“My image didn’t upload…what’s the size limit for the website?” A new coworker asked me. She was trying to upload an image that was 2 megabytes large for a spot on the website that was only 600px x 400px.
I know it’s probably not apparent to most people how absurd that is, but it is literally ridiculous. (If you want to know more about image sizing, check out my ultimate guide to images on the web).
Large images are the most common way to slow down website load times, meaning it takes forever to actually use the site you're trying to access. It's also a huge waste of resources, storage space, and energy.
The problem here isn’t the non-technical coworker trying to upload an exorbitantly large image—it’s actually the system we’re all a part of. I’m not sure what caused this problem—social media, cultural values—but I think it’s an issue that has deep roots and does need attention.
Shortcuts
Many designers have become dependent on shortcuts because often they’re under so much pressure to pump out images that they skip over exporting them correctly.
In the world of print, it is much more devastating to choose incorrect settings and exported images. Usually more care is taken to emphasize quality and do things correctly the first time—we don’t want to end up throwing away 500 posters because of one mistake, after all.
However in the digital world, the consequences of mistakes or poorly exported images feel trivial. Things like spelling errors can be corrected without rebuilding the entire website from scratch. If a huge image is uploaded and only ever rendered at half of its size, who cares?
At the speed the world seems to be moving, there’s seemingly little incentive to understand the technology you’re using. Developers have made a good faith effort to make things accessible, especially for allowing non-technical people to publish content online.
Unfortunately, that also means hiding fundamental processes. For example, if you upload a huge image to social media, they process it for you behind the scenes—no way they're taking that 2mb picture and leaving it at that size. That abstraction trains lay people and professionals alike to assume they can just put anything they want anywhere they want. But it still is a massive waste that can be avoided if only through a little bit of understanding.
We are much more comfortable with the ever-growing amount of digital sawdust thanks to things like unlimited storage or technological naïveté. In fact, we even get messages from tech companies, like this Apple iPhone commercial, where the whole story revolves around not deleting any of your images:
Despite all of the bad takes and the photos that are effectively duplicates of each other, don't bother pruning your phone's photo gallery. No, no, no. Don't even delete anything anymore.
As systems-thinker, Vicky Zhao, says, "This is one of the key reasons why we, as a society, think so short term. We're over-indexing on what needs to come in, but we're not thinking about once it's in, what do we do with it?"
Check-in
I’m as guilty as anyone in my digital storage habits. I have projects from 15 years ago, stored on various, disorganized drives and cloud storage subscriptions. I also create things constantly: scripts, notes, rough drafts of CYBORG_, thumbnails, images, animations, and lots and lots of website code.
As a creative, I hold onto things that might “benefit” me somehow in the future. It’s baked into the nature of the fields I’m in: portfolios show your work; personal projects are fulfilling; and sifting through really old, terrible files is very satisfying because I can see actual progress in my skill development.
The problem isn’t necessarily about rigorous practices of deleting files—though that can be a part of healthy digital habits going forward. It’s how technology, by design, is causing a decay. Just like landfills full of trash, we are collecting, gathering, and shoveling digital garbage into our lives. How are you supposed to tame something so vast and self-propagating?
CYBORG
Scalability is the nature of digital technology: increasing, compounding. Humanity is often retained or rediscovered in stillness, slowing down, cutting back.
These two critical features of our lives are on opposite courses, so where is the balance? I think there are a few options for us:
- Become friends with the delete button.
- Focus on quality.
These two options actually support each other. In order to commit to deleting something, I try to assume the role of an art director. Scrutinizing my videos and photos for things to cut. Being able to delete or reduce comes from the focus on quality. When I’m honest with myself, I can lean on the skills I have to determine if something actually has value or if it’s just in the middle (sort of good, sort of not).
It’s not just about deleting, though. Being the art director of my digital spaces, I’m starting to also thin out the incoming streams of things like downloads, content, and copies.
I latched onto a mantra over 7 years ago: Do more with what you have. This was in contrast to the idiotic, cliché messaging that executives love to tell employees: Do more with less. However, in this context, the idea of doing more with what you have is not only a stand against greedy executives trying to squeeze out everything from you with no benefit to you. It’s also a stand against the system that optimizes for dopamine rewards in the constant seeking of more novelty, less quality.
Not more. Better.