Security

If you placed an overseas call in the 1980s, you may have spoken over the TAT-8 transatlantic cable. It was a first. Never before had fiber optics crossed the Atlantic Ocean. The cable stretched across 3,200 miles of ocean floor, traversing great rift valleys, passing long-forgotten shipwrecks, and weathering undersea storms. TAT-8 was an impressive achievement; yet, it proved to be an insecure one.

Cables started crossing the Atlantic in the mid 1800s, but none were as powerful as TAT-8. The cable could carry thousands of phone calls and millions of data bytes. Some of the earliest Internet messages traveled along it. Despite its role in laying the groundwork for our modern day communications infrastructure, today we remember TAT-8 more for its curious effect on its surrounding ecosystem: sharks treated the multimillion-dollar cable like a chew toy.

Sharks had swum in the oceans for millennia, but they had likely never encountered anything quite like an undersea fiber optic cable. The vast array of digital communication pumping through TAT-8’s fiber optic veins generated strong electric fields. Sharks use electrical fields to hone in on prey animals through a process known as electroreception. Even in complete darkness, species such as the lemon shark (see Figure 9-2) can trace the faint bioelectronic signature of its favorite food, the parrotfish. In retrospect, we should not have been surprised that TAT-8’s power provided such a culinary attraction. Designers soon learned to shield the cables, blocking TAT-8’s electrical fields and securing its data from the powerful jaws of the unwelcome, undersea diners.

When TAT-8 was completed, the securing of data was mechanical. Lines could snap. Connections could break. Sharks could chew on the cable, but they did not try to hack it. The millions of data bytes traveling among the connected academic and banking systems could flow unobstructed, relatively safe from manipulation and malfeasance.

Everything changed in 1988. Using only 99 lines of code, a computer program spread throughout the early Internet. As it replicated itself from machine to machine, the program slowed and crashed networks across the globe. The tiny Morris worm (as it would soon be called) presented a much greater security threat than any 400-pound shark ever could.

In the decades that followed, waves of malware, viruses, and worms exploited both the operating systems of computers as well as the behaviors of users.

Today, all digital experiences are prone to attack. Email, texts, chats, payment gateways, validation, data storage, and others are compromised with troubling regularity. PrivacyRights.​org reports that over ten billion records have been breached since 2005. The barely perceptible scent of data travels across the Internet to places we may never have previously imagined. Target’s 2013 data breach⁷ started with stolen credentials from a heating, ventilation, and air conditioning vendor. Nearly 27 million Department of Veterans Affairs records were stolen⁸ from a laptop taken during in a home burglary. Even data disconnected from the Internet can be stolen; Israeli researchers have proven that air-gapped data can be stolen by modulating the sound of a computer’s cooling fan and picked up by a nearby phone.⁹ Security begets insecurity.

If we realize how insecure our digital experiences are, we might choose to return to the days of telegrams, paper letters, and cash-only transactions. However, even before the digital age, we were not entirely secure. Our lives were beset with wire frauds, postal scams, and strong-arm robberies. We have simply replaced analog insecurity for digital insecurity. In many ways, our collective delusion of security is what keeps technology moving forward.

When designing experiences, our first layer of defense is absence. Information absent from your application is inherently secure. One cannot breach information that does not exist. Do you really need to save users’ credit card information? Phone numbers? Postal addresses? User names? Ask yourself, do you even need users to create an account at all? Because, once we obtain information from users, we must treat it like blood in the water.

Visual design and copywriting can connote security to users. We have all visited websites that did not meet our expectations. Perhaps we noticed a misspelling or a missing image. Maybe the website simply made us feel uneasy. Uneasiness leads to fear. Conversely, we have all visited websites that exceeded our expectations. Perhaps we read a witty bit of copywriting or viewed a gorgeous photo. Maybe the website simply made us feel comfortable. Comfort leads to confidence.

Interaction design affects perceptions of security. Simple form validations, such as a clear indicator for strong passwords, enhance perceived security (see Figure 9-3). Ensuring pages provide adequate confirmation and error messaging show users the application is cognizant of it being used. Consider a typical error message: frequently, applications appear to be just as bewildered by an error as its users are. It is as if a web server said, “Oh my, that was a surprise!” Some error messages may be unavoidable, but we determine their contents. Vague phrasing such as “Something went wrong” does little to assuage the fears of users when submitting their credit card details. This is the consequence of creators wishing to show that errors are rare—so rare that errors surprise even them. Stating “Sorry, your card was declined” tells a user exactly what is going on—no mysteries. As creators, we should treat errors as expected realities, not as inexplicable phenomena shared by users, designers, developers and copywriters alike.

Lastly, consider the experience of security researchers—the people who uncover vulnerabilities in the products we create. Make it easy for researchers to report their findings; set up a dedicated email address. Be respectful and open-minded in terms of what you hear. No one likes to learn of their own weaknesses. Yet, a tiny indignity received today can save you from a horrific attack suffered tomorrow.

Security is not so much the absence of risk, but the confident acceptance of it. Security is a fundamental requirement for any experience. Fear leads to abandonment. Confidence leads to exploration. Users wade into the murky waters of the unknown and discover what lies beneath the surface of our creations.

Key Takeaways

Questions to Ask Yourself