This is the talk that I saw this year that has changed my thinking the most, that I have referred to most often.
Fixme, by David Heinemeier Hansson
This is the talk that I saw this year that has changed my thinking the most, that I have referred to most often.
Fixme, by David Heinemeier Hansson
I go to so many conferences! It’s an awesome and amazing part of my job. I speak at them, but I also attend them. I sit in the front row and live-tweet. I attend talks. I participate in unconference sessions. I talk to people in lines, and at lunch, and at the afterparty. I give out stickers and I say hi to the vendors. Conferences are something I’m an expert at. And when I’m not doing technology stuff, I am support crew for science-fiction conference runners.
Given that, I’m surprised that I haven’t seen a taxonomy of technical conferences, something that would help you understand which flavor of conference you’re about to go to. As near as I can tell, about 10 years ago, there was a great flowering of conference types.
Originally, we had The Technology Conference. People paid a lot of money, they sat in large conference rooms (over 100 people, say), and they listened to industry experts. Some/many of the industry experts were also vendors giving pitches.
Then, a decade ago, many people decided that this method was not meeting their needs, and they wanted more interaction, more peer contact, more connections. We ended up with some new species of conference:
All of these conference styles prize collaborative learning over authoritarian instruction. If you’re a speaker coming from a more authoritarian background, I have to imagine the change is a bit of a shock. I know I have felt weird when presented with a large audience that I can’t see. I don’t want you to think that one way or the other is better – depends on what you need. 50k people wouldn’t go to AWS Reinvent if there wasn’t a value to be found in it. And Reinvent has small, unrecorded sessions as well as the massive keynote sessions.
So who are the stakeholders for running a conference?
When you maximize the happiness or utility for one group, the utility for other groups goes down, or may go down. There are some overlaps. Attendees want content that answers their questions. Speakers want to provide content that is new and promotes their personal brand. Organizers want to select speakers who bring good value and are reliable. Sponsors want their speakers selected because talking about a product drives sales. Attendees, on the whole, don’t want sales-pitch talks. You see the problem!
As a speaker, I prefer single-track conferences. That way, I never miss other people’s talks! The talks are also usually very highly curated, since a day-long conference might only have 7 speakers, so it’s pretty darn flattering to get picked. As an attendee, I like conferences that are sized so each speaker ends up talking to about 50 people. It’s small enough that I feel engaged, and big enough that the speaker doesn’t feel like they have to stop to take questions. As a sponsor, I want multiple tracks with large spaces where people have to walk past my booth to get caffeine. As an organizer, well, I’m still working on that.
I’m thinking about this because LaunchDarkly is assembling our first conference this year (2019), in the spirit of Gremlin’s Chaos Conference and Honeycomb’s o11ycon. What do we want to give people, how many people do we think we’ll have, and how do we make the experience useful?
In the spirit of testing in production, we’re going to try a combination of things – keynotes will be one-track, so everyone has a common thing to talk about, and then we’ll split into other configurations in the afternoon.
We’re looking for people who want to join us on April 9 at Trajectory to talk about feature flagging, trunk-based development, devops tools, testing in production, blue-green deployments, and other ways to speed up your development and delivery…safely.
If you want help with your pitch, or want to noodle around an idea, let me know. I’ll be back at work on the 7th and ready to think it through with you! (Yes, we’ll do bigger announcements later!)
One of the interesting parts of being a semi-public figure by doing DevRel is that it makes you think a lot about how you look to other people, in a way I suspect is not a concern for the ordinary developer. It parallels the doubled perception that a lot of women already experience.
In 1972, art critic and philosopher John Berger wrote,
A woman must continually watch herself. She is almost continually accompanied by her own image of herself. Whilst she is walking across a room or whilst she is weeping at the death of her father, she can scarcely avoid envisaging herself walking or weeping. From earliest childhood she has been taught and persuaded to survey herself continually. And so she comes to consider the surveyor and the surveyed within her as the two constituent yet always distinct elements of her identity as a woman. She has to survey everything she is and everything she does because how she appears to men, is of crucial importance for what is normally thought of as the success of her life. Her own sense of being in herself is supplanted by a sense of being appreciated as herself by another….
It’s reductive and essentialist and troubling, but I’m not sure it’s untrue – there is a level of mindfulness to being visibly female, and a similar level of mindfulness to being visible/active online, and to representing a company.Like all forms of identity, there are a lot of intersections and nuances and complications and historical considerations. I personally know at least two female-presenting people who left technology because the cost to continue was too high, and I can think of many more who have taken deliberately lower-profile, less-dangerous positions. But I also know people who choose to be aggressively public about their gender, their level of ability, their struggles. It’s not a contest, but it is a grind.
There’s a joke-not-joke about how so many women in technology and especially information security have chosen to have obviously artificial hair color. We tell people it’s so we can identify each other in a crowd, or it’s because poisonous animals have bright markings, or because we’ve gotten to the place where we can’t get fired anymore. Because it makes us look queer (a lot of us are, but not all). Because it makes us feel fierce.
Those are all true, and many more reasons besides, but at least for me, having bright pink hair is also a level of defiance. I am not here to look pretty for you. I am not junior enough to worry about my career (a lie, of course). I am aggressively, boldly, assertively female, and I am not ashamed of that. It’s really political, at least for me. If you won’t hire me because of my hair, I don’t want to work for you. And I can make that stick.I know sometimes that people see it as juvenile, or childish, or girly, and discount me because of it.
But here’s the thing – if I am on stage, recognized by a conference as an authority, and I’m girly, it breaks people’s mental model about either what it means to be on stage or to be girly. Every time I make someone reconcile those two things, I hope to make it slightly easier for a junior person who likes winged eyeliner to get credit for a technical idea.
Because here’s the key point –
Dignity has nothing to do with competence.
My friends, if I rock up on the stage and give a mind-blowing talk on the origins of full-disk encryption and AES while wearing a clown suit, I expect you to listen to me and also not dismiss the next person you see trying to explain something while wearing a red nose.
I think, historically, dignity has been coupled with respect and professionalism, but I don’t think that’s an unbreakable triad. I think it’s a habit of mind.
I started thinking about this when I saw something on Twitter about how respect actually has two meanings – the first, for people who are already in power, is actually more like deference from people with less power. Respect the office, the badge, the cloth. The second, the respect desired and demanded by the powerless, is to be treated like a full human. As people in tech, we probably seamlessly use both definitions without realizing we’re moving between them, and which one we mean depends on where we are in the power structure.
Professionalism is, at core, very utilitarian. It means operating with the group standards in a way that keeps the organization from experiencing friction and loss of efficiency. If something is professional, it keeps the gears of collegial relations turning. It is not professional to sexually harass people because it degrades their work efficiency drastically. (It’s also terrible on a number of other levels, but corporations can only be persuaded by the bottom line.) If I’m being treated professionally, it means I have the same opportunities and liabilities as other employees, and that I can count on the explicit and implicit contracts to be followed and enforced. I’ll get paid on time, I’ll be physically safe, my work won’t be arbitrarily discarded, things like that.
I can be professional with pink hair. I can be respectful with pink hair. Those are behaviors that I control. But whether you see me as dignified or not? That’s a tougher call. If I dyed my hair brown, would it be enough? What if I grew out the mohawk? Wore a skirt suit? Wore a pantsuit? Stopped using swearwords in my talks?
No, I think the commentariat has proven that no matter how much competence a woman has, no matter how much time and energy she wastes trying to conform to the standards, there are always some people who won’t see her as dignified. And that’s ok, for me. I can afford that, to a degree. But culturally, every time I see someone dismissive about something that is coded as youthful, joyful, or feminine, I worry that they care more about dignity than they do about competence. I’m not ok with that, and you shouldn’t be, either.
Note: Of course I screw this up. My own internalized misogyny and other shit automatically makes me roll my eyes at signals I consider frivolous or less-than, and I will spend the rest of my life trying to eradicate those habits. Someone once told me that the first reaction you have to something is what you were taught growing up, and the second reaction is the more mindful reaction. Fast and slow thought, if you will.
Check your fast thought against your slow thought and try to make decisions based on what you believe, instead of what you ‘know’.
Corey Quinn, slasher of AWS bills and frequent conference speaker, had me as the first guest on his brand-new podcast, Screaming in the Cloud. We had a great time talking about feature flags, the all-iPad conference setup, testing in production, and how I feel about technical documentation.
And if you’re like me and don’t always have time to listen to podcasts, there’s also a transcript!
(This is the third time I’ve been asked to help kick off a podcast. Feel free to ask me for your own podcast!)
I wrote a 2018 User Experience Prediction at UX Booth. Amy Grace Wells asked me what I thought was going to be a leading theme in UX in the next year, and I said, “better accessibility”. I think that’s both a serious prediction and a hope, because there is never enough accessibility, but I also think we are getting better.
So many things that are designed for accessibility, but that we don’t always understand that way when they happen, and frequently we mock them as lazy or luxurious. Backup cameras on cars seem silly – why not just turn around? Until you physically can’t turn around, and then you realize how much they matter. Pre-chopped vegetables, electric can-openers, and velcro shoes seem laughable – unless you’ve ever been unable to hold something in both hands at once. In the same way, building web and mobile apps to respond to a variety of command styles may not occur to us if our fingers are nimble or our voices clear, but will matter immensely to people who are not in that category.
Since before I was employed at LaunchDarkly, I’ve been fascinated by the ability that feature flags offer designers to customize user experience. We haven’t had a good test case yet that I know of, but it will come, and I’m looking forward to it.
…the mice will self-organize?
My manager is on vacation. Like really a lot on vacation. Logged out of Slack, not on email or phone, not showing up for meetings, none of that. This appears to be what he’s doing:
And he’s been gone, like weeks. OK, I think it’s 2 weeks. But it is significant and meaningful, even during the weird holiday bit at the end of the year.
I have several observations about that:
When you think about it, real vacations are chaos engineering for teams.
So many of these observations can be summed up as trust. Leaving your team takes trust. It’s important to be trusted to do your job without close supervision. It’s really really important to feel valued without feeling like you’re trapped or obligated.
Being essential is not the same as being valued.
Have a great vacation, boss! We’ll catch you on the flip side.
This month marks the end of two organizations that were really important to me, and I want to tell you about them.
Alterconf was a conference series that happened all over the world. The organizing spirit was Ashe Dryden. She took all her experience with the tech industry, gaming, and conferences, and used it to build something new and unique. For a tiny conference series (relatively), Alterconf pulled the Overton window a long way toward justice and equal access. Some of the features that were almost entirely unheard of when it started and are now increasingly common:
They also made sure that all the talks were recorded. Everything Alterconf chose to do ties back to opening up access, removing barriers to participation. So many of the people I can think of now on the speaking circuits got their start at Alterconf.
My Alterconf talk was about the intersection of female socialized caretaking roles and digital security: https://alterconf.com/speakers/heidi-waterhouse
My kid’s first conference talk was also Alterconf: https://alterconf.com/speakers/sebastian-w
He talked about what it’s like to be a kid on the internet before you’re 13.
The topics were personal, varied, heartfelt, meaningful. The speakers were not the usual suspects. Look at all these beautiful people representing a huge diversity of experience.
Alterconf meant a lot to me personally and to the culture of technical talks. I am emboldened by what I learned there.
If Alterconf, with a sliding-scale admission, can afford to pay speakers, I will never accept that bigger, more expensive, better-sponsored conferences can’t. I am especially angry at conferences that don’t even give their speakers a free pass.
So thank you, Ashe, and all the people who made Alterconf happen. I’m sorry it couldn’t last longer, but I understand there’s only so much anyone can pour out.
The Technically Speaking newsletter also ended this month, and for much the same reason – there is only so much self we can pour into a project before it becomes a drain and not a gift. Chiu-Ki Chan and Cate Huston put together a useful, informative, and encouraging newsletter that was applicable to both new/aspiring speakers and experienced folks.
It was opinionated, which was a benefit. There are a lot of conferences out there, and if someone helped me curate for conferences that paid costs or were in my interest range, with write-ups about what to expect, that was so useful! They also curated links to relevant topics, everything from slide design to clothing choices to imposter syndrome. You could always count on some useful bit of data to make you a better speaker, or a better conference organizer. They didn’t shy away from talking about conference-based controversies – like what do you do with an invited speaker who turns out to be A Problem? How do you evaluate whether to pull out of a conference? What are red flags for speakers?
It was also a community, albeit in a weird new-media way. There were other people, other women who were experiencing some of the weird things I was, and I would not have seen them because I’m not in that corner of tech, but the experiences were easy to translate. We cheered each other on, watched for each other at conferences, remembered to act in solidarity when we could, because our sticker-based motto was I have something to say.
I have something to say. And Technically Speaking taught me how to say it.
Technically Speaking Archive: https://tinyletter.com/techspeak/archive
I hate that these things aren’t going to be happening in 2018, or maybe ever again, but no one owes them to me. I’m just going to remember that they were important to me when they happened, and the best way I can honor the work that went into them is teaching other people what I learned, as much as I can, the way I can without damaging myself.
To that end, I’m assembling a little webinar on how to write and submit CfPs. I started doing it as a work thing, to help LaunchDarkly help customers who want to give talks, but when I posted on Twitter that I was going to have a beta to test out my ideas before I used them on my customers, 30+ people told me they wanted my completely untried lesson. So… I’ll beta, and give it to my customers, and then get it recorded. And that will be a little thing I can give to the world that isn’t either Technically Speaking or Alterconf, but still built out of their lessons. I’ll make sure it’s captioned in the final version. I’ll remember that it’s weird and opaque the first few times you submit a conference talk. And I’ll hope I can break the trail a little more, for the people walking behind me, as the people walking in front broke it for me.
Nature’s first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf’s a flower; But only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay.
If you have been in a conference open space with me, you know that I make a terrible yuck face whenever you ask me to talk about working with Confluence. I have yet to work with an instance of Confluence that didn’t make my soul hurt. But it’s not really the technology’s fault if I hate it, is it? Isn’t it about implementation? Aren’t tools essentially neutral?
Yes and no. We talk about opinionated programming languages, but every tool has an opinion about how it should be used, a happy path. For example, the WordPress mobile app is great, and I love it for composing blog posts on the go – that’s what it was made for. But I would find it really irritating as a progress tracker if I tried to use it to replace Trello. Trello thinks in tasks and it’s hard to get it to show you the overall picture of a project. We can go through our whole toolchain like that — each piece of software we build or buy has a way it wants to be used, and although we can hack our way around that, it’s always going to be. more friction than using tools as they were intended.
I’ve been to many DevOps Days in the last couple years, and I keep seeing the same pattern of problem.
This is almost always in a Confluence shop — some people are using other wikis, some people have Word files, but the problem is really recurrent in the Confluence-using places.
I have some suggestions for how you can make this better in your organization.
Of course you can’t implement all of those solutions. Not now and maybe not ever. But you can do some of them whether or not you have buy-in from the rest of the company. Define the purpose of your company and your job and your documentation. Once you know that, you can start working toward it. Next, let the analytics run for a while, and put together a report on them.
When you realize people are trying to search on something that exists and they can’t find it, upgrade your search engine. Once your team is actually using search, you can use the same analytics to strip out low-value or never-used data to make room for more.
What do you think? What tool have you noticed changing your thinking and process? This is one of the reasons I love Monument Valley – while it has predictable rules, it also plays with the dimensions of 2D and 3D space, and it surprises us with optical illusions based on the way we portray dimensional things on a flat screen.
Let’s think about how our viewpoint is constrained by our software, and whether we can spin our point of view.
Possibly the most exciting thing about my new job as Developer Advocate (there are so many!) is that I don’t have to scramble and ask conferences to fund me anymore. That means that speaker funds can go to the next generation of up-and-coming speakers, independents, and folks who don’t get paid to go to conferences.
It also means that the conferences I go to is not a set restricted by people who can afford speaker sponsorship. I have had to turn down acceptances I was excited about because the conference just couldn’t afford to make it happen, and we were all sad. They wanted to have a range of speakers, I wanted to talk to their audience, but the cash just wasn’t there.
What does it mean to sponsor a conference, as a company? Well, you get your name on slides and promotional materials. Sometimes you get a couple minutes to tell people at the conference what it is you do. You get intangible benefits in good will from conference organizers and attendees. That’s all pretty hard to quantify. But just because something is hard to quantify doesn’t mean it isn’t worthwhile. The conferences you choose to sponsor say a lot about your values as a company. Sponsoring small, inclusive conferences is a relatively meaningful statement. You’re saying you care about the community, and about having a code of conduct, and about nurturing emerging or niche technologies.
Think about sponsoring at a huge conference, like AWS re:Invent. 30,000 people showed up in 2016. Logistically, and in every other way, that’s massive, and sponsorship is expensive, and the impact your company will have is dilute. You’re trying to get the attention of the people in your demographic, in the middle of a vast sponsor hall, in Vegas. You may get enough people to make it worthwhile, but it’ll be hella expensive.
Now think about sponsoring a DevOpsDays conference. Minneapolis is huge, at ~1300. There is a vendor room you can walk in half an hour and the people at the tables have time to talk to you, and are maybe giving a relevant talk. It’s a regional event, so if you’re an employer looking to hire, it’s great to find people, because you know they are already invested in the tech, and are in the area. It’s a way to connect with your community, and I don’t have the numbers to prove it, but I’m going to bet it costs companies a lot less than schlepping enough people to represent at the table to Las Vegas. Target was there, and Merrill, and Optuum. They’re signalling that if you work for them, they care about devops and you might get to go to local conferences, and they’re engaged. That matters a lot! Target is still doing rehabilitation on their local reputation after a set of bad decisions around IT, so it doesn’t hurt to have them showing up and working to be better citizens.
As a company, you should also think about sponsoring really small conferences – the 200-400 range, or even local user groups and meetups around your technology stack. Don’t do it because there’s an immediate payoff, or because you can chart a rate of return, but because it’s the right thing to do to nurture the community you draw from. The goodwill, expertise, community engagement, and candidate leads you get will be so much more valuable, dollar-for-dollar. It’s not always the decision-makers who go to these conferences, but they will be decision-makers eventually, because they are displaying exactly the go-getter values that you want by going to conferences. Think of this as contributing back open source code that you refined in house, only instead of features, it’s cash. Sponsoring these small conferences gives people who can’t travel a chance to meet and aspire and network and connect, and that’s immensely valuable to the circle of practitioners in an area and to the development of the technology as a whole. Working for a big company should not be the only way a brilliant Python developer can make connections with her peers.
I was inspired to write this because North Bay Python is looking for sponsors, and because Alterconf has been an astonishingly effective incubator for speakers, and is ending soon (but you can still say you helped!). I wrote it because I’m going to SeaGL, and they aren’t charging attendees at all. So many of my meaningful conference experiences have happened at conferences that are accessible to everyone, not just people with corporate budgets. Also, if you think about it, conference organizers are like the definition of social superconnectors, and they have Quite Strong positive associations with people who give them money to make the magic happen.
So what can you, a technical writer/developer/ordinary person do about this?
If you’re running a small-to-medium conference, reply here and I’ll try to put together a link roundup of conferences people could consider sponsoring. Don’t @ me if you don’t have a Code of Conduct, though. It’s 2017, people.
Also? Vote for your local school bonds and levies, while I’m advocating for spending money on systems thinking.
Also also? AWS Re:Invent? You’re charging $1600/ticket and you can’t provide childcare? Really? I mean, it’s not as bad as Grace Hopper. Don’t even get me started on Grace Hopper, but still.
Today on Twitter, I said:
I really want everyone to stop conflating coding skill with technical skill.
Tech is so much bigger than code. Or it could be.
— Heidi @ home (@wiredferret) August 16, 2017
That’s a lot of response for me. Like “Livetweeting @kelseyhightower” levels of reaction. So let’s stop and talk about that for a bit.
Honestly, I wrote the tweet because a group I respect put out a call for coders to help under-indexed coders do something that is entirely unrelated to coding, and I was frustrated.
Developers are not automatically the smartest people in any room, and I wish we would stop treating them like they were. It leads to all sorts of workplace toxicity. Yes, this is about the Google thing. And the Uber thing, and the thousand and one other sexist and racist things we could rattle off.
Certainly, deifying coding is a contributing part of coders acting like they’re little tin gods. Why wouldn’t they be cocky, if everyone they work with acts like their skill is all that keeps the company afloat? Heck, sometimes entire companies are “acqui-hired” just to get a functional team of coders – the supporting cast and the product are jettisoned, as if they had no value.
I’ve worked with several startups, and at a certain stage, investors stop asking about your coders and developers, and start making noises like maybe there should be a manager, or a financial officer, or a CTO who thinks strategically and not tactically. That’s because at some point, coders are people who exist to execute a vision, but somebody had better have a vision.
A vision isn’t just a rosy sales plan – it comes with understanding the industry, the problem space, the user experience, the way other people will see and use and touch the product. It comes with sales and marketing and QA and tech docs and support. If you are not actively courting the best support staff money can buy and paying them enough to show you respect them, you are, flatly, a fool. A good support person can make or break customer retention.
So every time you talk about teaching girls to code, or asking coders to help other coders with non-code stuff, or putting on a code school with no exploration of other aspects of software development, you’re saying that there is only one right way to be in technology. That is a narrow gate you’re setting up. I don’t like it. It makes me angry, and not just because I don’t code, but because it devalues the contributions of all the other people who make the magic happen.
It takes so much more than code to make a product happen.
Here’s to the PM who works hard to balance conflicting priorities and goes to dozens of meetings, to make sure things turn out as well as possible.
To the QA tester, who designs and runs endless tests in permutations you would swear no human would try, because there is no one more cynical about human intelligence than a tester, and they’re always right.
To the UX designer, who is so often dismissed as “making things pretty”, when they’re actually “making your product usable”. They run hours of human tests, watching and iterating until your product is almost invisible to the user.
To the writers, both technical and marketing, who spend all their time trying to figure out how to make the product real and relevant and useful to the people at the sharp end of the stick.
To the sales and marketing teams, who really do sweat the small stuff, who are actually kind of sick of fancy dinners and travel and airport seats, but who keep at it because they believe in this product and its ability to solve problems. Also sometimes they make us stickers.
To security, who may actually be the smartest people in the room, but have harnessed it all to righteous paranoia so that we don’t have to sit up every night worrying the way they do.
To support, who spend all damn day talking to people who are angry that something is broken, and still pick up the phone and say “How can I help you?” at the next call. They get everything from eyerollingly stupid user errors to actual arcane and intermittent bugs, and we expect them to know their way around our entire stack to troubleshoot. They know so much about the product and the customers, if only we ever asked.
To sysadmins, operations, cable pullers, and the invisible backbone of our infrastructure. We only notice you when things go wrong, but they go right so much more often, and we never notice the rough spots you sanded over already.
To finance and accounting and accounts payable and HR and company operations, who keep the lights on, and the fridge stocked, and who do get paged at 2 in the morning if the cleaning crew sets off the burglar alarm. I’m looking forward to the day I see an office manager tweet an #oncallselfie. They are amazing, attentive, organized, detail-oriented people, and I’m in awe.
To everyone who brings us food, cleans our toilets, vacuums at 2 in the morning, and otherwise lets us live like petty royalty – we owe you so much, and we are too self-conscious to even say thank you sometimes.
To management. Yes, management. Who go to so many meetings, you don’t even know. They’re out there making tradeoffs and calculations and doing the best they can with what they have and when you think about it, they have zero ability to make any difference in the product. All the responsibility, none of the power, at least in that direction.
The next time you hear someone talk about tech jobs as if they were all coding, stop and think a moment. I don’t want to devalue coding – it’s pretty cool. But I do want to pull all these other positions into the limelight of tech, and say,
“All of us make the product, and that’s awesome.”