Month: February 2024

With the introduction  of Apple Vision Pro earlier this year, our world has come a little closer to Mixed Reality being part of our everyday life (pic 1). And as we embark on this journey of a new type of interaction with the physical space, I think it is vital to consider universal design principles and how they can shape the experience of mixed reality including augmented reality (AR).

Priced at $4000, the controversial Apple Vision Pro is notably expensive, which has prevented me from experiencing it firsthand (yet). Nevertheless, I am familiar with other VR headsets, and drawing from reviews and demos available online, I aim to explore how design principles can be, or already are, integrated into AR wayfinding.

At its core, Apple Vision Pro is a spatial computer that integrates digital content and applications into our physical environment. Its navigation is executed through gestures, including hand and eye movements. This is an important aspect since it shapes the user experience the most.  According to the reviews,  the gestures are quite intuitive and they don’t require controllers as in other headsets which makes AR finally more integrated into the real world. This is also the reason why I am hopeful about this device: there were multiple attempts to make wayfinding in AR, but through the screen, which limited the hand movement, and overall is not as convenient to use consistently. 

Mixed reality can be scary; while tech CEOs like to call it the future of technology, many people are anxious about possible ways it will change how we interact with the world and with each other. I share these concerns about some tendencies people in tech now have when it comes to VR and AR: their desire for gamification of every activity, for example, incentivizing going for a simple walk by collecting coins seems a little dystopian to me. Capitalists also love to come up with ideas how they seamlessly can integrate their ads in AR and make it cost-efficient. 

One of the most significant issues I find with headsets the way they are now is safety. Even when advised not to wear Apple Vision Pro when moving outside, I already saw a few videos of people walking in New York with the headset on. (pic 2) Now imagine: John is minding his own business in his new Vision Pro and collects his little coins that are gold and flashy and incentivize him to walk. At one point, he is so focused on this activity that he doesn’t realize that he wandered into oncoming traffic and the inevitable happened. Inattentional blindness will definitely happen to users, and it is our job, designers and engineers, to detect the potential danger and effectively communicate it to the user before it’s too late.

While to some degree using AR for wayfinding may cause loss of navigation skills, I believe that this technology may be extremely beneficial in terms of inclusion and accessibility.  Devices like Apple Vision Pro could benefit certain demographics in a long run by normalizing wearing a mini computer on your head, and could result in, e.g., providing real-time subtitles for deaf users or automatically guiding individuals with dementia back to familiar locations when they become disoriented.

When delving into the realm of augmented reality (AR) and its potential for enhancing wayfinding, there are a few key considerations that come to my mind. For reference, there is no map app in the Apple Vision Pro at the moment. However, Apple had AR implemented in maps on the phones (pic. 3), so there is a high chance that they are going to implement it in their AR interface (pic. 4). 

One of them is the importance of maintaining consistency in design. I’m not just talking about making things visually appealing; it’s about ensuring that the user experience is seamless and intuitive. Traditional wayfinding signs serve as a sort of universal language, and it’s crucial that AR signage follows suit. Moreover, it is important to keep the external consistency; signs may need to adapt based on the user’s geographical location, such as displaying distances in miles for users in the US and meters for those elsewhere. 

Another aspect to ponder is the level of control afforded to users in AR wayfinding experiences. People have different degrees of experience and proficiency with technology, so it makes sense to offer different levels of guidance. Proficient users might appreciate more options of routes with different characteristics, while beginners may prefer a one route to follow with no other options.

Incorporating nudges is integral for successful design: adding subtle prompts that can provide valuable feedback, e.g., displaying the remaining distance to the destination or subtly adjusting the color palette of signs to indicate proximity. Additionally, making the destination stand out visually can help users maintain their bearings and give a literal visual goal.

Lastly, it’s crucial to have forgiveness in place: implementing warnings if users stray off course or if their device’s battery is running low. Incorporating backup measures, like a 2D map accessible even when the headset is offline, can be a safety net for users. 

As designers, it is our responsibility to embrace technological advancements and try to create the best possible user experiences, even if we, ourselves, are not fans of the technology itself. Rather than being intimidated by change, I believe in working collaboratively to address challenges and maximize the benefits of emerging technologies.

References:

Lidwell, William, et al. Universal Principles of Design, Revised and Updated : 125 Ways to Enhance Usability, Influence Perception, Increase Appeal, Make Better Design Decisions, and Teach through Design, Quarto Publishing Group USA, 2010. ProQuest Ebook Central, http://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/nyulibrary-ebooks/detail.action?docID=3399678.

https://support.apple.com/en-ae/guide/apple-vision-pro/tan1e2a29e00/1.0/visionos/1.0 

The Impact of Environmental Typography

 

Where my last entry discussed wayfinding in the digital, nonphysical sense, I now want to focus on the (nearly) entirely physical. Wayfinding was previously known as environmental graphic design–the use of all the tools at a graphic designer’s disposal to create a physical space that people can not just orient themselves in, but enjoy. A crucial, distinct element of any wayfinding system is its typography. Today, I want to explore environmental typography: how they emerged uniquely from societies; how they can be creative, impactful, and out-of-the-box; but always, how they function effectively as wayfinding tools.

Previously also known as “architectural signage”, environmental graphic design began as the simple application of signs, logos, and lettering to meet the basic needs of identification and wayfinding (RSM Design). Because using design to orient and organize our surroundings is a human need, it makes perfect sense that instances of this discipline can be traced back 2,000 years to the Roman Empire. The first Latin alphabet type style emerged on Roman monuments, as lettering shifted from parchment to the urban environment. Famously found on Trajan’s Column in Rome, Trajan – the font named after the Emperor who the column memorialized –”[commemorated/propagandized] Rome’s victory in the Dacian Wars” (The Odd Athenaeum). Beyond that, the letters were found on the many public buildings Trajan built, displayed in “distinctive stone-chiseled plaques” (Adobe). It became an identifier of a grand political presence, and its proliferation helped create a sense of unity in the complex, expansive empire.

Trajan’s Column in Rome is engraved with the font for which it is named after (Source: World History Encyclopedia)

Typography continued to grow as technology and cities grew. As societies and their physical spaces grew more chaotic, many Western designers sought to simplify different artistic modes into a unified approach, which culminated in the Bauhaus Movement of the 1920s (Provost). Typography was refined to suit manufacturing processes and the unembellished buildings they adorned better. As a result, stripped-down typefaces such as Futura emerged to suit the evolving needs and zeitgeist of the moment (Berger and Budev).

(Source: Institute for Policy Studies)

In contrast, as a throwback to my previous blog post, many Asian communities maintained a cluttered, disordered aesthetic. Their typography can come off as unrefined, and different signs lacked uniformity. Part of this is because, especially for Mandarin, the written language is expansive and near neverending, making font design extremely difficult. Many signs thus use the same, rudimentary typeface. Attempts at variation came mostly from distortions of this basic font and variations in color, which altogether looked messy. Environmental typography varies across cultures and locations, coming to define the identity of the spaces they inhabited.

Evidently, typefaces in wayfinding systems are essentially human. They serve not just to orient its audience, but they reflect and embody politics and history, mainstream ideologies, and local cultures. If some of these instances are achieved unconsciously, it really demonstrates the power that deliberate design has on communities.

 

With all this history in mind, I want to take a look at an example of innovative, powerful environmental typography. Submotion, a compelling project by Acrylicize, features a light installation that runs through the entire building of 20 Farringdon Street.

(Source: Acrylicize)

The design starts with a simple but bold number inserted in the building facade. These digits are a simple statement that highlights the address, which situates the property in the city’s wayfinding system of streets and numbers. Although the number itself may not hold any particular meaning independently, due to the location and a preestablished navigation system, the sign becomes legible.

(Source: Acrylicize)

The number then extends from the number into the building in a series of light strips that form a dynamic flow into the interior. This path is meant to mimic the flow of the River Fleet, London’s largest subterranean waterway, which runs just below Farringdon Street. 

Its design is full of intention. Symbolically, it represents dynamism in the current of people, ideas, and life all around London (Acrylicize). Practically, it also possesses a strong wayfinding purpose, following the design principle of good continuation, luring visitors along smooth pathways to the elevators and stairwells, as shown in the building schematics. The glowing light bands conspicuously draw the eye, making them optimal direction signs. Its pulsing light not only mimics water flow but attracts attention, as movement increases legibility (Berger 20). Its clean modernity also complements the architecture and interior style, “[narrating] the viewer’s proximity to River Fleet below but also [informing] the wider visual brand of the building” (Acrylicize). The installation is striking, elegant and ultimately unforgettable. Remember, this is all a representation of a single number. This piece demonstrates the power of strong intention behind modes of wayfinding. From Submotion, the viewer is able to identify the building location, navigate its interior, and feel a sense of the building’s identity. With thoughtful design, signage can achieve all wayfinding goals while transcending its purely practical objectives, becoming a statement unto itself.

Of course, this project seems like an art piece more than anything. It’s avant-garde, a novelty, and unrealistic to implement in common circumstances. It’s infeasible to expect the same degree of careful artistry for all wayfinding systems–all that lighting could be both pricey and environmentally unfriendly! However, it tells a compelling story and exemplifies the potential of wayfinding to expand beyond the status of mere necessity to an extensive arena for innovation and vision.

After weeks of study, I have gained more insights into maps, signage, and the use of fonts. In this blog post, I will continue to focus on the Beijing Subway and compare it to the Shanghai Subway. I will share my thoughts on the signs and symbols of the Beijing and Shanghai subways.

I. Beijing and Shanghai Subway Logo Signs

The logos of the Beijing and Shanghai subways are shown in the images below. The Beijing Subway logo is composed of “B, D, G,” which stand for “Beijing” (北京), “DiTie” (地铁), and “GongSi” (公司) respectively in Chinese Pinyin. “G” also represents “GuiDaoJiaoTong” (轨道交通). The Shanghai Subway logo is a circular pattern formed by “S” and “M,” representing “Shanghai Metro.”

    

Pic 1&2. Beijing Subway logo (left) & Shanghai Subway logo (right)

Although logos generally do not have wayfinding functions, I believe they play an important role as identification signs in public transportation systems like subways. As shown in the image below, whether it’s the Beijing or Shanghai subway, the logo serves as an identification sign indicating the location and function of the subway entrance, guiding those who understand the logo’s meaning to find nearby subway entrances.

Pic 3. Picture of one of Beijing Subway’s entrance

The image shows an identification sign to the left of the subway entrance. At the top is the Beijing Subway logo. Placing the logo at a height allows people from a distance to better notice the subway entrance. Additionally, this identification sign serves as both a marker of the subway’s function and an orientation sign. The image below shows a closer view of the identification sign. Besides the logo at the top, it includes the station name and this entrance’s name (in this case, “D”), followed by the line name, departure schedule, neighborhood map, etc. I personally quite like this design; it is useful and contains many helpful information.

Pic 4. Picture of Beijing Subway identification sign

Pic 5. Picture of one of Beijing Subway’s entrance

In contrast, the image above shows the Shanghai Subway logo mounted on a metal pillar. Compared to Beijing’s sign, it is less functional, but both logos mark the subway’s presence. Beijing’s identification sign is grand and emphasizes practicality, while Shanghai’s identification sign is relatively sleek and fashionable. This aligns with the design concepts of the two city subway brands; Beijing Subway uses deep blue to reflect spaciousness and solemnity, while Shanghai Subway uses vibrant red to emphasize youthfulness and vigorous development.

I actually found these two logos confusing at first. Despite being subway systems in China, their designs were assigned to different companies with different standards. Shanghai’s logo is derived from the abbreviation of “Metro,” while Beijing uses “D” from the Chinese word “地铁” for subway directly. When I first arrived in Shanghai, I couldn’t understand what the “M” meant. Although their designs are distinctive and thoughtful, I think this could create some cognitive discomfort for people living in different provinces.

Pic 6. It seems that subway logos designed around the letter “M” are quite common

II. Observation of Symbols in Shanghai Subway and Beijing Subway

Although I initially proposed to compare the differences in subway symbols between Beijing and Shanghai, I found that they both fit into a unified paradigm, so there is hardly anything special to compare. This is very suitable for public transportation. However, I can still find some details that are not quite up to standard. In the photo below, there is an accessible elevator with a sign in which the figure in the wheelchair is right-facing.  But the figure in a wheelchair on the sign above is facing left, and no three dots indicating the button.

Pic 7. An accessible elevator in the Beijing Subway

Pic 8&9. Other signs for accessible elevators in the Beijing Subway & Shanghai Subway

In the two images above, the left image shows the floor sign of an accessible elevator in Beijing Subway, while the right image shows Shanghai Subway’s accessible elevator. It is clear that the figures in wheelchairs are facing right and have buttons next to them. This indicates that the sign in Beijing’s subway, although a minor detail, is problematic and inconsistent with the standards. I also thought about why the figures are mostly facing right. This is because aligning the orientation of the figure with the orientation of the text reading provides users with a sense of cognitive comfort. Simplified Chinese and English both read from left to right.

Furthermore, I noticed another issue regarding the symbols around the accessible elevator, which is the large symbol on the left side of the picture below. Combining the text and the sign posted above, we know that this symbol indicates the presence of a button for disabled people to seek help. However, the symbol fails to convey the information that there is a button here. I think this design is not good; they could have simply placed a dot to represent the button on the right side and had the figure pressing it. I suspect that the Beijing subway did not hire someone specifically to design these signs that are posted later, so they just put up this symbol representing disabled people.

Pic 10. Inside the accessible elevator

III. Conclusion

By comparing the Beijing and Shanghai subways, I can see that signs and other wayfinding elements can reflect a place’s branding. In terms of symbols, I believe consistency and attention to detail are crucial.

Navigating one’s social class can be filled with complexities, challenges, and opportunities. From understanding societal norms to recognizing hierarchical orders. These societal norms both implicit and explicit, define how one’s supposed in a certain social situation. From family gathering to workplace dynamic, adhering these societal norms is crucial for social acceptance and integration. Whether it’s the unwritten rules of etiquette or the cultural customs ingrained within the community, individuals must navigate through these norms in order to navigate social interactions. Thinking of wayfinding in this context, lies within the societal norms which requires a keen understanding of cultural expectations and the ability to adapt to diverse social environments.

Within society lies a hierarchical order that categorizes people based on factors such as wealth, power, and education. In India, society is an intricate arrangement made up of different things such as tribes, languages, areas and places they live in, religions; economic life and caste. These factors collide to give a rich social canvas with considerable differences between urban-rural regions as well as gender categories. Through the country’s variations in social status are observable creating diverse lives for individuals.

People in India are classified according to their material wealth and power levels into hierarchies. Such hierarchical order can be seen in different aspects of life like caste groupings; individual statuses and household dynamics. Social level is primarily influenced by castes that are largely linked with Hinduism but exist as well among other religious communities. Relations among people within such locations as villages and towns are affected by the widely known distinctions made between various castes.Money and control also affect class structure based on economic placement of persons who may hold such offices or positions of influence. Occasionally, socially higher ranking individuals will receive more respect and privileges while those lower down may face discrimination or isolation from the rest.

The issue of hierarchy is also present in family and kinship systems where people are categorized according to factors such as gender and age. Junior members in a family usually look up to senior relatives while exhibiting considerable respect towards them. At the same time, men tend to be considered superior to women in many social contexts. Sanctity and defilement stand at the heart of Indian society, always associated with religious purity and social status. Purity is linked with high status, while pollution stands for low status. In this regard, individuals from different castes and religious backgrounds are expected to perform specific acts of purification that differentiate them within different communities.

In India finding addresses can be a very complex task as its urban landscape ranges from well-constructed plans to organic sprawl. While organized towns like Chandigarh may have succinct address formats, small mistakes in transcription could lead to much confusion. On the other hand, cities like Mumbai which do not have specific street layouts largely depend on people who know best about them. It’s the pan-bidi that are familiar with every nook and cranny of the town in this case. They show the way using visible landmarks or situation-sensitive information that enables one to survive in maze-like streets and alleys.

On the other hand, in the rustic surroundings of Indian villages where life is paced differently, addresses take on a more communal nature. People put more importance on the names of individuals that reside there as opposed to street names; this is an indication of how rural communities are closely knit. It is not unusual in such tightly networked societies for directions to be based on relationships rather than physical places. In doing so, it continues to narrate kinship and familiarity into navigation by referring back to local pan bidi wala.

However, while the current technological remedies boast about their online maps’ accuracy and GPS devices among other things, they are still limited in terms of functionality when it comes to India’s context. The problems of internet accessibility, language barrier and interpretative complexities of technological interfaces remain enormous hurdles. Additionally, cultural trust—reliance on human guidance which has barely been used—also contributes to its inadequacy. Wayfinding becomes an embodiment of humanness; it is no longer restricted within digital interfaces and navigational algorithms. It takes into account cultural nuances and social ties that make up the Indian landscape, thereby being a more attuned and inclusive path for navigation.

I became interested in India because of its reputation for being densely populated and the challenges that come with managing such a large population. Overpopulation fascinated me because I wondered how it affected various aspects of daily life, including something as seemingly simple as navigating through crowded cities and villages. This led me to explore how the concept of wayfinding, or finding one’s way around, was impacted by the sheer number of people in India. I was intrigued by how address systems might differ in densely populated cities compared to rural villages, and how people navigated through the maze of streets and alleys amidst crowds. The idea of relying on local knowledge, landmarks, and human interactions for navigation in such environments seemed both practical and challenging. My curiosity drove me to delve deeper into understanding the complexities of wayfinding in India, exploring not only the technological solutions available but also the role of human interaction and local expertise in navigating through the intricate tapestry of Indian society.

 

What makes a design appealing?

To me, this is a hard question to answer because everyone has different preferences influenced by their life experiences. Hence, there are so many variations of products that are made available for us to choose from, each targeting groups with different needs. From what type of pillow we sleep on to the place we choose to study at, the choices we make all depend on our needs for specific scenarios. 

I’m the type of person who cannot get work done efficiently at home or in dorms because it’s a too relaxed environment to stay busy doing work. Knowing my preferences for getting work done promptly, the design of the third-floor lounge space appeals to me because its atmosphere contains what I need to be productive. I’m the most productive in a moderately noisy indoor environment, not too quiet and not blasting loud. I also like to be surrounded by the sounds of others who are also doing work, whether it’s people typing on their laptops or discussing scholarly topics. Within the NYUAD campus, I associate this place with productivity because I previously had positive experience interacting with this space so I will continue to return to this space if I want to get my work done.

In the third-floor lounge, the tables there are separated by bookshelves that act as barriers between the tables. There are also different options for seating: high stools, lounge chairs, cushioned sofas, and even individual noise-canceling booths. 

 

I Feel that Everyone is Watching Me…

I asked E, a friend of mine, who also studies in the same space why she does so and she told me, “I like to study there because I like that it has a lot of natural sunlight and studying in the sun makes me happy and motivated to do work.” I asked M, another friend of mine, where she likes to study: “I usually study at cafes because I feel pressured to do work. Inside cafes, I feel that everyone is watching me so I feel pushed to work.”

After learning their reasons for picking studying space, it has come to me that we all share one similarity behind our choice: positive reinforcement…Ah, a behavioral psychology concept!

 

The Role of Psychology in Design

There are many specific types of design existing today including graphic design, UX/product design, interaction design, architectural design, fashion design, game design, and so much more. There is no doubt that any successful design is built upon understanding human psychology principles. Principles of psychology are crucial for designers to understand because design is user-centered.

For designs to optimize human experiences, applying psychological principles such as Hick’s Law will be very important. Hick’s law demonstrates that the more choices a user has in front of them, the more time it will take for them to make a choice(Lidwell 120). Therefore, minimizing the options that people have, will shorten their decision-making time and make the navigating process efficient.

 

When Designing My Website…

I’m in the middle of finishing up the design of my portfolio website and during this designing process, I’m constantly thinking about how to arrange everything so that the entire wayfinding process stays smooth and makes sense for anyone browsing. Using Hick’s Law and other design principles, I try to make my website simple and intuitive. First, I limited the choices that users have in the menu tab by not having sub-menu sections. I also kept the clickable “project detail” response consistent(darkens when hovering) throughout the website so that what the user assumed would be accurate. 

In the Wayfinding Handbook, David Gibson discussed the importance of designers familiarizing themselves with the space before planning sign locations. Gibson wrote, “To avoid problems later, it is essential that the designer survey a building or a space exhaustively to become completely familiar with the territory”(Gibson 57). The concept of user testing in designing signage systems for physical space also applies when designing digital spaces like websites. 

 

Animal Characters as Business Logo 

As I read through the Wayfinding Handbook, one section that interested me was how logo design ties in with branding. According to Gibson on page 73, “Effective branding addresses all aspects of corporate or institutional culture, including the public face presented by staff and their working environment.” 

I remember learning about differences in logo design for different countries in middle school and I was intrigued that the majority of the large corporations in China use animals as their logo representation. In contrast, brands in Japan present themselves using text-based logos. 

 

Why do Chinese domestic companies use animal elements to represent their brand? 

My take on why this may be is that the characteristics of different animals represent similar traits that the company wishes to deliver. They are also able to better empathize with their consumers by building a closer attachment. 

Take Baidu for example, Baidu is the internet search engine in China and its logo includes a bearpaw which has been used since 2000. The bear paw design is inspired by the idea of a hunter relentlessly searching for and tracking his prey(Krishnan). The use of a specific animal shows how baidu.com effectively brands themselves by relating the meaning of the bear paw to the purpose of their website.

Therefore, it is important to consider the cultural aspect when designing for different regions. 

 

References:

Gibson, David. The Wayfinding Handbook: Information Design for Public Places, Princeton Architectural Press, 2009.

Lidwell, William, et al. Universal Principles of Design, Revised and Updated : 125 Ways to Enhance Usability, Influence Perception, Increase Appeal, Make Better Design Decisions, and Teach through Design, Quarto Publishing Group USA, 2010.  

Krishnan, Ananth. “Chinese Bear on Indian Trail.” India Today, India Today, 20 June 2016, www.indiatoday.in/magazine/neighbours/story/20160627-china-internet-giant-baidu-india-search-engine-829067-2016-06-16. 

When you were a kid, you probably went to the nearest park in your neighborhood to play with your friends or family. I used to go a lot to the “Plaza de Armas”, an iconic park in the middle of my home city Encarnación. 

Even though I’ve been going to that park since I was born, I used to get lost multiple times. Nowadays, when I go with my younger siblings, I give them directions using landmarks. Gibson defines landmarks, in his Wayfinding Handbook book, as strategies for directing people to major nodes, like elevators or primary destination points. (Figure 1)

Landmarks are super helpful when the architecture of a place or a building is symmetrical. In that case, you have a reference point to avoid getting confused. The “Plaza de Armas” is not symmetrical (Figure 2), and currently it has a lot of monuments that act as landmarks, so it is easier for people to walk around without getting lost. 

Something that I have not really noticed until I thought of it was the use of signs. Signs are not really present in the park. There is only one map that is located at the main entrance (the long linear path at the left of the aereal view in Figure 2), that is not super referencial and clear, and people don’t use it. Maybe this is due to the Paraguayan culture.

Paraguayans do not really care about directional signs because we are used to using landmarks to give directions. Firstly, because using landmarks is easier, specially if you live in a small community, or simply do not know the names of streets. Secondly, in Paraguay, signs used to be only in Spanish, and people did not really know how to read it (because Paraguay’s main indigenous language is Guaraní, which is also the official language of the country, besides Spanish). It is important to consider the culture factor when creating a wayfinding project.  

The minimal presence of directional signs, having just one map at the main entrance (Figure 3), highlights an intentional choice in the wayfinding design. The design of the park is simple, and relies on the effectiveness of its monuments (Figure 4) and different types of trees to guide visitors. Moreover, prioritizing landmarks over directional signs speaks up about the cultural norms and preferences of the local population.  

Let’s explore some of the landmarks and the wayfinding system of this park.

Despite the limited signage in the park, the “Plaza de Armas” is still navigable through digital platforms like Google Maps. The Plaza de Armas can be made easier to find on a smartphone by labeling key locations inside the park on digital maps, which improves the wayfinding experience for tourists. There are various important spots marked in Google Maps (Figure 5). The integration of the monuments into the GPS compliments the traditional wayfinding approach based on landmarks with digital technology, providing a more immersive wayfinding experience.

There are directional sings for the bathroom, but non for the taxi stop. That is because the taxi stop is in a corner under big trees, plus, the taxi stop already has a big sign on its cabin (Figure 6). So, is not difficult to not see it from every corner of the park. Therefore, there is no need to use redundancy, in this case, to point to the taxi stop. Prioritizing clarity and simplicity avoids unnecessary visual clutter, and it is a strategy approach to wayfinding when there are big trees in the selected area. 

As wayfinding designers, it is important to understand the societal norms and cultural prefrences in order to make a smoother design for our clients, that will positively impact in the society. The wayfinding design of the “Plaza de Armas” exemplifies a holistic approach that integrates cultural considerations, functionality, and community engagement. It also challenges the design theories of directional signage and navigation, bt completely ignoring it and going with the cultural norms. This method not only facilitates visitor navigation, but it also contributes to the Plaza de Armas’ overall environment and cultural identity. 

Culture and traditional norms play a significant role in shaping various aspects of society, including wayfinding systems. In Japan, cultural values and traditional norms heavily influence the design and implementation of wayfinding systems, particularly in cities like Osaka.

The way people interact on escalators in Japan is one of the best-known instances of this influence. Elevators are a common way for people to move quickly up or down levels in many different countries. There is, however, a unique unsaid protocol followed in Japan, where people who are not in a haste stand on the right side of the escalator and let those who are in a hurry pass on the left. The cultural emphasis on politeness, effectiveness, and consideration for other people’s time is reflected in this behavior. Preserving social order and causing the least amount of inconvenience to others are highly valued in Japanese society. Through education and socialization, this perspective is engrained from an early age and permeates many areas of daily life, such as public transportation and wayfinding systems.

This etiquette has its origins in the traditional principles of harmony and regard for others found in Japan. Preserving social order and causing the least amount of inconvenience to others are highly valued in Japanese society. This way of thinking permeates many facets of daily life, such as public transit and navigation systems, and is established from an early age through education and socialization. In addition, Japan’s densely populated cities, like Osaka, require effective and organized mechanisms to control the movement of people. Following accepted customs and manners is essential for ensuring seamless and safe travel, as millions of locals and tourists traverse the city’s busy streets and transportation hubs every day.

Furthermore, navigation system design is also influenced by Japan’s hierarchical social structure. Respect for elders and superiors as well as obedience to authority are mandated by traditional values. Because of this, directional cues and signage frequently have an authoritative, unambiguous style that gives people confidence and certainty while following them.

In conclusion, navigation methods in Japan are greatly influenced by culture and customs, especially in larger cities like Osaka. These cultural factors affect everything from signs to escalator etiquette, which affects how individuals move through and engage with their environment. Both tourists and locals may navigate the city with ease and gain an appreciation for Japan’s rich cultural legacy by being aware of and respectful of these cultural traditions.

The original Persona 3 is a cult classic video game of the 2000s and a personal favorite of mine. The remake, Persona 3 Reload, came out just earlier this month and has been eating up every hour of my free time. In this short blog, I will be talking about things I love about the navigation system of Persona 3 Reload, which I will just refer to as P3R from now on, and how certain aspects can be relatable to our physical reality.

For those unfamiliar with the Persona series, which I imagine a lot of you may be due to the series’ niche demographic, Persona games let you step into the shoes of a Japanese high school student who manages a whole year’s worth of activities on a day to day basis. While the exact setting and circumstances might change, the core of this emotional and impactful game franchise is letting you roleplay a second life of sorts; you get to take care of your character better than you’ve ever taken care of your own physical health and social life in reality!

This means you literally live your life as you would if you were a young Japanese teenager. What you do after the final school bell rings is up to you! The game lets you completely free roam the fictional setting of Tatsumi Port Island, which is loosely based off Odaiba, Japan.

In this image attached above, the main cast is on a field trip in Kyoto. The only playable area is the inn you stay at. Instead of loading the whole inn, the game loads just one of the guest rooms in the inn as opposed to the whole floor of the building like we see in the image below where the protagonist is standing in the lobby area.

While rendering more than just the room might’ve been outside technical limitations back on the PS2 in 2006, modern day gaming platforms like my laptop would have no issue rendering the whole inn at once. So why is it that P3R divides the playable areas into further segments even without the technical limitations of the modern era? I personally believe it’s because it creates an immersive experience as this is how we actually perceive our surroundings in reality.

Take for example, you’re at NYUAD waiting in line for Ala Brasa at D2. You aren’t consciously thinking about anything beyond the walls of D2. It’s not like you can’t actively imagine the exterior of D2 or the interior of the Arts Center next door, but your mind likely doesn’t subconsciously “render” those areas until they are of relevance to you. That, in a way, is how I believe we define our “playable area” when we perceive reality as humans.

I believe if we can integrate this concept of “segmentation” more often in our architecture, we can further enhance people’s abilities to wayfind in locations like large shopping malls and university campuses. Segmentation provides the navigator with the points of interest that are most likely to be relevant without overwhelming the navigator’s wayfinding senses. 

The key aspects of wayfinding I observed become most apparent in what the protagonist of P3R does when the clock strikes midnight. What drives the plot of Persona 3 Reload is Tartarus, a mysterious tower that only appears during the dark hour, a time that normal people cannot perceive. Its name originates from the Tartarus from Greek mythology, which was a deep labyrinth that served as a dungeon of torment and suffering for the wicked, a fitting name for the P3R’s own labyrinth. Without getting too much into the game’s narrative, I will explain how Tartarus functions as the “other half” of gameplay which serves as a stark contrast to the peaceful school life side of gameplay. Tartarus comprises hundreds of floors and nearly every one of them is randomly generated.

Additionally, Tartarus is divided into many different blocks. While the original Persona 3 on the PlayStation 2 only had different color schemes for the same long rectangular corridors, P3R dramatically changed how the inside of Tartarus feels and looks. Some sections have more orthogonal generation patterns while some other sections twist and turn confusingly. Now that each of the blocks have their own distinct identity, I want to passionately analyze them in the context of wayfinding!

The image attached above is Thebel, the first section in the game. It’s the one that resembles the original boring rectangular hallways of the original 2006 Persona 3. Its orthogonal generation pattern serves as a great introduction to the randomly generated structures of Tartarus, and also greatly misled me to think all the sections were just going to be a change in the color palette. I’ve attached a close-up of the floor map on the right of every image for better understanding of the generation patterns of each Tartarus block.

When I reached Arqa, the block as shown in the image above, I realized P3R wasn’t just going to make me explore boring rectangular hallways for hundreds of floors like I did in the original game. For reference, the image attached immediately below is what the original Aqra block looked like (I was even on the same floor by complete coincidence).

The original Arqa block contained much simpler polygons and textures due to the technical limitations of the time. I also noticed P3R greatly improved the visual clarity of the user interface. The text representing the floor I’m currently on (56F in this case) is much larger than the name of the block (Arqa).

Navigating the new Tartarus of P3R reminded me of something I learned in class back in January. I remember Professor Goffredo mentioning how humans are much better at orthogonal directions than triangular-like directions. I never thought this would apply to my in-game navigation as well when I learned about it and yet I found this to be very true when attempting to navigate the new and modern iteration of Tartarus.

This colorful eyesore of a section you see in the image above is known as Harabah. This block proved to be the hardest one to navigate so far due to its unpredictable layout. There are plenty of U-turns and curved paths to confuse me, and as we learned from class: humans are pretty terrible with these curvy turns compared to 90 degree orthogonal layouts.

Because of the layout of some of these sections like Harabah and Arqa, I would almost look exclusively at the mini-map on the bottom left when I navigated, paying no mind to the actual in-game rendering of the physical world. I would love a challenge mode that further immerses the player in the Tartarus experience by making them navigate each floor of Tartarus without the mini-map.

The image attached immediately above is known as Tziah. This block is probably the easiest to navigate for a couple of reasons. The most obvious one is the generation pattern: it’s orthogonal and predictable. However, another reason why this area is so easy to navigate is because of how wide the corridors are, allowing me to see what’s around the corner if I was near the opposite side of the corridor. That’s also something I observed to very true in real architectural design. The wider the hallways, the easier it is for me to find the right turn to make or the right room to enter.

Words cannot describe the cherishment and admiration I have for Persona 3 Reload as a game, and yet this brilliant remake also masterfully integrates important wayfinding concepts in its game design to offer an immersive and natural wayfinding experience. Its segmentation of virtual spaces mirrors our subconscious division of real-world environments, highlighting a sophisticated understanding of how we navigate and perceive our surroundings in reality. Additionally, the reimagined Tartarus of P3R, with its varied layouts from predictable to labyrinthine, enhances this experience, reflecting the diverse challenges of real-world navigation and architectural design.

P.S. Hopefully I conveyed some of my insights and observations I couldn’t have made without taking Wayfinding this semester. My past three weeks have been consumed by Persona 3 Reload. It’s a genuinely meaningful and brilliant game and I can only hope my small blog here can help it get the attention and recognition it deserves. Thank you so much for reading!

Living in Florence, I met a fellow backpacker, who is a big literature nerd and convinced me to walk Il Cammino Di Dante with him. Il Cammino Di Dante is a nearly 500 km hike that traces the best estimation of Dante’s journey in exile from Florence, which inspired The Divine Comedy. 

We planned to break up the through hike into 5 segments and take 100 km a week: ambitious but exciting. I started planning by combining existing routes and creating a new map with our intentions, but he stopped me short.

He explained that he really wanted to hike without a map. I thought he was crazy. Our Italian was terrible, and we’d easily get lost in the endless hills of Tuscany. But to him, it was a spiritual choice — a symbolic gesture of surrendering to the unknown and trusting in the guidance of the journey itself. He convinced me that wondering without the aid of a map would be much more reminiscent of Dante’s path, whereas following in his footsteps wouldn’t put us in the same mindset. Looking back on it, I’m not sure how he convinced me, but that’s what we did.

We only ended up trekking for two weekends, covering (to our best estimate) 140 kilometers. While we found ourselves completely off the mark of il Cammino Di Dante, we had a really easy time navigating. In fact, moving around without a map was easier until we had to navigate the train system back to Florence. Normally, when I travel somewhere new (even a new Dentist), I map it first. That simple moment of aerial orientation completely changes how I engage with a space. When I imagine orienting campus, I know which way is North and which rooms are South, and I can see the outline of each building in my head. It’s totally useful, but it causes a momentary delay, where I enter a different space to orient myself. If you asked me where the Visual Design Studio is, I imagine a map, locate myself, locate the studio, look around, find which way I’m facing, and extrapolate.

Being on il Cammino Di Dante and not having ANY idea what the aerial view was, I was a more efficient navigator. Where did we come from? THAT way. Where was that cool bird? Over THERE. Where are we going? THIS way. Without the aid of a map, I slowly learned to rely on instincts. Each turn in the road became a moment of decision, a test of my ability to read the subtle cues of the landscape and intuit the correct path forward rather than translate them onto a map. It was a challenge, to be sure, but one that ultimately deepened my understanding of orienting and Wayfinding as an art.

One of the most profound lessons I gleaned from walking il Cammino di Dante without a map was the importance of finding direction in unexpected places. Far from relying solely on physical landmarks, I discovered that people became compasses. Villagers and hikers offered guidance, camaraderie, and experiences that helped illuminate the path ahead.

It stands out that there are at least two reasons why we use maps instead of relying on THIS and THAT: maps help us hold more complex paths in our mind, and they help us communicate complex paths to others. Yet il Cammino Di Dante (our version) really opened my mind to the way maps seem to burrow into my brain and take up so much space and time.

It’s easiest to compare the realization to mapping technology, which is concerned with the divide between cyberspace and reality. One of the biggest advantages of GPS was the automation of orientation so that you only need to glance down and up again to ensure your direction. But even still, it’s dangerous for a driver to dedicate so much time to overlaying that aerial view onto the road ahead of them. Mixed Reality technology attempts to solve this problem by matching the aerial view to the driver’s field of vision. Still, the safest drivers of the near future will probably be the seasoned commuters, those who have taken that left turn often enough that they don’t need to consider whether it’s a North turn or a West turn.

Technology can help reduce orientation lag, but it’s also important to consider Wayfinding Design. Sometimes, designers rely too heavily on maps when creating a first-time experience. However, first-time users rely on external cues and landmarks to orient themselves. Even with a helpful map, they may struggle to process information efficiently and become overwhelmed. Maps offer certainty and control, but true navigation is about being open and adaptable.

Is there a version of efficient Wayfinding that minimizes reliance on aerial mapping? Is my experience relatable? A recent publication showed that childhood exposure to cardinal urban planning (like New York’s grids) makes people worse at spatial navigation, as they’re used to relying on simple systems that fall easily to mapping. Maybe the perfect Wayfinding strategy is not one that entirely relies on ground directions nor requires people to translate maps, but is somehow inclusive of both preferences. Maybe it’s deeper in one of our textbooks.

What I would bet is if we stood in Florence and I drew you a map of my path, you’d have a lot less fun than you would just going THAT way.

 

In 1946, Argentine writer Jorge Luis Borges wrote a short story called On Exactitude in Science that goes:

As pictured above, each cubical contains “the natural elements found throughout the district, including samples of trees, plants, insects and earth, with the intention of enhancing the local community’s knowledge of its district’s ecology.” 

Take a closer look below:

This project is not the first image that comes to mind when thinking the word ‘map,’ but it is a map, and the best of its kind. It was “designed to ‘carefully express the impression of the location and history of the city, with a hidden story of Ginza.'” 

But the most fascinating aspects of the installation lie below:

 

Hakuten made slight alterations to each plant to narrate their unique relationship to the district. On the left, there are leaves of Gingko biloba trees, which were planted in Ginza in 1906. If you look closely, each leaf has an imprint of old Ginza buildings. On the right are glothistle plants. Because they were collected under the district’s Wako clock tower, they are arranged in the shape of a clock. Through choosing to add and manipulate subtle elements, similarly to how the Berlin metro map shown in class conveys unity, Hakuten managed to tell a powerful story about the plants and district’s shared history.  

Ginza usually looks and sounds like this:

The crowded district, like most of the modern world, reeks of information overload. But through delicate selection and with painstaking care, Hakuten cut through the noise and managed to tell a story of the hidden ecological magic of Ginza, creating a space in which lifelong citizens could find new, natural ways of connecting and communicating with their surroundings. They didn’t map everything. They chose to map what mattered. Borges, I imagine, would have been proud.