There have been a couple of times over the past week or so where I’ve found myself getting quite emotional. I’m a pretty heart-on-my-sleeve type person in general, so the fact that that’s happened doesn’t surprise me a great deal. But, I have been quite surprised – and pleasantly so – by the subject matter that’s got me right in the feels most recently. Namely, the Exhibitions and Interpretation Design course I attended this week with the Conservation Training Academy at Chester Zoo.
Now, full disclosure: I am categorically not a zoologist, ranger, keeper, or any other profession even remotely related to zoos or the animals that reside therein. I have no background in animal studies, biology, or even curation or exhibition design. And given my language background, until very recently, I only understood ‘interpretation’ in a professional capacity in the sense of ‘verbally translating one language into another’.
Why sign up for a course then that seemingly has no relation to anything that I do? (Spoiler alert: it has a lot to do with what I do. More in Part 2). It was, as it pretty much always is for me, because of the words.
I visited Chester Zoo with my boyfriend back in the summer of 2021. As we were wandering over to see the lions, we noticed some kind of mini-exhibit at the side of the path that looked like it had broken down and was waiting for maintenance. As we got a bit closer, I saw that there was a cover on it. On the cover it said:
"Just like our lions this game needs some rest.
Come back soon to see it more active”
I thought that was genius, and I instantly took a picture:
Then my boyfriend said a lovely thing to me:
“I can see you writing signs like that”.
I don’t know if I’ve ever had a proper ‘lightbulb’ moment, where a switch has just flicked in my brain and I’ve known exactly what to do. Like in the film version of The Theory of Everything, where Stephen Hawking has a jumper stuck over his head and he’s watching the fire roaring in the hearth through the jumper’s holes and suddenly he is able to draw the revolutionary conclusion that black holes emit particles and radiation (yes I did watch The Theory of Everything last night, and yes, that is the extent of my knowledge of black holes, physics, and all other things of that ilk).
But that moment, that sign, and that comment – “I can see you writing signs like that” – set off something in me which, no exaggeration, I believe changed the course of my life. That moment was one of the things that led me to switch careers from marketing and communications into user experience (UX) writing and content design, and to start the Masters in UX Design for which I’m writing this blog.
I’ve always loved writing. I’ve been doing it in some form at almost every stage of my life so far – from keeping diaries and journals when I was younger, to writing poems and short stories in school, to the reams and reams of essays I penned during my undergraduate degree, to the countless translations I wrote in the first couple of years after uni, to the Tweets, captions, blog articles, posters, newsletters, and reports I made in my last role in comms and marketing. I love words, and things with words on them, and I like how I can express myself in writing in ways I’m not sure I can as well when I speak out loud.
In the last couple of years in particular, I’ve started to think a lot more about why I write the things I write. What are they for? And more importantly, who are they for? What am I trying to share with my reader? How are my words helping them, or having some kind of positive impact on their lives? And how can I check that my words are having the desired effect?
Asking these questions lead me to content design, user research, user experience design, and, through a serendipitous Google, to the Exhibitions and Interpretation Design with Chester Zoo.
Knowing a little bit more about content design now than I did when I first saw that sign, I can more clearly pinpoint some of the things that made me think it was so clever the first time I came across it:
1. It’s clear and conversational.
The words are simple, plain, and straightforward, without being dry or robotic.
2. It’s consistent.
The whole sign fits within the wider context, from the colours and visual design to the playful tone of voice that matches the language used in surrounding exhibits.
3. It’s audience-led.
Children would likely understand both the words and the meaning (the Hemingway App gives it a readability rating of US Grade 1, which equates to around age 6 to 7, or Year 2 in the UK), and adults would appreciate the subtle humour.
4. It turns what could be a disappointing experience into an intriguing and exciting one.
We know it’s a game, we don’t know what – maybe something to do with lions…? – but we’ll find out if we come back soon…so let’s come back soon! (This last one tips over slightly into the realms of marketing too – a nice win for everyone.)
Today, I met the person who wrote that sign. And yes, I felt rather emotional. And no, admitting that doesn’t bother me in the slightest.
I wanted to share this little story before going into any of the topics we actually covered on the course, as I think it’s so interesting – and so, so important – to see how moments that might seem inconsequential or small can have such a profound impact on the shape of your life. When I first saw that sign, I never thought I’d be in a role where the words I write are directly helping people do what they need to do and know what they need to know. I think it’s a big responsibility to get to shape people’s experiences with the words we choose to say to them. It's also a huge privilege, and I feel really, really lucky to get to do it.
(And I really, really hope I get to write something that appears on a sign at a zoo one day. )
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