We are entering unknown territory, and much of what is being done is simply because it can be done.
In the end, wearable technologies will either be able to augment our experiences, and focus our attention on the task and the people with whom we are interacting, or they’ll distract us—diverting our attention through tasty morsels of information irrelevant to the current activity.
When technologies are used to supplement our activities, when the additional information being provided is of direct relevance, our attention can become more highly focused and our understanding and retention enhanced. When the additional information is off-target, no matter how enticing it is, that’s the distracting and disruptive side.
A great example of designing for radical technological change rather than designing for human meaning. Yes, technologically, all of this stuff is possible, but it is not meaningful if it falls on ‘deaf ears.’ If we are not yet ready or equipped to deal with and manage these new technologies, integrating them into our own meaning systems will prove jarring and bring about negative meaning, associations and lack of adoption.
The future of wearables is all down to the depth of their integration and content along with their relation to existing systems of meaning or those closely related.
Back in the days when I was a Parisian, I had a secrete place to escape my daily, stressful routine. Just a couple of hours from the hectic city, I would find a friend, and her wonderful herd in the middle of the vineyards.
Chris was that friend, and my mentor. She knew exactly how to challenge me, how to make me run the extra mile. At her studs I have met awesome instructors and shared memorable discussions about Philippe Karl, horse whispering, foals and good food; and equally memorable rides. There used to be days when I would not even ride, spending hours and hours in the round pen, talking and watching and talking again to some bad-tempered mare.
She introduced me to bareback, bridleless riding, where trust and intuition matter as much as technical skills. Your voice, body weight and neck rope are mere instruments, she meant. You are two different animals, just find ways to make the collaboration possible, and you’ll jump it together. Consolidating my horsemanship under Chris’ guidance was a great luck and inspiration for every day.
Chris was breeding horses but she also helped human-being grow. She was barely 50, had a wonderful daughter and a breast cancer. This evening I have learnt that she has deserted this meadow and her dear horses forever, and I feel terribly sad. Farewell my friend.