I am a creative. What I do is alchemy. It is a mystery. I do not so much do it, as let it be done through me.

I am a creative. Not all creative people like this label. Not all see themselves this way. Some creative people see science in what they do. That is their truth, and I respect it. Maybe I even envy them, a little. But my process is different—my being is different.

Apologizing and qualifying in advance is a distraction. That’s what my brain does to sabotage me. I set it aside for now. I can come back later to apologize and qualify. After I’ve said what I came to say. Which is hard enough. 

Except when it is easy and flows like a river of wine.

Sometimes it does come that way. Sometimes what I need to create comes in an instant. I have learned not to say it at that moment, because if you admit that sometimes the idea just comes and it is the best idea and you know it is the best idea, they think you don’t work hard enough.

Sometimes I work and work and work until the idea comes. Sometimes it comes instantly and I don’t tell anyone for three days. Sometimes I’m so excited by the idea that came instantly that I blurt it out, can’t help myself. Like a boy who found a prize in his Cracker Jacks. Sometimes I get away with this. Sometimes other people agree: yes, that is the best idea. Most times they don’t and I regret having  given way to enthusiasm. 

Enthusiasm is best saved for the meeting where it will make a difference. Not the casual get-together that precedes that meeting by two other meetings. Nobody knows why we have all these meetings. We keep saying we’re doing away with them, but then just finding other ways to have them. Sometimes they are even good. But other times they are a distraction from the actual work. The proportion between when meetings are useful, and when they are a pitiful distraction, varies, depending on what you do and where you do it. And who you are and how you do it. Again I digress. I am a creative. That is the theme.

Sometimes many hours of hard and patient work produce something that is barely serviceable. Sometimes I have to accept that and move on to the next project.

Don’t ask about process. I am a creative.

I am a creative. I don’t control my dreams. And I don’t control my best ideas.

I can hammer away, surround myself with facts or images, and sometimes that works. I can go for a walk, and sometimes that works. I can be making dinner and there’s a Eureka having nothing to do with sizzling oil and bubbling pots. Often I know what to do the instant I wake up. And then, almost as often, as I become conscious and part of the world again, the idea that would have saved me turns to vanishing dust in a mindless wind of oblivion. For creativity, I believe, comes from that other world. The one we enter in dreams, and perhaps, before birth and after death. But that’s for poets to wonder, and I am not a poet. I am a creative. And it’s for theologians to mass armies about in their creative world that they insist is real. But that is another digression. And a depressing one. Maybe on a much more important topic than whether I am a creative or not. But still a digression from what I came here to say.

Sometimes the process is avoidance. And agony. You know the cliché about the tortured artist? It’s true, even when the artist (and let’s put that noun in quotes) is trying to write a soft drink jingle, a callback in a tired sitcom, a budget request.

Some people who hate being called creative may be closeted creatives, but that’s between them and their gods. No offense meant. Your truth is true, too. But mine is for me. 

Creatives recognize creatives.

Creatives recognize creatives like queers recognize queers, like real rappers recognize real rappers, like cons know cons. Creatives feel massive respect for creatives. We love, honor, emulate, and practically deify the great ones. To deify any human is, of course, a tragic mistake. We have been warned. We know better. We know people are just people. They squabble, they are lonely, they regret their most important decisions, they are poor and hungry, they can be cruel, they can be just as stupid as we can, because, like us, they are clay. But. But. But they make this amazing thing. They birth something that did not exist before them, and could not exist without them. They are the mothers of ideas. And I suppose, since it’s just lying there, I have to add that they are the mothers of invention. Ba dum bum! OK, that’s done. Continue.

Creatives belittle our own small achievements, because we compare them to those of the great ones. Beautiful animation! Well, I’m no Miyazaki. Now THAT is greatness. That is greatness straight from the mind of God. This half-starved little thing that I made? It more or less fell off the back of the turnip truck. And the turnips weren’t even fresh.

Creatives knows that, at best, they are Salieri. Even the creatives who are Mozart believe that. 

I am a creative. I haven’t worked in advertising in 30 years, but in my nightmares, it’s my former creative directors who judge me. And they are right to do so. I am too lazy, too facile, and when it really counts, my mind goes blank. There is no pill for creative dysfunction.

I am a creative. Every deadline I make is an adventure that makes Indiana Jones look like a pensioner snoring in a deck chair. The longer I remain a creative, the faster I am when I do my work and the longer I brood and walk in circles and stare blankly before I do that work. 

I am still 10 times faster than people who are not creative, or people who have only been creative a short while, or people who have only been professionally creative a short while. It’s just that, before I work 10 times as fast as they do, I spend twice as long as they do putting the work off. I am that confident in my ability to do a great job when I put my mind to it. I am that addicted to the adrenaline rush of postponement. I am still that afraid of the jump.

I am not an artist.

I am a creative. Not an artist. Though I dreamed, as a lad, of someday being that. Some of us belittle our gifts and dislike ourselves because we are not Michelangelos and Warhols. That is narcissism—but at least we aren’t in politics.

I am a creative. Though I believe in reason and science, I decide by intuition and impulse. And live with what follows—the catastrophes as well as the triumphs. 

I am a creative. Every word I’ve said here will annoy other creatives, who see things differently. Ask two creatives a question, get three opinions. Our disagreement, our passion about it, and our commitment to our own truth are, at least to me, the proofs that we are creatives, no matter how we may feel about it.

I am a creative. I lament my lack of taste in the areas about which I know very little, which is to say almost all areas of human knowledge. And I trust my taste above all other things in the areas closest to my heart, or perhaps, more accurately, to my obsessions. Without my obsessions, I would probably have to spend my time looking life in the eye, and almost none of us can do that for long. Not honestly. Not really. Because much in life, if you really look at it, is unbearable.

I am a creative. I believe, as a parent believes, that when I am gone, some small good part of me will carry on in the mind of at least one other person.

Working saves me from worrying about work.

I am a creative. I live in dread of my small gift suddenly going away.

I am a creative. I am too busy making the next thing to spend too much time deeply considering that almost nothing I make will come anywhere near the greatness I comically aspire to.

I am a creative. I believe in the ultimate mystery of process. I believe in it so much, I am even fool enough to publish an essay I dictated into a tiny machine and didn’t take time to review or revise. I won’t do this often, I promise. But I did it just now, because, as afraid as I might be of your seeing through my pitiful gestures toward the beautiful, I was even more afraid of forgetting what I came to say. 

There. I think I’ve said it. 

In reading Joe Dolson’s recent piece on the intersection of AI and accessibility, I absolutely appreciated the skepticism that he has for AI in general as well as for the ways that many have been using it. In fact, I’m very skeptical of AI myself, despite my role at Microsoft as an accessibility innovation strategist who helps run the AI for Accessibility grant program. As with any tool, AI can be used in very constructive, inclusive, and accessible ways; and it can also be used in destructive, exclusive, and harmful ones. And there are a ton of uses somewhere in the mediocre middle as well.

I’d like you to consider this a “yes… and” piece to complement Joe’s post. I’m not trying to refute any of what he’s saying but rather provide some visibility to projects and opportunities where AI can make meaningful differences for people with disabilities. To be clear, I’m not saying that there aren’t real risks or pressing issues with AI that need to be addressed—there are, and we’ve needed to address them, like, yesterday—but I want to take a little time to talk about what’s possible in hopes that we’ll get there one day.

Alternative text

Joe’s piece spends a lot of time talking about computer-vision models generating alternative text. He highlights a ton of valid issues with the current state of things. And while computer-vision models continue to improve in the quality and richness of detail in their descriptions, their results aren’t great. As he rightly points out, the current state of image analysis is pretty poor—especially for certain image types—in large part because current AI systems examine images in isolation rather than within the contexts that they’re in (which is a consequence of having separate “foundation” models for text analysis and image analysis). Today’s models aren’t trained to distinguish between images that are contextually relevant (that should probably have descriptions) and those that are purely decorative (which might not need a description) either. Still, I still think there’s potential in this space.

As Joe mentions, human-in-the-loop authoring of alt text should absolutely be a thing. And if AI can pop in to offer a starting point for alt text—even if that starting point might be a prompt saying What is this BS? That’s not right at all… Let me try to offer a starting point—I think that’s a win.

Taking things a step further, if we can specifically train a model to analyze image usage in context, it could help us more quickly identify which images are likely to be decorative and which ones likely require a description. That will help reinforce which contexts call for image descriptions and it’ll improve authors’ efficiency toward making their pages more accessible.

While complex images—like graphs and charts—are challenging to describe in any sort of succinct way (even for humans), the image example shared in the GPT4 announcement points to an interesting opportunity as well. Let’s suppose that you came across a chart whose description was simply the title of the chart and the kind of visualization it was, such as: Pie chart comparing smartphone usage to feature phone usage among US households making under $30,000 a year. (That would be a pretty awful alt text for a chart since that would tend to leave many questions about the data unanswered, but then again, let’s suppose that that was the description that was in place.) If your browser knew that that image was a pie chart (because an onboard model concluded this), imagine a world where users could ask questions like these about the graphic:

• Do more people use smartphones or feature phones?
• How many more?
• Is there a group of people that don’t fall into either of these buckets?
• How many is that?

Setting aside the realities of large language model (LLM) hallucinations—where a model just makes up plausible-sounding “facts”—for a moment, the opportunity to learn more about images and data in this way could be revolutionary for blind and low-vision folks as well as for people with various forms of color blindness, cognitive disabilities, and so on. It could also be useful in educational contexts to help people who can see these charts, as is, to understand the data in the charts.

Taking things a step further: What if you could ask your browser to simplify a complex chart? What if you could ask it to isolate a single line on a line graph? What if you could ask your browser to transpose the colors of the different lines to work better for form of color blindness you have? What if you could ask it to swap colors for patterns? Given these tools’ chat-based interfaces and our existing ability to manipulate images in today’s AI tools, that seems like a possibility.

Now imagine a purpose-built model that could extract the information from that chart and convert it to another format. For example, perhaps it could turn that pie chart (or better yet, a series of pie charts) into more accessible (and useful) formats, like spreadsheets. That would be amazing!

Matching algorithms

Safiya Umoja Noble absolutely hit the nail on the head when she titled her book Algorithms of Oppression. While her book was focused on the ways that search engines reinforce racism, I think that it’s equally true that all computer models have the potential to amplify conflict, bias, and intolerance. Whether it’s Twitter always showing you the latest tweet from a bored billionaire, YouTube sending us into a Q-hole, or Instagram warping our ideas of what natural bodies look like, we know that poorly authored and maintained algorithms are incredibly harmful. A lot of this stems from a lack of diversity among the people who shape and build them. When these platforms are built with inclusively baked in, however, there’s real potential for algorithm development to help people with disabilities.

Take Mentra, for example. They are an employment network for neurodivergent people. They use an algorithm to match job seekers with potential employers based on over 75 data points. On the job-seeker side of things, it considers each candidate’s strengths, their necessary and preferred workplace accommodations, environmental sensitivities, and so on. On the employer side, it considers each work environment, communication factors related to each job, and the like. As a company run by neurodivergent folks, Mentra made the decision to flip the script when it came to typical employment sites. They use their algorithm to propose available candidates to companies, who can then connect with job seekers that they are interested in; reducing the emotional and physical labor on the job-seeker side of things.

When more people with disabilities are involved in the creation of algorithms, that can reduce the chances that these algorithms will inflict harm on their communities. That’s why diverse teams are so important.

Imagine that a social media company’s recommendation engine was tuned to analyze who you’re following and if it was tuned to prioritize follow recommendations for people who talked about similar things but who were different in some key ways from your existing sphere of influence. For example, if you were to follow a bunch of nondisabled white male academics who talk about AI, it could suggest that you follow academics who are disabled or aren’t white or aren’t male who also talk about AI. If you took its recommendations, perhaps you’d get a more holistic and nuanced understanding of what’s happening in the AI field. These same systems should also use their understanding of biases about particular communities—including, for instance, the disability community—to make sure that they aren’t recommending any of their users follow accounts that perpetuate biases against (or, worse, spewing hate toward) those groups.

Other ways that AI can helps people with disabilities

If I weren’t trying to put this together between other tasks, I’m sure that I could go on and on, providing all kinds of examples of how AI could be used to help people with disabilities, but I’m going to make this last section into a bit of a lightning round. In no particular order:

• Voice preservation. You may have seen the VALL-E paper or Apple’s Global Accessibility Awareness Day announcement or you may be familiar with the voice-preservation offerings from Microsoft, Acapela, or others. It’s possible to train an AI model to replicate your voice, which can be a tremendous boon for people who have ALS (Lou Gehrig’s disease) or motor-neuron disease or other medical conditions that can lead to an inability to talk. This is, of course, the same tech that can also be used to create audio deepfakes, so it’s something that we need to approach responsibly, but the tech has truly transformative potential.
• Voice recognition. Researchers like those in the Speech Accessibility Project are paying people with disabilities for their help in collecting recordings of people with atypical speech. As I type, they are actively recruiting people with Parkinson’s and related conditions, and they have plans to expand this to other conditions as the project progresses. This research will result in more inclusive data sets that will let more people with disabilities use voice assistants, dictation software, and voice-response services as well as control their computers and other devices more easily, using only their voice.
• Text transformation. The current generation of LLMs is quite capable of adjusting existing text content without injecting hallucinations. This is hugely empowering for people with cognitive disabilities who may benefit from text summaries or simplified versions of text or even text that’s prepped for Bionic Reading.

The importance of diverse teams and data

We need to recognize that our differences matter. Our lived experiences are influenced by the intersections of the identities that we exist in. These lived experiences—with all their complexities (and joys and pain)—are valuable inputs to the software, services, and societies that we shape. Our differences need to be represented in the data that we use to train new models, and the folks who contribute that valuable information need to be compensated for sharing it with us. Inclusive data sets yield more robust models that foster more equitable outcomes.

Want a model that doesn’t demean or patronize or objectify people with disabilities? Make sure that you have content about disabilities that’s authored by people with a range of disabilities, and make sure that that’s well represented in the training data.

Want a model that doesn’t use ableist language? You may be able to use existing data sets to build a filter that can intercept and remediate ableist language before it reaches readers. That being said, when it comes to sensitivity reading, AI models won’t be replacing human copy editors anytime soon. 

Want a coding copilot that gives you accessible recommendations from the jump? Train it on code that you know to be accessible.

I have no doubt that AI can and will harm people… today, tomorrow, and well into the future. But I also believe that we can acknowledge that and, with an eye towards accessibility (and, more broadly, inclusion), make thoughtful, considerate, and intentional changes in our approaches to AI that will reduce harm over time as well. Today, tomorrow, and well into the future.

Many thanks to Kartik Sawhney for helping me with the development of this piece, Ashley Bischoff for her invaluable editorial assistance, and, of course, Joe Dolson for the prompt.

I offer a single bit of advice to friends and family when they become new parents: When you start to think that you’ve got everything figured out, everything will change. Just as you start to get the hang of feedings, diapers, and regular naps, it’s time for solid food, potty training, and overnight sleeping. When you figure those out, it’s time for preschool and rare naps. The cycle goes on and on.

The same applies for those of us working in design and development these days. Having worked on the web for almost three decades at this point, I’ve seen the regular wax and wane of ideas, techniques, and technologies. Each time that we as developers and designers get into a regular rhythm, some new idea or technology comes along to shake things up and remake our world.

How we got here

I built my first website in the mid-’90s. Design and development on the web back then was a free-for-all, with few established norms. For any layout aside from a single column, we used table elements, often with empty cells containing a single pixel spacer GIF to add empty space. We styled text with numerous font tags, nesting the tags every time we wanted to vary the font style. And we had only three or four typefaces to choose from: Arial, Courier, or Times New Roman. When Verdana and Georgia came out in 1996, we rejoiced because our options had nearly doubled. The only safe colors to choose from were the 216 “web safe” colors known to work across platforms. The few interactive elements (like contact forms, guest books, and counters) were mostly powered by CGI scripts (predominantly written in Perl at the time). Achieving any kind of unique look involved a pile of hacks all the way down. Interaction was often limited to specific pages in a site.

The birth of web standards

At the turn of the century, a new cycle started. Crufty code littered with table layouts and font tags waned, and a push for web standards waxed. Newer technologies like CSS got more widespread adoption by browsers makers, developers, and designers. This shift toward standards didn’t happen accidentally or overnight. It took active engagement between the W3C and browser vendors and heavy evangelism from folks like the Web Standards Project to build standards. A List Apart and books like Designing with Web Standards by Jeffrey Zeldman played key roles in teaching developers and designers why standards are important, how to implement them, and how to sell them to their organizations. And approaches like progressive enhancement introduced the idea that content should be available for all browsers—with additional enhancements available for more advanced browsers. Meanwhile, sites like the CSS Zen Garden showcased just how powerful and versatile CSS can be when combined with a solid semantic HTML structure.

Server-side languages like PHP, Java, and .NET overtook Perl as the predominant back-end processors, and the cgi-bin was tossed in the trash bin. With these better server-side tools came the first era of web applications, starting with content-management systems (particularly in the blogging space with tools like Blogger, Grey Matter, Movable Type, and WordPress). In the mid-2000s, AJAX opened doors for asynchronous interaction between the front end and back end. Suddenly, pages could update their content without needing to reload. A crop of JavaScript frameworks like Prototype, YUI, and jQuery arose to help developers build more reliable client-side interaction across browsers that had wildly varying levels of standards support. Techniques like image replacement let crafty designers and developers display fonts of their choosing. And technologies like Flash made it possible to add animations, games, and even more interactivity.

These new technologies, standards, and techniques reinvigorated the industry in many ways. Web design flourished as designers and developers explored more diverse styles and layouts. But we still relied on tons of hacks. Early CSS was a huge improvement over table-based layouts when it came to basic layout and text styling, but its limitations at the time meant that designers and developers still relied heavily on images for complex shapes (such as rounded or angled corners) and tiled backgrounds for the appearance of full-length columns (among other hacks). Complicated layouts required all manner of nested floats or absolute positioning (or both). Flash and image replacement for custom fonts was a great start toward varying the typefaces from the big five, but both hacks introduced accessibility and performance problems. And JavaScript libraries made it easy for anyone to add a dash of interaction to pages, although at the cost of doubling or even quadrupling the download size of simple websites.

The web as software platform

The symbiosis between the front end and back end continued to improve, and that led to the current era of modern web applications. Between expanded server-side programming languages (which kept growing to include Ruby, Python, Go, and others) and newer front-end tools like React, Vue, and Angular, we could build fully capable software on the web. Alongside these tools came others, including collaborative version control, build automation, and shared package libraries. What was once primarily an environment for linked documents became a realm of infinite possibilities.

At the same time, mobile devices became more capable, and they gave us internet access in our pockets. Mobile apps and responsive design opened up opportunities for new interactions anywhere and any time.

This combination of capable mobile devices and powerful development tools contributed to the waxing of social media and other centralized tools for people to connect and consume. As it became easier and more common to connect with others directly on Twitter, Facebook, and even Slack, the desire for hosted personal sites waned. Social media offered connections on a global scale, with both the good and bad that that entails.

Want a much more extensive history of how we got here, with some other takes on ways that we can improve? Jeremy Keith wrote “Of Time and the Web.” Or check out the “Web Design History Timeline” at the Web Design Museum. Neal Agarwal also has a fun tour through “Internet Artifacts.”

Where we are now

In the last couple of years, it’s felt like we’ve begun to reach another major inflection point. As social-media platforms fracture and wane, there’s been a growing interest in owning our own content again. There are many different ways to make a website, from the tried-and-true classic of hosting plain HTML files to static site generators to content management systems of all flavors. The fracturing of social media also comes with a cost: we lose crucial infrastructure for discovery and connection. Webmentions, RSS, ActivityPub, and other tools of the IndieWeb can help with this, but they’re still relatively underimplemented and hard to use for the less nerdy. We can build amazing personal websites and add to them regularly, but without discovery and connection, it can sometimes feel like we may as well be shouting into the void.

Browser support for CSS, JavaScript, and other standards like web components has accelerated, especially through efforts like Interop. New technologies gain support across the board in a fraction of the time that they used to. I often learn about a new feature and check its browser support only to find that its coverage is already above 80 percent. Nowadays, the barrier to using newer techniques often isn’t browser support but simply the limits of how quickly designers and developers can learn what’s available and how to adopt it.

Today, with a few commands and a couple of lines of code, we can prototype almost any idea. All the tools that we now have available make it easier than ever to start something new. But the upfront cost that these frameworks may save in initial delivery eventually comes due as upgrading and maintaining them becomes a part of our technical debt.

If we rely on third-party frameworks, adopting new standards can sometimes take longer since we may have to wait for those frameworks to adopt those standards. These frameworks—which used to let us adopt new techniques sooner—have now become hindrances instead. These same frameworks often come with performance costs too, forcing users to wait for scripts to load before they can read or interact with pages. And when scripts fail (whether through poor code, network issues, or other environmental factors), there’s often no alternative, leaving users with blank or broken pages.

Where do we go from here?

Today’s hacks help to shape tomorrow’s standards. And there’s nothing inherently wrong with embracing hacks—for now—to move the present forward. Problems only arise when we’re unwilling to admit that they’re hacks or we hesitate to replace them. So what can we do to create the future we want for the web?

Build for the long haul. Optimize for performance, for accessibility, and for the user. Weigh the costs of those developer-friendly tools. They may make your job a little easier today, but how do they affect everything else? What’s the cost to users? To future developers? To standards adoption? Sometimes the convenience may be worth it. Sometimes it’s just a hack that you’ve grown accustomed to. And sometimes it’s holding you back from even better options.

Start from standards. Standards continue to evolve over time, but browsers have done a remarkably good job of continuing to support older standards. The same isn’t always true of third-party frameworks. Sites built with even the hackiest of HTML from the ’90s still work just fine today. The same can’t always be said of sites built with frameworks even after just a couple years.

Design with care. Whether your craft is code, pixels, or processes, consider the impacts of each decision. The convenience of many a modern tool comes at the cost of not always understanding the underlying decisions that have led to its design and not always considering the impact that those decisions can have. Rather than rushing headlong to “move fast and break things,” use the time saved by modern tools to consider more carefully and design with deliberation.

Always be learning. If you’re always learning, you’re also growing. Sometimes it may be hard to pinpoint what’s worth learning and what’s just today’s hack. You might end up focusing on something that won’t matter next year, even if you were to focus solely on learning standards. (Remember XHTML?) But constant learning opens up new connections in your brain, and the hacks that you learn one day may help to inform different experiments another day.

Play, experiment, and be weird! This web that we’ve built is the ultimate experiment. It’s the single largest human endeavor in history, and yet each of us can create our own pocket within it. Be courageous and try new things. Build a playground for ideas. Make goofy experiments in your own mad science lab. Start your own small business. There has never been a more empowering place to be creative, take risks, and explore what we’re capable of.

Share and amplify. As you experiment, play, and learn, share what’s worked for you. Write on your own website, post on whichever social media site you prefer, or shout it from a TikTok. Write something for A List Apart! But take the time to amplify others too: find new voices, learn from them, and share what they’ve taught you.

Go forth and make

As designers and developers for the web (and beyond), we’re responsible for building the future every day, whether that may take the shape of personal websites, social media tools used by billions, or anything in between. Let’s imbue our values into the things that we create, and let’s make the web a better place for everyone. Create that thing that only you are uniquely qualified to make. Then share it, make it better, make it again, or make something new. Learn. Make. Share. Grow. Rinse and repeat. Every time you think that you’ve mastered the web, everything will change.

Picture this. You’ve joined a squad at your company that’s designing new product features with an emphasis on automation or AI. Or your company has just implemented a personalization engine. Either way, you’re designing with data. Now what? When it comes to designing for personalization, there are many cautionary tales, no overnight successes, and few guides for the perplexed. 

Between the fantasy of getting it right and the fear of it going wrong—like when we encounter “persofails” in the vein of a company repeatedly imploring everyday consumers to buy additional toilet seats—the personalization gap is real. It’s an especially confounding place to be a digital professional without a map, a compass, or a plan.

For those of you venturing into personalization, there’s no Lonely Planet and few tour guides because effective personalization is so specific to each organization’s talent, technology, and market position. 

But you can ensure that your team has packed its bags sensibly.

There’s a DIY formula to increase your chances for success. At minimum, you’ll defuse your boss’s irrational exuberance. Before the party you’ll need to effectively prepare.

We call it prepersonalization.

Behind the music

Consider Spotify’s DJ feature, which debuted this past year.

We’re used to seeing the polished final result of a personalization feature. Before the year-end award, the making-of backstory, or the behind-the-scenes victory lap, a personalized feature had to be conceived, budgeted, and prioritized. Before any personalization feature goes live in your product or service, it lives amid a backlog of worthy ideas for expressing customer experiences more dynamically.

So how do you know where to place your personalization bets? How do you design consistent interactions that won’t trip up users or—worse—breed mistrust? We’ve found that for many budgeted programs to justify their ongoing investments, they first needed one or more workshops to convene key stakeholders and internal customers of the technology. Make yours count.

​From Big Tech to fledgling startups, we’ve seen the same evolution up close with our clients. In our experiences with working on small and large personalization efforts, a program’s ultimate track record—and its ability to weather tough questions, work steadily toward shared answers, and organize its design and technology efforts—turns on how effectively these prepersonalization activities play out.

Time and again, we’ve seen effective workshops separate future success stories from unsuccessful efforts, saving countless time, resources, and collective well-being in the process.

A personalization practice involves a multiyear effort of testing and feature development. It’s not a switch-flip moment in your tech stack. It’s best managed as a backlog that often evolves through three steps: 

1. customer experience optimization (CXO, also known as A/B testing or experimentation)
2. always-on automations (whether rules-based or machine-generated)
3. mature features or standalone product development (such as Spotify’s DJ experience)

This is why we created our progressive personalization framework and why we’re field-testing an accompanying deck of cards: we believe that there’s a base grammar, a set of “nouns and verbs” that your organization can use to design experiences that are customized, personalized, or automated. You won’t need these cards. But we strongly recommend that you create something similar, whether that might be digital or physical.

Set your kitchen timer

How long does it take to cook up a prepersonalization workshop? The surrounding assessment activities that we recommend including can (and often do) span weeks. For the core workshop, we recommend aiming for two to three days. Here’s a summary of our broader approach along with details on the essential first-day activities.

The full arc of the wider workshop is threefold:

1. Kickstart: This sets the terms of engagement as you focus on the opportunity as well as the readiness and drive of your team and your leadership. .
2. Plan your work: This is the heart of the card-based workshop activities where you specify a plan of attack and the scope of work.
3. Work your plan: This phase is all about creating a competitive environment for team participants to individually pitch their own pilots that each contain a proof-of-concept project, its business case, and its operating model.

Give yourself at least a day, split into two large time blocks, to power through a concentrated version of those first two phases.

Kickstart: Whet your appetite

We call the first lesson the “landscape of connected experience.” It explores the personalization possibilities in your organization. A connected experience, in our parlance, is any UX requiring the orchestration of multiple systems of record on the backend. This could be a content-management system combined with a marketing-automation platform. It could be a digital-asset manager combined with a customer-data platform.

Spark conversation by naming consumer examples and business-to-business examples of connected experience interactions that you admire, find familiar, or even dislike. This should cover a representative range of personalization patterns, including automated app-based interactions (such as onboarding sequences or wizards), notifications, and recommenders. We have a catalog of these in the cards. Here’s a list of 142 different interactions to jog your thinking.

This is all about setting the table. What are the possible paths for the practice in your organization? If you want a broader view, here’s a long-form primer and a strategic framework.

Assess each example that you discuss for its complexity and the level of effort that you estimate that it would take for your team to deliver that feature (or something similar). In our cards, we divide connected experiences into five levels: functions, features, experiences, complete products, and portfolios. Size your own build here. This will help to focus the conversation on the merits of ongoing investment as well as the gap between what you deliver today and what you want to deliver in the future.

Next, have your team plot each idea on the following 2×2 grid, which lays out the four enduring arguments for a personalized experience. This is critical because it emphasizes how personalization can not only help your external customers but also affect your own ways of working. It’s also a reminder (which is why we used the word argument earlier) of the broader effort beyond these tactical interventions.

Each team member should vote on where they see your product or service putting its emphasis. Naturally, you can’t prioritize all of them. The intention here is to flesh out how different departments may view their own upsides to the effort, which can vary from one to the next. Documenting your desired outcomes lets you know how the team internally aligns across representatives from different departments or functional areas.

The third and final kickstart activity is about naming your personalization gap. Is your customer journey well documented? Will data and privacy compliance be too big of a challenge? Do you have content metadata needs that you have to address? (We’re pretty sure that you do: it’s just a matter of recognizing the relative size of that need and its remedy.) In our cards, we’ve noted a number of program risks, including common team dispositions. Our Detractor card, for example, lists six stakeholder behaviors that hinder progress.

Effectively collaborating and managing expectations is critical to your success. Consider the potential barriers to your future progress. Press the participants to name specific steps to overcome or mitigate those barriers in your organization. As studies have shown, personalization efforts face many common barriers.

At this point, you’ve hopefully discussed sample interactions, emphasized a key area of benefit, and flagged key gaps? Good—you’re ready to continue.

Hit that test kitchen

Next, let’s look at what you’ll need to bring your personalization recipes to life. Personalization engines, which are robust software suites for automating and expressing dynamic content, can intimidate new customers. Their capabilities are sweeping and powerful, and they present broad options for how your organization can conduct its activities. This presents the question: Where do you begin when you’re configuring a connected experience?

What’s important here is to avoid treating the installed software like it were a dream kitchen from some fantasy remodeling project (as one of our client executives memorably put it). These software engines are more like test kitchens where your team can begin devising, tasting, and refining the snacks and meals that will become a part of your personalization program’s regularly evolving menu.

The ultimate menu of the prioritized backlog will come together over the course of the workshop. And creating “dishes” is the way that you’ll have individual team stakeholders construct personalized interactions that serve their needs or the needs of others.

The dishes will come from recipes, and those recipes have set ingredients.

Verify your ingredients

Like a good product manager, you’ll make sure—andyou’ll validate with the right stakeholders present—that you have all the ingredients on hand to cook up your desired interaction (or that you can work out what needs to be added to your pantry). These ingredients include the audience that you’re targeting, content and design elements, the context for the interaction, and your measure for how it’ll come together. 

This isn’t just about discovering requirements. Documenting your personalizations as a series of if-then statements lets the team: 

1. compare findings toward a unified approach for developing features, not unlike when artists paint with the same palette; 
2. specify a consistent set of interactions that users find uniform or familiar; 
3. and develop parity across performance measurements and key performance indicators too. 

This helps you streamline your designs and your technical efforts while you deliver a shared palette of core motifs of your personalized or automated experience.

Compose your recipe

What ingredients are important to you? Think of a who-what-when-why construct: 

• Who are your key audience segments or groups?
• What kind of content will you give them, in what design elements, and under what circumstances?
• And for which business and user benefits?

We first developed these cards and card categories five years ago. We regularly play-test their fit with conference audiences and clients. And we still encounter new possibilities. But they all follow an underlying who-what-when-why logic.

Here are three examples for a subscription-based reading app, which you can generally follow along with right to left in the cards in the accompanying photo below. 

1. Nurture personalization: When a guest or an unknown visitor interacts with  a product title, a banner or alert bar appears that makes it easier for them to encounter a related title they may want to read, saving them time.
2. Welcome automation: When there’s a newly registered user, an email is generated to call out the breadth of the content catalog and to make them a happier subscriber.
3. Winback automation: Before their subscription lapses or after a recent failed renewal, a user is sent an email that gives them a promotional offer to suggest that they reconsider renewing or to remind them to renew.

A useful preworkshop activity may be to think through a first draft of what these cards might be for your organization, although we’ve also found that this process sometimes flows best through cocreating the recipes themselves. Start with a set of blank cards, and begin labeling and grouping them through the design process, eventually distilling them to a refined subset of highly useful candidate cards.

You can think of the later stages of the workshop as moving from recipes toward a cookbook in focus—like a more nuanced customer-journey mapping. Individual “cooks” will pitch their recipes to the team, using a common jobs-to-be-done format so that measurability and results are baked in, and from there, the resulting collection will be prioritized for finished design and delivery to production.

Better kitchens require better architecture

Simplifying a customer experience is a complicated effort for those who are inside delivering it. Beware anyone who says otherwise. With that being said,  “Complicated problems can be hard to solve, but they are addressable with rules and recipes.”

When personalization becomes a laugh line, it’s because a team is overfitting: they aren’t designing with their best data. Like a sparse pantry, every organization has metadata debt to go along with its technical debt, and this creates a drag on personalization effectiveness. Your AI’s output quality, for example, is indeed limited by your IA. Spotify’s poster-child prowess today was unfathomable before they acquired a seemingly modest metadata startup that now powers its underlying information architecture.

You can definitely stand the heat…

Personalization technology opens a doorway into a confounding ocean of possible designs. Only a disciplined and highly collaborative approach will bring about the necessary focus and intention to succeed. So banish the dream kitchen. Instead, hit the test kitchen to save time, preserve job satisfaction and security, and safely dispense with the fanciful ideas that originate upstairs of the doers in your organization. There are meals to serve and mouths to feed.

This workshop framework gives you a fighting shot at lasting success as well as sound beginnings. Wiring up your information layer isn’t an overnight affair. But if you use the same cookbook and shared recipes, you’ll have solid footing for success. We designed these activities to make your organization’s needs concrete and clear, long before the hazards pile up.

While there are associated costs toward investing in this kind of technology and product design, your ability to size up and confront your unique situation and your digital capabilities is time well spent. Don’t squander it. The proof, as they say, is in the pudding.

Ever since I was a boy, I’ve been fascinated with movies. I loved the characters and the excitement—but most of all the stories. I wanted to be an actor. And I believed that I’d get to do the things that Indiana Jones did and go on exciting adventures. I even dreamed up ideas for movies that my friends and I could make and star in. But they never went any further. I did, however, end up working in user experience (UX). Now, I realize that there’s an element of theater to UX—I hadn’t really considered it before, but user research is storytelling. And to get the most out of user research, you need to tell a good story where you bring stakeholders—the product team and decision makers—along and get them interested in learning more.

Think of your favorite movie. More than likely it follows a three-act structure that’s commonly seen in storytelling: the setup, the conflict, and the resolution. The first act shows what exists today, and it helps you get to know the characters and the challenges and problems that they face. Act two introduces the conflict, where the action is. Here, problems grow or get worse. And the third and final act is the resolution. This is where the issues are resolved and the characters learn and change. I believe that this structure is also a great way to think about user research, and I think that it can be especially helpful in explaining user research to others.

Use storytelling as a structure to do research

It’s sad to say, but many have come to see research as being expendable. If budgets or timelines are tight, research tends to be one of the first things to go. Instead of investing in research, some product managers rely on designers or—worse—their own opinion to make the “right” choices for users based on their experience or accepted best practices. That may get teams some of the way, but that approach can so easily miss out on solving users’ real problems. To remain user-centered, this is something we should avoid. User research elevates design. It keeps it on track, pointing to problems and opportunities. Being aware of the issues with your product and reacting to them can help you stay ahead of your competitors.

In the three-act structure, each act corresponds to a part of the process, and each part is critical to telling the whole story. Let’s look at the different acts and how they align with user research.

Act one: setup

The setup is all about understanding the background, and that’s where foundational research comes in. Foundational research (also called generative, discovery, or initial research) helps you understand users and identify their problems. You’re learning about what exists today, the challenges users have, and how the challenges affect them—just like in the movies. To do foundational research, you can conduct contextual inquiries or diary studies (or both!), which can help you start to identify problems as well as opportunities. It doesn’t need to be a huge investment in time or money.

Erika Hall writes about minimum viable ethnography, which can be as simple as spending 15 minutes with a user and asking them one thing: “‘Walk me through your day yesterday.’ That’s it. Present that one request. Shut up and listen to them for 15 minutes. Do your damndest to keep yourself and your interests out of it. Bam, you’re doing ethnography.” According to Hall, “[This] will probably prove quite illuminating. In the highly unlikely case that you didn’t learn anything new or useful, carry on with enhanced confidence in your direction.”  

This makes total sense to me. And I love that this makes user research so accessible. You don’t need to prepare a lot of documentation; you can just recruit participants and do it! This can yield a wealth of information about your users, and it’ll help you better understand them and what’s going on in their lives. That’s really what act one is all about: understanding where users are coming from. 

Jared Spool talks about the importance of foundational research and how it should form the bulk of your research. If you can draw from any additional user data that you can get your hands on, such as surveys or analytics, that can supplement what you’ve heard in the foundational studies or even point to areas that need further investigation. Together, all this data paints a clearer picture of the state of things and all its shortcomings. And that’s the beginning of a compelling story. It’s the point in the plot where you realize that the main characters—or the users in this case—are facing challenges that they need to overcome. Like in the movies, this is where you start to build empathy for the characters and root for them to succeed. And hopefully stakeholders are now doing the same. Their sympathy may be with their business, which could be losing money because users can’t complete certain tasks. Or maybe they do empathize with users’ struggles. Either way, act one is your initial hook to get the stakeholders interested and invested.

Once stakeholders begin to understand the value of foundational research, that can open doors to more opportunities that involve users in the decision-making process. And that can guide product teams toward being more user-centered. This benefits everyone—users, the product, and stakeholders. It’s like winning an Oscar in movie terms—it often leads to your product being well received and successful. And this can be an incentive for stakeholders to repeat this process with other products. Storytelling is the key to this process, and knowing how to tell a good story is the only way to get stakeholders to really care about doing more research. 

This brings us to act two, where you iteratively evaluate a design or concept to see whether it addresses the issues.

Act two: conflict

Act two is all about digging deeper into the problems that you identified in act one. This usually involves directional research, such as usability tests, where you assess a potential solution (such as a design) to see whether it addresses the issues that you found. The issues could include unmet needs or problems with a flow or process that’s tripping users up. Like act two in a movie, more issues will crop up along the way. It’s here that you learn more about the characters as they grow and develop through this act. 

Usability tests should typically include around five participants according to Jakob Nielsen, who found that that number of users can usually identify most of the problems: “As you add more and more users, you learn less and less because you will keep seeing the same things again and again… After the fifth user, you are wasting your time by observing the same findings repeatedly but not learning much new.” 

There are parallels with storytelling here too; if you try to tell a story with too many characters, the plot may get lost. Having fewer participants means that each user’s struggles will be more memorable and easier to relay to other stakeholders when talking about the research. This can help convey the issues that need to be addressed while also highlighting the value of doing the research in the first place.

Researchers have run usability tests in person for decades, but you can also conduct usability tests remotely using tools like Microsoft Teams, Zoom, or other teleconferencing software. This approach has become increasingly popular since the beginning of the pandemic, and it works well. You can think of in-person usability tests like going to a play and remote sessions as more like watching a movie. There are advantages and disadvantages to each. In-person usability research is a much richer experience. Stakeholders can experience the sessions with other stakeholders. You also get real-time reactions—including surprise, agreement, disagreement, and discussions about what they’re seeing. Much like going to a play, where audiences get to take in the stage, the costumes, the lighting, and the actors’ interactions, in-person research lets you see users up close, including their body language, how they interact with the moderator, and how the scene is set up.

If in-person usability testing is like watching a play—staged and controlled—then conducting usability testing in the field is like immersive theater where any two sessions might be very different from one another. You can take usability testing into the field by creating a replica of the space where users interact with the product and then conduct your research there. Or you can go out to meet users at their location to do your research. With either option, you get to see how things work in context, things come up that wouldn’t have in a lab environment—and conversion can shift in entirely different directions. As researchers, you have less control over how these sessions go, but this can sometimes help you understand users even better. Meeting users where they are can provide clues to the external forces that could be affecting how they use your product. In-person usability tests provide another level of detail that’s often missing from remote usability tests. 

That’s not to say that the “movies”—remote sessions—aren’t a good option. Remote sessions can reach a wider audience. They allow a lot more stakeholders to be involved in the research and to see what’s going on. And they open the doors to a much wider geographical pool of users. But with any remote session there is the potential of time wasted if participants can’t log in or get their microphone working. 

The benefit of usability testing, whether remote or in person, is that you get to see real users interact with the designs in real time, and you can ask them questions to understand their thought processes and grasp of the solution. This can help you not only identify problems but also glean why they’re problems in the first place. Furthermore, you can test hypotheses and gauge whether your thinking is correct. By the end of the sessions, you’ll have a much clearer picture of how usable the designs are and whether they work for their intended purposes. Act two is the heart of the story—where the excitement is—but there can be surprises too. This is equally true of usability tests. Often, participants will say unexpected things, which change the way that you look at things—and these twists in the story can move things in new directions. 

Unfortunately, user research is sometimes seen as expendable. And too often usability testing is the only research process that some stakeholders think that they ever need. In fact, if the designs that you’re evaluating in the usability test aren’t grounded in a solid understanding of your users (foundational research), there’s not much to be gained by doing usability testing in the first place. That’s because you’re narrowing the focus of what you’re getting feedback on, without understanding the users’ needs. As a result, there’s no way of knowing whether the designs might solve a problem that users have. It’s only feedback on a particular design in the context of a usability test.  

On the other hand, if you only do foundational research, while you might have set out to solve the right problem, you won’t know whether the thing that you’re building will actually solve that. This illustrates the importance of doing both foundational and directional research. 

In act two, stakeholders will—hopefully—get to watch the story unfold in the user sessions, which creates the conflict and tension in the current design by surfacing their highs and lows. And in turn, this can help motivate stakeholders to address the issues that come up.

Act three: resolution

While the first two acts are about understanding the background and the tensions that can propel stakeholders into action, the third part is about resolving the problems from the first two acts. While it’s important to have an audience for the first two acts, it’s crucial that they stick around for the final act. That means the whole product team, including developers, UX practitioners, business analysts, delivery managers, product managers, and any other stakeholders that have a say in the next steps. It allows the whole team to hear users’ feedback together, ask questions, and discuss what’s possible within the project’s constraints. And it lets the UX research and design teams clarify, suggest alternatives, or give more context behind their decisions. So you can get everyone on the same page and get agreement on the way forward.

This act is mostly told in voiceover with some audience participation. The researcher is the narrator, who paints a picture of the issues and what the future of the product could look like given the things that the team has learned. They give the stakeholders their recommendations and their guidance on creating this vision.

Nancy Duarte in the Harvard Business Review offers an approach to structuring presentations that follow a persuasive story. “The most effective presenters use the same techniques as great storytellers: By reminding people of the status quo and then revealing the path to a better way, they set up a conflict that needs to be resolved,” writes Duarte. “That tension helps them persuade the audience to adopt a new mindset or behave differently.”

This type of structure aligns well with research results, and particularly results from usability tests. It provides evidence for “what is”—the problems that you’ve identified. And “what could be”—your recommendations on how to address them. And so on and so forth.

You can reinforce your recommendations with examples of things that competitors are doing that could address these issues or with examples where competitors are gaining an edge. Or they can be visual, like quick mockups of how a new design could look that solves a problem. These can help generate conversation and momentum. And this continues until the end of the session when you’ve wrapped everything up in the conclusion by summarizing the main issues and suggesting a way forward. This is the part where you reiterate the main themes or problems and what they mean for the product—the denouement of the story. This stage gives stakeholders the next steps and hopefully the momentum to take those steps!

While we are nearly at the end of this story, let’s reflect on the idea that user research is storytelling. All the elements of a good story are there in the three-act structure of user research: 

• Act one: You meet the protagonists (the users) and the antagonists (the problems affecting users). This is the beginning of the plot. In act one, researchers might use methods including contextual inquiry, ethnography, diary studies, surveys, and analytics. The output of these methods can include personas, empathy maps, user journeys, and analytics dashboards.

• Act two: Next, there’s character development. There’s conflict and tension as the protagonists encounter problems and challenges, which they must overcome. In act two, researchers might use methods including usability testing, competitive benchmarking, and heuristics evaluation. The output of these can include usability findings reports, UX strategy documents, usability guidelines, and best practices.

• Act three: The protagonists triumph and you see what a better future looks like. In act three, researchers may use methods including presentation decks, storytelling, and digital media. The output of these can be: presentation decks, video clips, audio clips, and pictures. 

The researcher has multiple roles: they’re the storyteller, the director, and the producer. The participants have a small role, but they are significant characters (in the research). And the stakeholders are the audience. But the most important thing is to get the story right and to use storytelling to tell users’ stories through research. By the end, the stakeholders should walk away with a purpose and an eagerness to resolve the product’s ills. 

So the next time that you’re planning research with clients or you’re speaking to stakeholders about research that you’ve done, think about how you can weave in some storytelling. Ultimately, user research is a win-win for everyone, and you just need to get stakeholders interested in how the story ends.

Marketing That Connects and Converts written by John Jantsch read more at Duct Tape Marketing

Listen to the full episode:   Overview In this episode of the Duct Tape Marketing Podcast, John Jantsch interviews Talia Wolf, internationally recognized conversion optimization expert, keynote speaker, and founder of GetUplift. Talia shares insights from her new book, “Emotional Targeting: When Hearts Boost Sales, Own the Market,” and explains how brands can dramatically improve […]

Marketing That Connects and Converts written by John Jantsch read more at Duct Tape Marketing

“Ironically or not, I’ve never really seen myself as the assassin guy,” Derek Kolstad, creator of the John Wick films and Netflix’s upcoming Splinter Cell series, admits. Instead, it all comes down to characters. “One of the things that I like about Sam Fisher, John Wick, and Hutch Mansell [from Nobody] is that, yes, they’re […]

The post John Wick Creator Derek Kolstad Brings Splinter Cell to Netflix appeared first on Den of Geek.

Michael Holt (Edi Gathegi), also known as Mr. Terrific, has long been one of the most brilliant, layered, and morally grounded characters in the DC Universe. He’s also been one of its most overlooked. For nearly three decades, live-action and animated adaptations have reduced him to comic relief, background support, or a footnote in someone else’s story.

Until now.

In Superman, James Gunn doesn’t reinvent Mr. Terrific. He restores him. From the moment Holt appears, he stands as an equal and peer, not a sidekick, to Superman himself. He commands the screen with quiet confidence, carries his intellect without arrogance, and moves with the emotional clarity rarely afforded to Black male characters in genre storytelling. He is shown as the total package: physical, strategic, principled, and emotionally intelligent. That’s not just a creative decision. It’s a pattern of character building that we’ve seen from Gunn before.

Mr. Terrific is the latest addition to a lineage of Black characters written by Gunn with intentionality, agency, and layered humanity. From the guarded vulnerability of Idris Elba’s Bloodsport to Leota Adebayo’s (Danielle Moore) ethical awakening, from the calculated control Viola Davis brought to a second outing with Amanda Waller to Clemson Murn’s (Chukwudi Iwuji) internal war, Gunn doesn’t flatten Blackness into a trope. He writes it carefully.

He proves, once again, that Black characters can be fully realized, emotionally complex, and narratively central. So it is that Gunn’s Superman doesn’t just introduce Mr. Terrific; it positions him exactly where he’s always belonged… at the center with his contemporaries.

Michael Holt: Reclaiming the Character from the Margins

Michael Holt made his debut in The Spectre #54 (1997), created by John Ostrander and Tom Mandrake. From the beginning, he stood apart. Not driven by revenge or destined for greatness, Holt was shaped by loss. After his wife and unborn child died in a car accident, he contemplated if his own life was worth living until science, discipline, and a deep care for humanity called him back. He earned over a dozen PhDs, became an Olympic gold medalist in the decathlon, and designed the T-spheres—sophisticated AI-driven technology capable of analysis, defense, surveillance, and other endless possibilities. He then joined the Justice Society of America not to fight for glory, but to serve with precision and empathy.

In the comics, Holt was always portrayed as a moral tactician trusted by gods, leaders, and even the Multiverse itself. Yet his onscreen appearances never truly reflected that. Justice League Unlimited reduced him to a background administrator. Arrow renamed him Curtis Holt and softened his edges into relief work. He became palatable, not powerful.

Gunn reverses all of that. His Mr. Terrific isn’t a footnote. He’s a force. Holt is introduced not with spectacle, but with extreme competence. He moves beside Superman, not behind him or subservient to him. He is shown as a fully formed physical, intellectual, principled, and emotionally grounded hero. It is the clearest articulation yet of the character’s original DNA.

And for actor Edi Gathegi, it’s more than a role. Mirroring Mr. Terrific’s newfound stardom, he gets his own reclamation. After his abrupt and underwritten exit as Darwin in X-Men: First Class, Gathegi finally gets a role built for longevity and layered with purpose. It lets both the actor and the character command the screen with quiet authority. An elite performer and elite hero converge in a space designed perfectly for them.

Presence as Power: Edi Gathegi’s Terrific Performance

Gathegi doesn’t overplay a single scene in Superman. His performance is quiet but exact. When Holt and Lois Lane infiltrate Lex Luthor’s off-grid blacksite, the brilliance of the character comes through, not depending on exposition, but in action. Holt calculates firing patterns, reprograms his T-spheres mid-combat, and shields Lois with clinical precision. Every movement is purposeful. There is no ego present. He embodies focus, calculation, and courage.

Gunn doesn’t frame Holt as comic relief or overcompensate with exaggerated strength or powersets. Instead Holt becomes the genre’s rarest creation—a Black hero allowed to be calm and lead with resolve. His silence speaks while his intellect pilots. His restraint is never mistaken for weakness. Even in scenes where other characters lean into chaos, Holt operates with clarity and thoughtfulness.

One of the film’s most meaningful choices is how Gunn handles Holt’s name. When Guy Gardner mocks “Mr. Terrific” as ridiculous, Holt doesn’t react. He doesn’t need to. His name is not a boast. It’s a claim and a self-affirmation. Gunn doesn’t treat it as a punchline. Over the course of the film, the name earns weight because Holt does. Where audiences and even the people inside of these universes have accepted the Superman moniker, Gunn strips away the last shred of unintentional goofiness from Mr. Terrific too. He makes more than just a title. It is an actualization of his being.

It is not the first time Gunn has sought to move past cliché and stereotypes while writing Black characters in the superhero space.

Bloodsport

At a glance Bloodsport (Idris Elba) might have looked like a spiritual successor to Deadshot (Will Smith) when his poster first dropped in The Suicide Squad, but the writing tells a different story. Deadshot in David Ayer’s Suicide Squad is charismatic, guilt-ridden, and gets a redemption arc centered on paternal love. Bloodsport in Gunn’s film, by contrast, is cold, angry, and emotionally blocked. He’s not a man reaching for redemption. He’s one trying not to drown in shame.

Gunn doesn’t smooth over that pain. Instead he lets it unfold slowly. When Bloodsport protects Ratcatcher 2 (Daniela Melchior), it’s not framed as nobility. It’s a fragmented attempt to do better than he did before. He’s not written to inspire. He’s written to be understood. That distinction matters. Gunn doesn’t elevate Bloodsport by stripping away his flaws. He lets those flaws breathe. The result is a man who earns our attention not by becoming perfect, but by staying present.

Amanda Waller

Viola Davis first played Amanda Waller in Ayer’s Suicide Squad where her character’s cold efficiency often got buried beneath tonal dissonance and narrative chaos. Gunn corrects her course by providing Davis a role that favors stillness, silence, and unflinching power. In both The Suicide Squad and Peacemaker, Waller is terrifying not because she acts violently but because she doesn’t have to do so. She is the system personified. She is calculating, bureaucratic, and completely detached from morality. She doesn’t believe in the world’s definition of honor.

Davis delivers one of the most controlled performances in the genre. She doesn’t need monologues. Her eyes, posture, and pauses do the talking. Gunn trusts that, and it pays off. In one of Peacemaker’s most devastating reveals, Waller uses her own daughter as a pawn in a government experiment. There’s no dramatic music or scream. There is only procedural betrayal placed in Davis’ hands to deliver just when maternal love feels like it could overcome structure.

Clemson Murn

Clemson Murn (Chukwudi Iwuji) in Peacemaker is an alien parasite using the body of a former mercenary to try and save humanity from itself. It’s an absurd premise made intimate through Gunn’s writing. Murn is haunted, not just by the violence of his host, but by the limits of his own morality. He operates in secrecy, leads with calculation, and sacrifices comfort for purpose.

When he dies, there is no heroic swell or final speech. His death is quiet, full of irony, and grounded in a body never fully his own. Gunn doesn’t ask us to cheer and doesn’t write his character to evoke that emotion. He asks us to feel this moment. Murn is a contradiction made manifest, and that’s what makes him resonate.

Leota Adebayo

Danielle Brooks’ Leota Adebayo is the moral compass of Peacemaker, and Gunn treats that compass with respect. She is not a trained assassin or hardened operative. She’s awkward, deeply empathetic, and learning as she goes. It doesn’t make her weak. It’s a sharp, intentional contrast to her mother, Amanda Waller. It makes her transformative and leaves us to question what real moral strength looks like.

She holistically rejects her mother’s inheritance. When she exposes Project Butterfly and her own mother’s corruption, her choice goes beyond just bravery. It’s a culmination of every choice she’s made to tell the truth, no matter the cost. Her softness isn’t shaped as something to overcome. It’s her light and the very trait that changes the people around her.

The High Evolutionary

In Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3, the High Evolutionary (Chukwudi Iwuji) is not misunderstood. He is monstrous. Where others may have tried to humanize him, Gunn goes the other way and reveals that some monsters are just monsters. The High Evolutionary experiments on sentient life, manipulates DNA, and abuses power under the guise of progress.

His obsession with perfection is cruel by nature, the real endpoint for perfectionism that goes untamed and isn’t guided by morality. Gunn lets the metaphor land. When Rocket tears off his face, the horror is literal and symbolic. Beneath the obsession with order lies disfigurement. It’s not subtle and it wasn’t meant to be. Gunn doesn’t let us look away. He makes us sit in the discomfort because it mirrors real-world cruelty that often hides behind the language of progress.

From Antiheroes to Apex, Gunn’s Blueprint Comes Full Circle

What connects Gunn’s portrayals of Bloodsport, Amanda Waller, Clemson Murn, Leota Adebayo, and the High Evolutionary is not just their shared identity. It is the way he writes them with full dimensionality. These characters are not reduced to tropes or symbolic placeholders. They are flawed, complex, emotionally grounded, and essential to the story. Gunn gives them contradictions that make them human and not just placeholders.

Still, these characters mostly live in the margins of morality. They are survivors, antagonists, antiheroes, and systems in conflict with themselves. Their stories matter, but they operate within tension and limitation.

They paved the way for Mr. Terrific, who is something else entirely.

He is not a villain, an antihero, or a cautionary figure. He is the culmination of Gunn’s idea of a Black superhero written with clarity, precision, and unwavering purpose. He sets a new standard of leadership and who can realistically be a vessel of it. Holt is peer to Superman in every sense. A fully realized superhero written without compromise, centered without spectacle, and portrayed with the emotional intelligence storytelling often neglects.

In a time when Black characters in media are still too often confined to trauma, tokenism, or moral compromise, Holt’s Mr. Terrific becomes an urgent reminder of who we’re allowed to be and believe in. He demands presence and proves that Black excellence doesn’t need translation, just recognition.

With Mr. Terrific, Gunn doesn’t offer a revision. He offers a restoration. One that affirms what should have always been possible.

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Michael Holt (Edi Gathegi), also known as Mr. Terrific, has long been one of the most brilliant, layered, and morally grounded characters in the DC Universe. He’s also been one of its most overlooked. For nearly three decades, live-action and animated adaptations have reduced him to comic relief, background support, or a footnote in someone […]

The post Superman: Mr. Terrific and James Gunn’s Approach to Black Characters appeared first on Den of Geek.

Michael Holt (Edi Gathegi), also known as Mr. Terrific, has long been one of the most brilliant, layered, and morally grounded characters in the DC Universe. He’s also been one of its most overlooked. For nearly three decades, live-action and animated adaptations have reduced him to comic relief, background support, or a footnote in someone else’s story.

Until now.

In Superman, James Gunn doesn’t reinvent Mr. Terrific. He restores him. From the moment Holt appears, he stands as an equal and peer, not a sidekick, to Superman himself. He commands the screen with quiet confidence, carries his intellect without arrogance, and moves with the emotional clarity rarely afforded to Black male characters in genre storytelling. He is shown as the total package: physical, strategic, principled, and emotionally intelligent. That’s not just a creative decision. It’s a pattern of character building that we’ve seen from Gunn before.

Mr. Terrific is the latest addition to a lineage of Black characters written by Gunn with intentionality, agency, and layered humanity. From the guarded vulnerability of Idris Elba’s Bloodsport to Leota Adebayo’s (Danielle Moore) ethical awakening, from the calculated control Viola Davis brought to a second outing with Amanda Waller to Clemson Murn’s (Chukwudi Iwuji) internal war, Gunn doesn’t flatten Blackness into a trope. He writes it carefully.

He proves, once again, that Black characters can be fully realized, emotionally complex, and narratively central. So it is that Gunn’s Superman doesn’t just introduce Mr. Terrific; it positions him exactly where he’s always belonged… at the center with his contemporaries.

Michael Holt: Reclaiming the Character from the Margins

Michael Holt made his debut in The Spectre #54 (1997), created by John Ostrander and Tom Mandrake. From the beginning, he stood apart. Not driven by revenge or destined for greatness, Holt was shaped by loss. After his wife and unborn child died in a car accident, he contemplated if his own life was worth living until science, discipline, and a deep care for humanity called him back. He earned over a dozen PhDs, became an Olympic gold medalist in the decathlon, and designed the T-spheres—sophisticated AI-driven technology capable of analysis, defense, surveillance, and other endless possibilities. He then joined the Justice Society of America not to fight for glory, but to serve with precision and empathy.

In the comics, Holt was always portrayed as a moral tactician trusted by gods, leaders, and even the Multiverse itself. Yet his onscreen appearances never truly reflected that. Justice League Unlimited reduced him to a background administrator. Arrow renamed him Curtis Holt and softened his edges into relief work. He became palatable, not powerful.

Gunn reverses all of that. His Mr. Terrific isn’t a footnote. He’s a force. Holt is introduced not with spectacle, but with extreme competence. He moves beside Superman, not behind him or subservient to him. He is shown as a fully formed physical, intellectual, principled, and emotionally grounded hero. It is the clearest articulation yet of the character’s original DNA.

And for actor Edi Gathegi, it’s more than a role. Mirroring Mr. Terrific’s newfound stardom, he gets his own reclamation. After his abrupt and underwritten exit as Darwin in X-Men: First Class, Gathegi finally gets a role built for longevity and layered with purpose. It lets both the actor and the character command the screen with quiet authority. An elite performer and elite hero converge in a space designed perfectly for them.

Presence as Power: Edi Gathegi’s Terrific Performance

Gathegi doesn’t overplay a single scene in Superman. His performance is quiet but exact. When Holt and Lois Lane infiltrate Lex Luthor’s off-grid blacksite, the brilliance of the character comes through, not depending on exposition, but in action. Holt calculates firing patterns, reprograms his T-spheres mid-combat, and shields Lois with clinical precision. Every movement is purposeful. There is no ego present. He embodies focus, calculation, and courage.

Gunn doesn’t frame Holt as comic relief or overcompensate with exaggerated strength or powersets. Instead Holt becomes the genre’s rarest creation—a Black hero allowed to be calm and lead with resolve. His silence speaks while his intellect pilots. His restraint is never mistaken for weakness. Even in scenes where other characters lean into chaos, Holt operates with clarity and thoughtfulness.

One of the film’s most meaningful choices is how Gunn handles Holt’s name. When Guy Gardner mocks “Mr. Terrific” as ridiculous, Holt doesn’t react. He doesn’t need to. His name is not a boast. It’s a claim and a self-affirmation. Gunn doesn’t treat it as a punchline. Over the course of the film, the name earns weight because Holt does. Where audiences and even the people inside of these universes have accepted the Superman moniker, Gunn strips away the last shred of unintentional goofiness from Mr. Terrific too. He makes more than just a title. It is an actualization of his being.

It is not the first time Gunn has sought to move past cliché and stereotypes while writing Black characters in the superhero space.

Bloodsport

At a glance Bloodsport (Idris Elba) might have looked like a spiritual successor to Deadshot (Will Smith) when his poster first dropped in The Suicide Squad, but the writing tells a different story. Deadshot in David Ayer’s Suicide Squad is charismatic, guilt-ridden, and gets a redemption arc centered on paternal love. Bloodsport in Gunn’s film, by contrast, is cold, angry, and emotionally blocked. He’s not a man reaching for redemption. He’s one trying not to drown in shame.

Gunn doesn’t smooth over that pain. Instead he lets it unfold slowly. When Bloodsport protects Ratcatcher 2 (Daniela Melchior), it’s not framed as nobility. It’s a fragmented attempt to do better than he did before. He’s not written to inspire. He’s written to be understood. That distinction matters. Gunn doesn’t elevate Bloodsport by stripping away his flaws. He lets those flaws breathe. The result is a man who earns our attention not by becoming perfect, but by staying present.

Amanda Waller

Viola Davis first played Amanda Waller in Ayer’s Suicide Squad where her character’s cold efficiency often got buried beneath tonal dissonance and narrative chaos. Gunn corrects her course by providing Davis a role that favors stillness, silence, and unflinching power. In both The Suicide Squad and Peacemaker, Waller is terrifying not because she acts violently but because she doesn’t have to do so. She is the system personified. She is calculating, bureaucratic, and completely detached from morality. She doesn’t believe in the world’s definition of honor.

Davis delivers one of the most controlled performances in the genre. She doesn’t need monologues. Her eyes, posture, and pauses do the talking. Gunn trusts that, and it pays off. In one of Peacemaker’s most devastating reveals, Waller uses her own daughter as a pawn in a government experiment. There’s no dramatic music or scream. There is only procedural betrayal placed in Davis’ hands to deliver just when maternal love feels like it could overcome structure.

Clemson Murn

Clemson Murn (Chukwudi Iwuji) in Peacemaker is an alien parasite using the body of a former mercenary to try and save humanity from itself. It’s an absurd premise made intimate through Gunn’s writing. Murn is haunted, not just by the violence of his host, but by the limits of his own morality. He operates in secrecy, leads with calculation, and sacrifices comfort for purpose.

When he dies, there is no heroic swell or final speech. His death is quiet, full of irony, and grounded in a body never fully his own. Gunn doesn’t ask us to cheer and doesn’t write his character to evoke that emotion. He asks us to feel this moment. Murn is a contradiction made manifest, and that’s what makes him resonate.

Leota Adebayo

Danielle Brooks’ Leota Adebayo is the moral compass of Peacemaker, and Gunn treats that compass with respect. She is not a trained assassin or hardened operative. She’s awkward, deeply empathetic, and learning as she goes. It doesn’t make her weak. It’s a sharp, intentional contrast to her mother, Amanda Waller. It makes her transformative and leaves us to question what real moral strength looks like.

She holistically rejects her mother’s inheritance. When she exposes Project Butterfly and her own mother’s corruption, her choice goes beyond just bravery. It’s a culmination of every choice she’s made to tell the truth, no matter the cost. Her softness isn’t shaped as something to overcome. It’s her light and the very trait that changes the people around her.

The High Evolutionary

In Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3, the High Evolutionary (Chukwudi Iwuji) is not misunderstood. He is monstrous. Where others may have tried to humanize him, Gunn goes the other way and reveals that some monsters are just monsters. The High Evolutionary experiments on sentient life, manipulates DNA, and abuses power under the guise of progress.

His obsession with perfection is cruel by nature, the real endpoint for perfectionism that goes untamed and isn’t guided by morality. Gunn lets the metaphor land. When Rocket tears off his face, the horror is literal and symbolic. Beneath the obsession with order lies disfigurement. It’s not subtle and it wasn’t meant to be. Gunn doesn’t let us look away. He makes us sit in the discomfort because it mirrors real-world cruelty that often hides behind the language of progress.

From Antiheroes to Apex, Gunn’s Blueprint Comes Full Circle

What connects Gunn’s portrayals of Bloodsport, Amanda Waller, Clemson Murn, Leota Adebayo, and the High Evolutionary is not just their shared identity. It is the way he writes them with full dimensionality. These characters are not reduced to tropes or symbolic placeholders. They are flawed, complex, emotionally grounded, and essential to the story. Gunn gives them contradictions that make them human and not just placeholders.

Still, these characters mostly live in the margins of morality. They are survivors, antagonists, antiheroes, and systems in conflict with themselves. Their stories matter, but they operate within tension and limitation.

They paved the way for Mr. Terrific, who is something else entirely.

He is not a villain, an antihero, or a cautionary figure. He is the culmination of Gunn’s idea of a Black superhero written with clarity, precision, and unwavering purpose. He sets a new standard of leadership and who can realistically be a vessel of it. Holt is peer to Superman in every sense. A fully realized superhero written without compromise, centered without spectacle, and portrayed with the emotional intelligence storytelling often neglects.

In a time when Black characters in media are still too often confined to trauma, tokenism, or moral compromise, Holt’s Mr. Terrific becomes an urgent reminder of who we’re allowed to be and believe in. He demands presence and proves that Black excellence doesn’t need translation, just recognition.

With Mr. Terrific, Gunn doesn’t offer a revision. He offers a restoration. One that affirms what should have always been possible.

The post Superman: Mr. Terrific and James Gunn’s Approach to Black Characters appeared first on Den of Geek.