Sweaters and Web Sites

´╗┐Sweaters and Web Sites

Beware: Thinly-stretched metaphor ahead. Proceed with caution.
A Web Site is a Web Site is a Web Site….right?
No. It’s not.
That’s settled. Let us move on to more pressing issues:
Visualize. A sweater. Red and green. Whoa. Horizontal stripes with alternating colors. Causes rapid eye movement and non-physical concussions. 3-Dimensional pieces – stitched in to add some flair to the viewing experience. Shame. Its the crowning piece of someone’s holiday ensemble. It may be hard on the eyes of one’s daily acquaintances, but as long as they wear it with pride, they c- Nope. Still ugly.
In my own fashion-challenged opinion, there are two types of sweaters: Ones that scream bloody murder from 50 yards out and ones that are….”nice” and all seem to look quite similar. Most of us have the necessary survival skills to stay away from the “bloody murder” sweaters. The trick is choosing the right “nice” sweater. Some of them are lemons, prepared to unravel as soon as you walk past an erect light-switch, but its hard to tell (for some) because they all look so similar.
Seems to me that sweater designers are “borrowing” ideas from other (more capable) sweater designers in attempts to reach the highest plateau of sweater success. Hmmm. Before long, the top selling sweater designer has dozens of competitors, all peddling the same TIRED design, all at different prices and smothering the racks at Macy’s. Some of them are well made, some not. Prices aren’t necessarily on par with quality here.
Let us digress.
Sweater metaphor unraveled: Not all web sites are created equal. Though this seems painfully obvious, you could still be suckered into contracting a horrible website just because it has a pretty design, if you’re not careful. Choose a designer wisely because looks can be very deceiving. Not the looks of the designer – that you can pretty much make judgement on right away.
Just remember – design and function don’t always walk into the sunset, hand in hand. In fact, sometimes design lops off function’s writing hand and runs into the sunset alone. Tragic.
Oh. – and what is that stringy thing hanging from your sleeve?

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