Years before the American President Richard Nixon stretched out his arms to form his famous V-sign, he was wrapping them around a pair of Chinese giant pandas named Ling-Ling and Hsing-Hsing¹ (see Figure 25-1). The two bears likely did not realize they were a part of a much larger embrace between two distant countries, brought together by international diplomacy and the power of reciprocation: a concept that spans borders, as well as every facet of user experience design.

In 1972, Nixon visited China in an effort to normalize relations.³ He and First Lady Pat Nixon, along with their diplomatic entourages, visited the Great Wall of China and major cities along the Yangtze River Delta. The pandas were a gift from then-leader of China, Mao Zedong. Ling-Ling and Hsing-Hsing were captured a few months prior in the far-off, temperate, central county of Baoxing, an area similar to the cool, misty forests of West Virginia, excepting the expansive fields of bamboo and the occasional black and white patched bear.

As soon as the two pandas arrived at the Smithsonian’s National Zoo in mid-April 1972, they grabbed the hearts of the American public. Over 75,000 people visited the zoo the following weekend. Seen as a goodwill gesture by the Chinese government, the gift of the pandas was an overture harkening back through a thousand years of Chinese diplomatic history. The Chinese Empress Wu Zetian was said to have given pandas as a gift to the Japanese Emperor Tenmu⁴ in the 7th century. Chinese diplomats revived this tradition in the 1950s and it continues today, primarily under loan agreements to national zoos and preservation programs.

Although historians refer to Nixon’s trip and its gift as “panda diplomacy,” it could just as easily have been referred to as “musk ox diplomacy,” for the gift of the pandas was reciprocated by an equally furry gift to the Chinese. Nixon gave them Milton and Matilda, a pair of baby musk oxen. (Side note: you haven’t seen adorable until you see musk oxen calves.) However, their trip was ill fated. Chinese zookeepers reported⁵ the oxen arriving with runny noses, skin infections, and suffering from depression. After days in their new home, the musk oxen’s distinctive shaggy fur began to fall out—the poor, little things. Depressed, runny-nosed, and now balding, sweet Milton and Matilda did not take up residence in the hearts of the Chinese public as much as their ursine peers had in America. Yet, this exchange shows us that even small gifts may create great opportunities that may last for decades, establishing relationships, reshaping economies, and setting in motion countless other experiences.

Two decades before Nixon’s trip to China, a landmark French book had reached the shores of America. The Gift was written by the French sociologist Marcel Mauss. First translated into English in 1954, the book still stands as perhaps the most definitive explanation of our need to reciprocate. Mauss studied native societies. Although much of his work revolved around gift giving, his discoveries would eventually shed light on everything from marketing to software design. For his observations show us that gift giving creates bonds between givers and receivers. A gift creates an implicit obligation for the recipient to reciprocate. We give. We receive. We give back. Like intertwined threads, reciprocations weave into the fabric of an experience, strengthening and forming connections between givers and receivers, and by extension, between designers and users.

Marshall Sahlins’ book, Stone Age Economics, ⁶ further expounded Mauss’ notion of reciprocation by segmenting it into three types: generalized, balanced, and negative.

Generalized reciprocation is the most common: we give a gift and do not expect an immediate return. You might help a coworker with a project, shovel snow off your neighbor’s driveway, or cook a meal for your spouse. Such gifts are freely given. We do not issue paper receipts expecting immediate repayment. It would be detrimental to our relationships if we did. “Dear spouse, I hope you enjoyed dinner. You now owe me one meal.” Try it. You will soon realize this is a thread on which you do not wish to pull.

As working professionals, we can appreciate balanced reciprocation: we exchange our efforts for money. Tit for tat. Our employers or clients reciprocate the gift of our labors with the gift of a paycheck.

Negative reciprocation is expecting a gift without the intention of providing one in return. It is the equivalent of participating in your office’s holiday gift-exchange but arriving empty-handed. “Happy holidays, I brought you nothing. Now, let’s see what you have got for me.” We will talk about how software often says the same in a few moments.

Generalized, balanced, and negative reciprocation may initially seem to operate only at a person-to-person level. However, they are a part of any interaction, including those between people and software. Mauss referred to the inherent quality of reciprocity in gift exchange as “total prestation.” Granted, total prestation is not a term that easily slides off the tongue; yet, the term does speak to a gift being something greater than merely an object being given. We feel total prestation when we give and receive a gift. But what is it?

During Mauss’ research, he encountered the gift-giving customs of the Māori people. Hau, the spirit of the gift, graced the both the giver and receiver. But, left unreciprocated, the hau would haunt the receiver like an evil spirit. It compelled the receiver to reciprocate. Although we may not feel haunted by the gifts we receive, we do feel obliged to reciprocate, be it person-to-person or person-to-software. Something is given, and we are compelled to return the favor.