There was a moment when I saw how AI could be used to recommend content in super “smart” ways. The system learned fast. It felt cool at first. But then I caught myself wondering: “Is this really helping the user, or just making them stay longer without realizing it?”

That thought really stuck with me.

What makes AI tricky is how invisible it often is. Users don’t see the system changing behind the scenes. They just notice that it “knows them.” But do they really know what the system is doing with them? Probably not. And to be honest, sometimes I don’t either. The design starts to feel like a black box—even for us.

I think that’s where our ethical responsibility comes in. It’s not just about building efficient or beautiful things. It’s about honesty, clarity, and giving people control. Like, if an app is learning from a user’s behavior and making choices for them, that should be visible. That should be something they can understand—and maybe even change.

From my point of view, good interaction design should give people space to breathe, not just pull them deeper in. AI can be helpful, but only if we design it to support—not replace—the user’s sense of choice.

Back then, I wasn’t just watching—I was participating. I followed people, joined hashtag challenges, left comments. Douyin felt like a place where I was part of something, even if it was just for fun.

Now? I just open the app and scroll. I don’t post anything. I don’t comment. I barely even like things. The app just shows me what it thinks I’ll enjoy, and most of the time, it’s right. I can spend 1 hour without touching anything but my thumb.

That’s a big difference from Web 2.0. Before, apps and websites needed to give people tools to create, share, and talk to others. Now, interaction design is more about making the experience smooth and effortless.

I think Douyin is a perfect example of how we’ve moved from doing things online to just watching things happen. And honestly, sometimes I miss being part of it.

It didn’t last long. I remember Apple discontinued it pretty quickly, which somehow makes it feel even more special—like a brief, pure moment in tech history. No screen, no notifications, no distractions. Just music and me.

Then the iPhone came, and everything changed again. It transformed technology from a “tool” into something that’s woven into everyday life. A phone, a camera, a browser, a gaming device—all in one. From my point of view, the iPhone blurred the line between human and machine. We stopped “using” tech and started living with it, constantly connected.

This shift had a huge impact on interaction design. Interfaces had to become more intuitive, more seamless, almost invisible. People no longer read manuals—they just tap, swipe, scroll, and expect everything to work instantly. I think designers stopped creating just functions—they started designing habits, rhythms, even emotional attachments.

For me, it all began with that tiny iPod. It was small, short-lived, and simple—but it completely changed the way I feel about technology.

I think one of the biggest changes is how GUI has adapted to different devices. Originally designed for desktops, GUI has evolved to fit touchscreens, smartphones, tablets, and even smartwatches. Now, we swipe, tap, and pinch, making interactions feel more natural. Another major shift is the move from local software to cloud-based applications. Tools like Google Docs, Figma, and Notion allow seamless collaboration across devices, something that wasn’t possible back in the early days.

But despite all this progress, some things have stayed the same. We’re still using folders, icons, and hierarchical file structures to organize information, and the concept of dragging, clicking, and navigating through menus is still central to how we interact with computers.

That said, I feel like modern GUIs still have room for improvement. Interfaces are becoming more cluttered with notifications, ads, and endless options, which can overwhelm users. Also, cross-platform consistency is still a challenge—what works on desktop doesn’t always translate smoothly to mobile. And while AI assistants like Siri and Google Assistant have improved, they’re still not fully integrated into everyday GUI interactions.

From my point of view, the future of GUI lies in simplifying complexity, improving cross-platform experiences, and making AI interactions feel more natural. The goal should be to make technology adapt to people, not the other way around.

One of her key contributions was showing that people do not interact with machines in a purely rational, step-by-step way. From my perspective, this was a huge turning point in HCI because it emphasized that technology needs to be adaptable and responsive to real-world human behaviors rather than forcing users to conform to rigid workflows.

Suchman’s research had a direct impact on interface design and user experience. Before, designers focused on structured usability testing and predefined user flows. But after her work, there was a stronger emphasis on observing how users actually behave in real scenarios. I think this shift is why modern UX research includes field studies, ethnographic research, and participatory design—methods that acknowledge the unpredictable ways people engage with technology.

Her influence is still visible today. From AI-driven chatbots that adapt based on conversation flow to voice assistants that improve through user feedback, the idea that human-computer interaction should be flexible and responsive traces back to Suchman’s insights. I feel like her work made it clear that technology isn’t just about efficiency—it’s about understanding the complexity of human behavior and designing for it.

Before the Star, computers were mostly text-based, requiring users to memorize and type commands. Then the Star came out, it introduced something completely new—icons, windows, folders, and a desktop that looked and felt like a real workspace. Instead of working with lines of code, people could click, drag, and drop, making computers feel way more natural to use.

What made the Star so groundbreaking was its office metaphor. Files were stored in folders, documents looked like actual pieces of paper, and the whole experience felt familiar, especially for office workers. From my perspective, this was a game-changer because it made computers something that anyone could use, not just programmers.

Even though the Xerox Star itself didn’t take off, its ideas lived on. Apple’s Macintosh, Microsoft Windows—basically every modern operating system—borrowed from it. I feel like every time we open a folder, resize a window, or move an icon, we’re still using the concepts the Star introduced. It proved that computers weren’t just for tech experts—they could be designed for everyone, and that’s what shaped the digital world we live in today.

Engelbart’s focus is on making computers truly useful for human thought and collaboration. From my point of view, the biggest breakthrough in this demo was that it proved computers weren’t just tools for scientists and engineers, but something that could help everyone organize ideas, manage information, and even collaborate remotely. This shift in perspective directly paved the way for laying the foundation for how we interact with technology today.

Another reason I feel this demo was so ahead of its time was because of the concept of real-time interaction. Back in the 1960s, most computers worked on batch processing, meaning users had to input commands and wait for the results later. Engelbart’s demo completely changed that by showing live manipulation of text, real-time screen sharing, and even remote collaboration, all things that have now become standard in modern operating systems and online workspaces. I think this was one of the biggest leaps toward the interactive, intuitive computing experience we rely on today.

I feel like almost everything we do today—scrolling on a phone, editing Google Docs, or making a Zoom call—can be traced back to the concepts demonstrated in this single event.

With Gestalt Principles, I think I can make user interfaces more intuitive by carefully grouping related elements together. For example, I can use “Proximity” to ensure that form labels are placed close to input fields, reducing confusion and making it clear which fields belong together. And use “Similarity” to keep all primary buttons in the same color and shape so users can instantly recognize key actions. I also see the importance of “figure-ground contrast”, it can help me to make sure that the most important elements, like call-to-action buttons, stand out clearly from the background. By applying these principles, I believe I can design layouts that feel more structured and require less mental effort for users to navigate.

On the other hand, Fitts’ Law helps me think about “interaction efficiency”. I realize that making buttons larger isn’t just a visual choice, it makes them easier and faster to click. I also realize that placing frequently used elements closer to where users naturally focus their attention—like putting a “submit” button near the form fields can make interactions feel smoother. Additionally, I can take advantage of “screen edges and corners”, by positioning important navigation elements where they are easiest to reach, especially on mobile devices. These small adjustments can significantly “reduce effort and frustration”, and make interactions feel effortless.

By combining Gestalt Principles for structuring information and Fitts’ Law for optimizing interaction, I think I can design interfaces that are not only visually appealing but also incredibly user-friendly. Learning about these principles has given me a new perspective, and moving forward, I want to be more intentional in how I apply them to my design work.

Lovelace as a computer programmer, didn’t just write an algorithm—she imagined how machines could go beyond calculations to create art, music, and even aid human creativity. To me, that’s what interaction design is all about: making technology intuitive, expressive, and seamlessly integrated into human life. Meanwhile, Gilbreth approached design from a behavioral perspective, studying how people interact with their environments to improve efficiency and well-being. Her work in ergonomics and usability mirrors the same principles we use in IXD today—observing users, identifying pain points, and designing solutions that feel natural.

So what makes them essential to IXD history isn’t just their technical contributions, but their way of thinking—a balance of logic and creativity, science and empathy. Lovelace and Gilbreth remind me that great design isn’t just about solving problems; it’s about understanding people. Their contributions are a testament to why interaction design exists in the first place—to bridge the gap between technology and human experience.

The compass icon works well because it taps into a global understanding of direction and navigation, making it intuitive even without text. Similarly, ancient Egyptians used 𓈉 depicting a sun, mountains, and a road and 𓂡 to symbolize movement and exploration. This shows how humans across eras have used real-world objects to create meaningful symbols.

However, modern icons prioritize simplicity and universality, allowing instant recognition, while ancient hieroglyphs required cultural knowledge to interpret. Another parallel is the shared metaphor of movement: both the compass and 𓂡 imply exploration, though modern icons are more abstract and minimalist, suited for today’s digital interfaces.

In my view, this comparison highlights a fundamental similarity: both use visuals to convey meaning quickly. The key difference is accessibility—modern icons are globally intuitive, while ancient symbols were culturally specific. As UI design evolves with AR and VR, the core principle will likely remain: using simple visuals to communicate ideas instantly.