The Subway Stranger Test

I ride the subway every day. And like most people who ride the subway every day, I have a complicated relationship with it. It is loud and hot and occasionally very slow, and by the time I get on it I am usually carrying whatever the day left me with — which is not always light.

So I decompress. I pull out my phone and I look for something that will take the edge off without taking me out of the room entirely. Because I don't like to fully check out on the subway. You have to know when your stop is coming. You have to stay aware of the people around you. You need to be present enough to be a person in the world, just with slightly less stress than you had a minute ago.

That specific need: Decompression Without Disappearance. This is what I now call the Subway Stranger Test. And when I'm designing something, especially a game or an app, I ask myself: would a tired stranger on the subway want to use this? Not a tech person. Not someone who read the App Store description. Just someone who needs a few minutes of relief and has their phone in their hand.

To pass the test, something has to be simple enough to pick up in seconds. Soothing, not stimulating. Engaging enough to occupy the mind without demanding all of it. And light enough that you can look up when the doors open, check the sign, and still know where you are.

It shaped Ripfitti more directly than anything else. A ripped subway ad always gives me that kind of relief. Because it is an artistic commentary by virtue of the ripping, which could be angry, funny, or even a little sad. You look at it, you feel something, and you take a snap so you can share it. That's the whole interaction. No instructions needed, really.

But it also shaped Mechanical Bird, which surprised me when I thought about it. Mechanical Bird lets you send a poem to someone (you enter a phone number, and the site calls them and reads them a Denver Butson poem). On the surface it seems like the opposite — sending something feels active, intentional, effortful. But it isn't. On the subway you often think about people. Family. Friends. Someone you haven't called in a while. Mechanical Bird just gives that thought somewhere to go. A small, meaningful gesture that takes thirty seconds and requires almost nothing from you.

I guess that's one of the nice things about subway riding. It can be a moment of meditation. Of dreaming. Of letting your mind wander to the places it needs to go.