realised this.
I eventually bought a box of 10 face masks, I’ve no real idea of their particular properties. I’m not leaving the house.