But First, Take Off Your Shoes

When I embarked on my first project, Penny Cow, I was filled with both excitement and uncertainty. My understanding of the UX design process was largely theoretical, and I wasn’t sure what to expect. The opportunity seemed intriguing and unsettling—like walking into an unfamiliar home and not knowing the rules of the space.

As the sole designer, I concentrated on defining Penny Cow’s core objectives: creating a tool that empowers users to take control of their financial health. I spent days researching digital wallets, mobile banking apps, and investment platforms to understand the financial technology landscape better. Much time was devoted to analyzing features and designs, which sharpened my eye for crafting intuitive, user-friendly interfaces. This process clarified what I wanted the product to offer and accomplish. Yet, despite these efforts, something felt off. I was so preoccupied with defining my vision that I wasn’t asking the most critical question: What do users want to get out of it?

This realization hit me like stepping into a home with muddy shoes. My efforts were misplaced. I was tracking dirt—my biases, preferences, and assumptions—all over the clean slate of what could be. Seeking guidance, I turned to my mentor, someone who had walked these paths before. They shared a phrase I’ll never forget:

"Before walking a mile in someone’s shoes, you have to take off your own."

Those words stayed with me, gradually reshaping the way I approached design. Taking off your shoes is more than a gesture—it’s a mindset. Practiced in cultures worldwide, removing your shoes symbolizes humility and respect. You leave behind the outside world—your assumptions, your preconceptions—and enter a space as a guest, grateful to be allowed in.

Everything changed when I shifted my focus to the question of what users wanted to get out of the product. I began to embrace UX research as a step in design and as the compass guiding every decision. I talked to potential users, observed their behaviors, and listened to their frustrations. This wasn’t about me anymore; it was about them.

Taking off my shoes meant acknowledging that my initial ideas weren’t always right—and that was okay. It was a humbling experience. Each iteration of Penny Cow revealed something new, teaching me about users’ goals, challenges, and what truly mattered to them. With every insight, I felt more grounded and connected to the people I was designing for.

I came to understand that creativity doesn’t thrive in limitless freedom; it flourishes within the structure of a well-defined problem. UX research became my compass, helping me identify the boundaries where effective solutions take shape. By setting aside my preconceived notions—like removing metaphorical muddy shoes—I let go of biases and uncovered the power of designing with purpose and empathy.

After all, what good is a solution if it’s designed without understanding the problem it aims to solve or the people it’s meant to serve? A solution disconnected from its users is little more than a guess. By taking off your shoes, you step into a world of empathy where creativity and purpose intersect. And in the world of UX design, that makes all the difference.