I once went online to buy a perfectly ordinary pair of socks. Nothing extravagant, no frills, just plain and simple socks.
Well, 20 minutes later, I had accidentally signed up to three newsletters, added an item to my basket that may have been a hat (unclear) and unwittingly played a very loud and obnoxious advert about cheese to a train-full of unsuspecting (and then pretty disgruntled) business people. Eesh!
I’m blind and for me and my screen reader (affectionately known as Trevor), navigating some websites can feel less like shopping and more like being dropped into a very polite and self-assured yet deeply confusing escape room.
Let me explain what I mean.
For most people, websites are visual. You click a button, you see an image, you scroll through neatly arranged content. Beautiful to the point of mesmerising, so I’ve been told.
For me, everything is translated into audio. My screen reader moves through headings, links, buttons and text, reading them aloud so I can understand and interact with the page. Sounds good, right?
Well, that really all depends on the website in question.
Here’s where the games begin.
For example, often, a button doesn’t tell me where it leads. So instead of hearing something helpful like “Add to basket”, I end up simply hearing the word “button” repeated back at me the more I try to make sense of it.
To those around me, it must sound as though I have an audible coat I’m doing up. They must smile to themselves and think ‘isn’t it amazing what they come up with to help blind people these days!’ Little do they know Trevor and I are just desperately trying to reach the virtual check out before my train stop!
Now, images might have no description at all. Forms might not be labelled properly. Navigation menus appear, disappear or behave like they’re playing a small practical joke. Just like when your friend does that; at best you roll your eyes at the ridiculousness, at worst it’s so infuriating that you have to start your lunch early if only in an attempt to calm down!
Suddenly, what should take two minutes takes half an hour. Or doesn’t happen at all.
And I get it — most website designers or owners are well-meaning people. Friendly, understanding types. Dave, Susan, Terry. They never set out to give me the run-around, they just don’t know what I need.
Luckily, where there are games, there are rules that can help.
Yes, there is, in fact, a guide for all of this. A clear, structured, internationally recognised set of standards called the Web Content Accessibility Guidelines.
They outline everything you need to help make your online content perceivable, operable, understandable and robust. In other words, usable by people with many different needs. You don’t have to guess, you don’t have to stress. It’s all there for the taking. Answers at your fingertips.
And yet, so much of the time, websites don’t follow them. Accessibility is clumsily tacked on at the end and treated as an afterthought. Teams aren’t educated properly about why it matters and what it could be costing the company as a direct result, or it’s viewed as an ideal – a nice to have, rather than an essential.
It’s easy to think of accessibility as a minor inconvenience when it’s missing, but the reality is, it’s more than that.
For me, it’s the difference between independence and confidence or reliance, and frustration. Most importantly, it is making your customers either feel included and valued or excluded and forgotten about. It is eroding their trust in your brand.
Accessibility isn’t just a practical tool. It can be a way of you reminding me that losing my sight doesn’t have to mean losing myself and what I love.
When a website works well, I can browse, I get to choose and I am able to complete tasks independently. I don’t need to ask for help. I don’t need to abandon what I’m doing halfway through. I just get on with my day.
It might not sound like much, but that feeling of being able to participate fully is everything.
The secret is that when accessibility is done well, it almost becomes invisible. You don’t have to think about it — everything just works. Navigation makes sense.
Buttons say what they do. Images are described clearly. It feels smooth, thoughtful, welcoming, and human.
In fact, accessible design can be a huge benefit, not only to blind customers, but to those using your website on their mobile phone (pretty much everyone now), those in noisy, busy environments or those tired and distracted for any number of reasons.
The easier you make it to use your website, the more you will reap the rewards in the form of satisfied, loyal customers who see your brand as a glimmer of steadiness and reliability amidst their chaotic lives.
When it comes to accessibility, try to value intention over perfection. Ask yourself whether your website is something that everyone can use, even if they can’t see the screen. Do your online offerings make sense out loud?
Include accessibility from the start, instead of condemning it to forever be a slightly sheepish postscript.
You’ll be pleased to know that I did eventually find some socks.
It took a while. There were moments of confusion. At one point I genuinely believed I might receive a crate of cheese instead…
Still, the experience stuck with me, because it reminded me that I’m so far from alone when it comes to virtual shopping frustrations and having a cart full of items I never ended up buying.
It made me realise that just a little bit of extra thought and awareness would directly result in a major pay-off for everyone involved!
Being able to access all areas is the link to a world wide web of new opportunities.
– Hey, I’m Fern, and I’m a blind broadcaster, audio describer and guest blogger for VoiceBox. I love to share my experiences of media accessibility, audio description, events, festivals and more here. Oh, and you may see me refer to ‘Nancy’, my partner in crime and guide dog – adding her to my life was the best thing I ever did.