The older I get, the more I realise designing for seniors is better for young people too

So I'm lying in bed, squinting at my novel, holding it at arm's length like some sort of demented scarecrow. The text size that seemed perfectly readable two years ago now appears to have been written by ants. Welcome to your fifties, they said. It'll be fun, they said.

I have to be honest; this decline in my eyesight has been a real wake-up call. Not just because I need to wear my multifocals to bed; making feel like an owl in a Disney movie. More deeply, it's forced me to confront an uncomfortable truth. I am becoming a "senior user".

Me. Not some distant, theoretical demographic that designers consider in passing when discussing accessible fonts. But actual me. Right here, right now.

It's funny how quickly your perspective shifts when you're the one fumbling with tiny buttons on a remote control, or abandoning a website because the grey text on a slightly less grey background has defeated you. Suddenly, all those design decisions that seemed reasonable when you had the eyes of a hawk feel like personal attacks on your dignity.

My hearing, too, isn't what it was. My memory, whilst still mostly intact, has developed a tendency to misplace important information like where I put my keys or why I walked into a room. My knees are starting to creak like old floorboards when I stand up. I could go on, but you get the idea.

Shift in perspective

Don't get me wrong: I'm still decades away from being packed off to the care home. But forewarned is forearmed. So what accessible design decisions, I wonder, will help 'future me' navigate the online world more easily?

Larger text, obviously; not comically large, just sensibly sized. High contrast between text and background. Audio cues that don't rely on my ageing ears catching subtle beeps. Buttons and touch targets that are big enough for potentially uncertain hands. Clear, logical navigation that doesn't require a PhD in user experience to figure out.

But here's where it hits you: every single one of these "senior-friendly" features makes products better for everyone. However young or old. However able-bodied or disabled.

Everyone's happy

That larger text I crave? Perfect for anyone trying to read on a phone whilst walking. Perfect for someone with a migraine. Perfect, frankly, for anyone who doesn't fancy getting eye strain after half an hour of reading.

Those bigger buttons? Brilliant for anyone wearing gloves, in a moving vehicle, or just having one of those days where your motor skills have gone on holiday. High contrast design? A godsend for anyone outdoors in bright sunlight. Clear navigation? Handy for literally anyone who's ever struggled with a overly complex website menu. Which, let's be honest, has been all of us at some point.

The beauty of accessible design is that it strips away the unnecessary complexity that users constantly get annoyed by, but generally put up with all the same. Adhering to these principles forces designers to think about the core functionality of the product or services, to prioritise what actually matters, and to create interfaces that work for humans rather than showing off how clever the design team is.

Turns out, designing for seniors means designing for humans as a whole. What an utterly radical concept.

For a UI we like, see our piece on the Monzo app.