```dataview LIST WITHOUT ID file.link WHERE file.cday = date(this.file.name) SORT file.cday ASC ``` [[Beauty in Use]]:  [[Agentive Phenomenology]] and [[the Aesthetics of Design]]  Introduction Good design seems like something that we can aesthetically appreciate. There are 'design classics' like the Bialetti coffee pot, the 1994 [[Swiss Railway Clock]], and the iPod, as well as very many examples of bad design –TV remotes cluttered with meaningless buttons, phone chargers with plugs so heavy they slip from the socket.  While these examples highlight the visual aspects of design, we argue that the [[aesthetic experience]] derived from interacting with [[designed objects]] should not be overlooked. Current philosophical accounts of [[design aesthetics]], despite their focus on function, pay insufficient attention to experiences of use. Relying on recent work in [[the aesthetics]] of dance and [[the aesthetics]] of games, we will argue that appreciating design is a type of playing or dancing with a technical artifact. Yet, we will also rely on [[agentive phenomenology]] to point out that [[the aesthetics of design]] differs from the aesthetic of dance and [[the aesthetics]] of games in some crucial respects.  In Section 1 we introduce Parsons and Carlson’s theory of [[Functional Beauty]] as a means of explaining how function factors into our perceptual appreciation of good design. On their account, a [[designed object]] which looks as if it functions well (looks “fit for function”) then it will, in virtue of this, have aesthetic merit. However, we will argue that a complete aesthetics of design cannot be entirely perception based. A laptop keyboard might look functionally beautiful, but not actually function very well once users begin to type. In Section 2, we will examine Forsey's Kant-inspired view according to which [[aesthetic appreciation]] of design is fundamentally a matter of making a judgement about how perfect it is as regards its function. Both perception and use can inform these judgements, meaning that this approach fares better at explaining how invisible design might be appreciated.  Yet, we argue that even this account does not fully capture the aesthetic experiences arising from the use of designed objects. Use need not just be a means of assessment; there are also cases when use itself is the object of aesthetic attention.  While the aim of this first half of the paper is to show that user experience has a part to play in the aesthetics of design, the aim of the second is to provide an account of what an aesthetically valuable user experience is. In Section 3, we introduce what we call 'the question of difficulty'. On the one hand, we use designed objects either to enable certain actions or make them easier: one cannot drive nails without a hammer, a dishwasher makes washing dishes easier and more efficient. On the other, easy actions are not automatically aesthetically satisfying: flicking a light switch or opening a drawer are not typically aesthetically pleasing interactions. Nguyen's agentive aesthetics of games provides one answer to the question of difficulty: aesthetically pleasing gameplay arises when the game's challenges perfectly match and push the player's skills to their limit - a "harmony of capacity". Some similarities to aesthetically pleasing interactions with designed objects may suggest that the aesthetics of design is a matter of _playing_ with technical artifacts. Yet, aesthetically satisfying use of technical artifacts rarely involves actions that push the user's skills to their limit in the way that a difficult game might. In light of this, we suggest a more promising way of explaining the relation between difficulty and the aesthetics of use can be found by adapting Montero's account of aesthetic effortlessness in dance. Just as the aesthetic experience of the dancer, according to Montero, is rooted in the sense of performing a difficult task with ease, we argue that the user experience relevant to the aesthetics of design is similarly grounded. In this sense, the aesthetics of design is a matter of dancing with technical artefacts. In Section 4, we explore the agentive phenomenology and intentional structure of user experience to differentiate the aesthetics of design from both the experience of play and the experience of dance. We argue that designed objects support actions integrated into our daily lives and connected to broader goals and purposes. Unlike games and dance, which involve framed actions within a "magic circle" (Huizinga 1955), design allows us to appreciate actions that are part of our everyday activities. By recognising these differences, we highlight the specific aesthetic qualities that well-designed objects contribute to our interactions with the world. In sum, our aim is to highlight a dimension of design aesthetics that current philosophical theories have either not focussed on at all (in the case of Parsons and Carlson) or not focussed on to the extent to which it merits (in the case of Forsey). However, we are not arguing that use is the only way to appreciate design, suggesting that existing theories should be rejected because they do not in themselves account for it. Rather, we consider the ideas we introduce in what follows as a supplement to existing theories, but an important and hitherto largely overlooked one. Let us finish this introduction with three preliminary considerations about terminology and scope.  First, the notion of aesthetic appreciation that we deploy draws on Gorodeisky’s (2023, p. 85) idea that “aesthetic value is to be understood in light of a capacity for a _feeling_ of pleasure, a feeling through which we grasp aesthetic value, are responsive to what it merits, and exercise our agency”. From this perspective, aesthetic appreciation amounts to a rewarding experience in which one feels a peculiar pleasure that the experienced object deserves.  Second, the notion of beauty that is already at work in our title matches what Zangwill calls “verdictive beauty”, that is, pure aesthetic merit regardless of the specific ways in which it is realized in the objects that have it. Zangwill aptly distinguishes this from what he dubs “substantial beauty” which is instead a specific way of realizing aesthetic merit, as opposed to, say, the sublime.  When Parsons and Carlson (2008, xii-xiii) introduce the notion of “functional beauty”, they have in mind the same “verdictive” meaning of ‘beauty’ that we are adopting, as this passage clearly shows: “this one expression, ‘Beauty’ is used, as philosophers occasionally still use it, to mean ‘aesthetic appeal in general’, rather than the specific sort of aesthetic appearance it typically suggests”. Third, as we are developing an aesthetic account of design based on use, our focus is on objects that can be _used_, in the sense that they need to be acted upon by their user to perform their function. What we mean here is roughly the same as Lowe's distinction between utensils and machines (2014). Utensils are objects that require our active engagement to fulfil their function, and include things like knives, bicycles, and keys: if the user takes their hands off a knife it will cease cutting, if they stop pedalling they will slow to a halt. Machines, on the other hand, can perform their function without need for constant contact with the user. An oven keeps heating once it has been turned on, an electric fan will keep spinning until it is switched off. While Lowe's distinction tracks our everyday understanding of utensils and machines for the most part, it does not always do so. We would not normally think of a bookshelf to be a machine, but it will keep your books suspended above the ground without user involvement, and so would come out on Lowe's account as a machine. There are also hybrid cases. The iPod, for example, is utensil-like in that users have to move their finger or thumb around the click wheel to select a track, but machine-like in that once the track is selected music will play without further input. Finally, it seems right to extend the notion of utensil to include objects which we make perceptual and cognitive use of like signs, maps, books and websites. Although we do not manipulate these objects with our physical bodies, we nevertheless use them to gain information about the world. Our arguments concerning the aesthetics of use will apply to these things as well as utensils like knives or bicycles, and hybrid cases like iPods. 1. The Aesthetics of Invisible Design 2. 1 Functional Beauty Perceptual experience, visual experience in particular, plays a very prominent role in philosophical accounts of design. Aesthetic appreciation of objects like the Bialetti and Swiss Railway Clock depends, at least in part, on their visual appearance. However, we will argue in this section that accounts solely based on vision, or even perception more generally, are not the end of the story when it comes to appreciation of design: we should also consider what it is like to use an object. Using an object is of course closely related to the function of the object, and function does play a role in existing accounts of design appreciation. For example, on Parsons and Carlson's notion of _functional beauty_, "knowledge of [...] function can play a role in our perception of and hence our aesthetic appreciation of that object"(2008 p. 90). Visually appreciating a Bialetti would therefore differ from visually appreciating a sculpture because knowledge of the coffeepot's practical purpose would feed into one's visual experience, in a manner not possible in the case of sculpture, given its lack of practical purpose. Parsons and Carlson propose three ways function translates into visual aesthetic qualities (2008, pp. 97-100). First, an object can look fit for function, appearing well-suited for its purpose by having expected features plus specific elements that enhance functionality. This quality emerges in objects like muscle cars, which look fast through their standard features and additional elements like spoilers. Second, an object can display elegance and simplicity through appearing to have no extraneous or irrelevant features, consisting primarily, or entirely of elements that contribute to its function. A sleek stainless-steel stove exemplifies this, with its standard features like glass door and burners creating an elegant appearance. Third, an object can look as though it is capable of performing its function while at the same time possessing features that appear to contradict this capability, creating a surprising, vibrant look. The Beverly Hills lawn chair creates this sort of "visual tension" (ibid. p. 99) with its three-quarters S-shaped frame that appears too insubstantial to support a person's weight. _Functional Beauty places the aesthetics of design firmly in the perceptual realm. Parsons and Carlson write mainly about visual perception, but we can apply similar principles to other senses. Roberts extends this approach to tactile perception, which we'll examine below. Yet a solely perceptual view of design aesthetics may be incomplete. Some aspects of design appreciation are not captured by perception alone._ 1. 2 Design Is Not Just What It Looks Like _We can begin to see this by noting that not all talk of good and bad design is based around the visual appearance of objects. It is easy to think of examples of noticeably bad design: capsule coffee machines which make it difficult to remove used capsules, mobile phones made from slippery materials are easy to fumble or drop._ Moreover, it is _easy to think of cases in which how visually pleasing_ly functional something _looks comes apart from how pleasing it is to use. Apple's butterfly keyboard is an_ eloquent _example of this. In March 2015 Apple released an iteration of its very successful MacBook laptop line._ In the accompanying press release Apple emphasised the thinness of the keyboard, describing it as "34 percent thinner"  and "dramatically thinner and highly responsive" than previous models (2015). While the butterfly keyboard did make the laptop thinner, a common criticism after its release was that its shallowness compromised the typing experience. These feelings are exemplified by comments on the popular website Laptopmag.com, describing it as "the keys were so shallow that it felt like typing on a hard surface" and finding it "uncomfortable for extended typing sessions due to its low key travel and lack of tactile feedback" (2019). Despite the laptops' sleek and minimal design, these usability complaints, along with reliability concerns, led to the butterfly keyboard being phased out of Apple’s lineup by May 2020. This failure brings out what a perception-based account like Functional Beauty is lacking, as Steve Jobs himself said in 2003: “Most people make the mistake of thinking design is what it looks like. People think it’s this veneer — that the designers are handed this box and told, ‘Make it look good!’ That’s not what we think design is. It’s not just what it looks like and feels like. Design is how it works.” (Walker, 2003) 1.3 Tactile Functional Beauty _How can we appreciate good design if it is_ beyond vision_? One way is to extend functional beauty, or any perception based account, to perceptual modalities other than vision. If good invisible design cannot be seen, perhaps it can be felt, or heard, or smelled?_ _Roberts has_ argued that the _functional beauty account can be_ extended to include _haptic touch. He argues that just as we can see an object as functionally beautiful, we can feel it that way too. He proposes that "an object feels fit for its function when it is perceived through touch as having no contra-standard properties for an object of its type, and as having variable properties, all of which are indicative of a high degree of functionality" (p. 56). Roberts illustrates this with the example of a perfect snowball_:  a faultless sphere that fits neatly in the palm, with just enough heft and texture for throwing without risk of injury to its victim. Not being unusually large or small, and lacking any embellishment of form (ibid.) These tactile qualities indicate the snowball's fitness for its function, leading to what Roberts calls a "pleasing haptic quality" of "feeling fit for function" (ibid.). He extends this concept to other objects, such as bicycles, where haptic exploration reveals qualities that contribute to functional beauty but remain visually inaccessible (p. 57). For example, touch allows appreciation of a bike frame's lightness or smooth gear operation, indicating its fitness for efficient riding. Haptic touch also permits detection of objects unfit for their function. While users could not visually perceive the butterfly keyboard's design flaws, they could feel them through use. _But even if we accept this haptic extension of functional beauty, it doesn't seem to fully capture our experience of design. While Roberts' account helps us understand how we might appreciate the tactile qualities that indicate fitness for function, it still focuses on perceptual properties of the designed object rather than the experience of use itself. Think about using a well-designed smartphone app. The pleasure_ of using it does not derive from how the screen feels under our fingertips. Or consider driving a finely-tuned sports car. The pleasure of driving it goes beyond the tactile sensations of gripping the steering wheel or pressing the pedals. In both the app case and in the car cases, there's an aesthetic quality to the interaction itself. Finally, there are designed objects which we use without touching them, such as the Swiss Railway Clock or Harry Beck’s London Underground Map. All of this suggests that to fully account for the aesthetics of design, we might need to look beyond perception altogether and consider the aesthetics of use itself. 2. The Aesthetics of Use 2.1 A Kantian Approach Whereas Parsons and Carlson's focus on perception, Forsey (2013) develops a Kantian approach to design aesthetics based around assessments of how well objects function. She draws on  the distinction between free and dependent beauty, which Kant's (§16,65) draws as follows: “The first presupposes no concept of what the object ought to be; the second does presuppose such a concept and the perfection of the object in accordance therewith”. While free beauty is judged solely on form, dependent beauty is judged by considering also what Forsey (p. 163) characterizes as “the purpose which determines what the thing is to be" . She applies this notion of dependent beauty to design, arguing that the aesthetic appreciation of designed objects necessarily involves assessing how well they fulfil their functions, considering both their purpose and how effectively they realise that purpose. Forsey illustrates her application of dependent beauty to design through her analysis of coffee pots. The aesthetic judgement of a coffee pot involves assessing both its form (such as its shape and material) and how these elements contribute to its function (pp. 181-182). For instance, an octagonal shape might be judged beautiful not just for its visual appeal, but for how it allows easy opening even with wet hands. This exemplifies what Forsey terms "teleological style" - the specific way an object realises its purpose (p. 167). Such judgments go beyond mere visual appreciation, incorporating how well the object works in practice. _Forsey argues that many qualities of a designed object can only be fully assessed through use._ She _illustrates this point in her discussion of judging design excellence:_ This judgement of perfection cannot be made by looking at the coffee-pots alone. Designed objects are meant to work, but to ascertain whether they do, and whether they are good things of their kind, requires us to use them or put them to the test: is the coffee any good? Can we lift the lid to serve it? Does the pot leak or the metal corrode? Some of these virtues and deficiencies will not be apparent to the eye alone, and this means that judgements of design excellence...require more than observation...(p. 183) This passage shows that Forsey’s approach can accommodate non-perceptual features of design quite straightforwardly. Such features will show up when the object is put to work. We can see this through Forsey’s comparison between her own coffee-pot and “his”: But his coffee-pot, I want to claim, has flaws that are hidden behind that newness and shine, that detract from its beauty. First, brass conducts heat, and each time you reach for the handle, or put your finger on the lid, you burn yourself. Bakelite remains cool. Second, the sleek rounded design makes it very hard to unscrew the two halves, especially if you already have soapy hands. My octagonal pot turns as easily as a nut in a wrench, whether wet or dry. Third, the conical shape of his means the opening of the top pot is too narrow to fit even a small hand in to clean it, whereas mine, as wide at the top as at the bottom, welcomes a quick scrub. (p. 181 – p. 182) While the aluminium of Forsey’s coffee-pot has started to corrode (it looks less fit for function that it used to), and its finish is no longer shiny (its formal properties are not what they were), using it allows for various hidden qualities to show up: coffee can be made without burning one’s fingers, it opens more easily, and it is more easily cleaned.  2.2 The Pleasure of Use Unlike Parsons and Carlson’s Functional Beauty, Forsey’s account makes room for use. However, on her account using an object is merely a means of assessing how well an object performs its function. We suggest that this approach does not fully capture the role that using an object plays in design appreciation. We can begin to see this by noting that although Forsey is right to say that certain virtues of her coffee-pot do not show up if we just look at the thing, they _can_ be revealed by seeing someone else use it. Watching whether someone else singes their fingers while making coffee will be just as informative as singeing one’s own fingers. However, we suggest, simply observing an object being used leaves something important out: the experience of interacting with that object.  Forsey's account, in this respect, bears some resemblance to Nguyen’s notion of “harmony of solution”, which he describes as the aesthetic quality arising from how well a solution fits a given problem or challenge. He writes: "In a beautiful Chess move, there is a harmony between the move and the situation it addresses. Here is a trap; there is an elegant resolution. Call this the harmony of solution. The harmony of solution is strictly a harmony between the solution and the obstacle; it makes no explicit reference to the actor or their capacities. The harmony of the solution is available to both spectator and player." (p. 102) This concept could apply to design in terms of how well a designed object solves a problem. It might explain our appreciation of clever or elegant design solutions. For instance, we might admire the elegant simplicity of a paperclip or the ingenious design of a Swiss Army knife.  The harmony of solution, however, has limitations when it comes to explaining the aesthetics of interaction between user and object. It doesn't focus on the experience of using the object. As Nguyen points out, this harmony is available to both users and observers, making it not specific to interaction. While it may contribute to our overall appreciation of a design, it does not capture the specific aesthetic experience of interaction we're seeking to explain. Consider the following example. For the last few months a professional violist’s favourite viola has been in the repair shop. Finally, it is returned to her and she begins to play. As she does so, she appreciates the unique tone that only her viola can produce, this is something she has missed in the months she has had to play her backup viola. Moreover, she has never been able to play the back up quite as well: its poorly cut bridge does not allow for the nuanced playing made possible by her favourite, and its rougher fretboard meant she can never move her fingers as smoothly as she can with her favourite. These features show up for the violist as she is playing, but both would also be available to an audience. Discerning listeners would judge her favourite to be superior to her back up. However, there is an aspect of use which is available only to violist herself: the _experience of playing_ her viola. It is not simply that she can play better with her favourite, it is that her favourite feels better to play. Using an object allows for aesthetically appreciable _interactive experiences_, mere observation does not. Similarly, negative experiences of use can be hidden from observers: one needs to use the butterfly keyboard personally to discover how unsatisfying it is to type on.  It is in fact common to value objects (utensils) in terms of what it is like to use them. Consider again Roberts’ example of the perfect snowball. While he focuses on how the snowball's perceptual properties - its spherical form, size, and texture - indicate fitness for throwing, this analysis overlooks an aesthetic dimension. The snowball's aesthetic value emerges not just from how it looks and feels in the hand, but from the experience of actually throwing it. A snowball that seems perfectly formed can still provide an unsatisfying throwing experience, just as one that appears imperfect might soar perfectly through the air. The aesthetic appreciation of objects like snowballs involves not just their static properties, but the shape of the actions they elicit. Consider also the sorts of product review which litter Youtube and the internet more generally. A review of a car will make reference to how it looks, efficacy, ease of use etc. but they will also often tell you how it _feels_ to drive. Does it feel satisfying to turn the steering wheel, accelerate etc.? These considerations suggest the following: the aesthetics of design, at least when it comes to utensils like a viola or a fork, has an agentive component. Use is not merely a means of assessing how well an object performs its function, but an aspect of aesthetic appreciation in its own right. In the following section we will show how an aesthetics of interaction with designed objects should be understood.  3. The Aesthetics of Interaction 3.1 Appreciating actions Even if one accepts that there are experiences of interaction, and that they can be more or less pleasurable, we can still ask whether this pleasure is _aesthetic_. Why think that the viola player’s appreciation of how it feels to play her favourite is more similar to commonly agreed upon aesthetic pleasures like taking in a work of art or looking out over a landscape, rather than garden variety pleasures like taking a bath or tasting sugar? GIven Gorodeisky’s (2023)account of aesthetic value, why does a viola or a bicycle deserve the pleasure we take in riding it whereas sugar does not deserve the pleasure we take in eating it? While we have no knock down argument to this challenge, the idea that one’s own actions can be objects of aesthetic appreciation is not uncommon in contemporary aesthetics. First, Montero writes about dancers aesthetically appreciating their own movements:    “it is natural, at least for dancers, to talk of experiencing beauty proprioceptively. A dancer, during a rehearsal onstage—a situation in which there are no mirrors—may claim that a certain movement or position is beautiful or […] complain that the beauty, or whatever other aesthetic quality he or she is aiming at producing, is lacking: 'The movement is too abrupt’; 'The line is ugly'; 'I'm not feeling the connections' are all phrases that roll naturally off a dancer's tongue" (2006 p. 232). Montero argues that proprioception can function as an aesthetic sense, allowing dancers to appreciate the beauty or ugliness of their own movements without needing visual feedback. She defends this idea against objections related to the private nature of proprioceptive experience and its supposed inability to support aesthetic disagreements. Montero also extends her argument to suggest that observers can make aesthetic judgments through kinesthetic empathy, indicating that proprioception's role in aesthetics extends beyond self-awareness.  Nguyen goes one step further, arguing that one can aesthetically appreciate _one’s_ _own actions_, and that this can occur both in everyday life but especially in games: Games, I’m suggesting, are process-centered. When I make aesthetic judgments in response to a game, I am ascribing aesthetic properties and qualities to my own processes—to the actions and activities that I perform in response to the game. (Nguyen 2020,  p. 142) Phenomenologically, we can differentiate actions from mere movements in terms of our _sense of agency_: the sense that we are the source of our movements. There is a phenomenological difference between your leg moving because a doctor has tapped it with a hammer, and you deliberately moving your leg. What is lacking in the former but present in the latter case is a sense of you yourself as causing the movement. We can see from the passage below that Nguyen also believes that we can aesthetically appreciate our own mental actions as well as bodily ones:  Fixing a broken car engine, figuring out a math proof, managing a corporation, even getting into a bar fight—each can have its own particular interest and beauty. These include the satisfaction of finding an elegant solution to an administrative problem, of dodging perfectly around an unexpected obstacle. These experiences are wonderful—but in the wild, they are far too rare. Games can concentrate those experiences. When we design games, we can sculpt the shape of the activity to make beautiful action more likely. And games can intensify and refine those aesthetic qualities, just as a painting can intensify and refine the aesthetic qualities we find in the natural sights and sounds of the world. (2020, p. 13) As with bodily movements we can differentiate mental actions, such as deliberately working through a mathematical proof, from mere occurrent thoughts, such as when a thought suddenly ‘pops’ into your head unbidden.  The analysis of aesthetic appreciation of actions has direct relevance for understanding design. Design shapes the possibilities for action, with well-crafted objects enabling particular types of engagement with the world. Physical artifacts like violas and coffee-pots can elicit aesthetically pleasing actions from users through their form and construction—the way a viola's well-cut bridge enables nuanced playing, or how an octagonal coffee pot allows for secure grip even with wet hands. The design of utensils also can sculpt the shape of the activity to make beautiful action more likely reinforcing how objects not only facilitate function but structure the quality of the actions they make possible. This capacity, shaping both function and the quality of action, is not limited to physical artifacts but extends to cognitive artifacts - objects whose primary function involves conveying information through being perceived, such as pages of text or webpages.  The aesthetic quality of engagement manifests here too: text laid out with appropriate spacing and typeface selection enables fluid, pleasing reading, while poorly designed layouts create disjointed, aesthetically unsatisfying experiences. In both physical and perceptual cases, design shapes the aesthetic potential of the actions that the designed objects enable.  3.2 The Question of Difficulty While the agentive aesthetics of design and the agentive aesthetics of games are similar in many ways, we will argue here that they differ in at least one respect, which can be brought out by considering the relationship between agency and difficulty.  Questions about aesthetic pleasure as it relates to difficulty arise for both games and interactions with designed objects. In games, we might ask _why people enjoy_ difficult games (Juul 2013; Kretchmar 2012). With designed objects, the question is slightly different: what exactly is the relation between aesthetically pleasing use and level of difficulty. On the one hand, designed objects are created to either make an otherwise impossible task possible, or to make a possible task easier: telescopes and microscopes function to make otherwise invisible objects visible; washing machines function to make washing clothes more convenient. On the other, our lives are filled with mundane, easy actions that we do not typically find especially aesthetically satisfying. As we shall see, Nguyen’s solution for the question of difficulty in games does not provide a satisfactory answer to the question of difficulty in design. Nguyen uses the concept of _harmony of capacity_ to explain why people enjoy difficult games. He describes this as the aesthetic quality arising from how well one's overall capacities match the demands of a task, especially when pushed to their limits: "This is an experience, not just of a particular action's fitting the requirements at hand. It is an experience of your whole self fitting the task. It is the experience of your abilities, worked at their maximum, just barely making it." (p. 109) Consider the exhilaration of playing Tetris at a high level. As the speed increases, every action you make will be right at the limit of your capacities, you are managing to place each block _just in time_. As Nguyen points out, this sort of harmony is rare in everyday life and is normally only encountered in games.  He explains that many everyday tasks are either too easy, too difficult, or too repetitive to allow for an experience of this type of harmony. Moreover, it's difficult to quantify or standardise the "edge of ability" for everyday objects. While the harmony of capacity might be applicable to some specialised design contexts, it doesn't fully capture the range of aesthetically pleasing interactions we're interested in for everyday design objects. This highlights our first point of difference between game aesthetics and design aesthetics: the relationship between difficulty and aesthetic satisfaction in using designed objects cannot be straightforwardly explained by Nguyen's notion of the harmony of capacity. 3.3 Aesthetic Effortlessness in Design Interactions We suggest that the best way of accommodating the relationship between aesthetically pleasing experiences of interaction and ease of use is through Montero's ideas of aesthetic effortlessness. In her work, she aims to characterise what it is for something to appear effortless, and explain why effortlessness is aesthetically appealing. Montero does not equate something looking effortless with something looking easy, as can be seen in the following passage: "When we attribute effortlessness to bodily movements in dance, it seems that at least in many cases we also see the work as, in some sense, difficult; we see it as difficult, yet appearing easy." This apparent paradox of difficult actions appearing easy extends beyond dance. In music, for instance, Bach's fugues can seem, in a sense, obvious to a skilled pianist, despite their complexity and cleverness. These examples highlight that aesthetic effortlessness often involves a perceived ease in the execution of objectively challenging tasks. To explain why we find this quality aesthetically appealing, Montero adapts Herbert Spencer's (1852) idea of 'superfluity of fitness': "If the movements we dub as effortless are movements that would be for us difficult to perform yet appear to be performed with reduced effort, then part of the reason why effortless action is attractive could be that it reveals a superfluity of fitness." (Montero, 2012, p. 140) The concept of 'superfluity of fitness' illuminates why effortlessness is aesthetically appealing. When we perceive an action as effortless, we implicitly recognise that the actor possesses capabilities that exceed the demands of the task at hand. This surplus of ability allows for the execution of even complex actions with apparent ease, creating a harmonious relationship between the actor and the action. The aesthetic appeal of this effortlessness stems from its suggestion of mastery and control. When we observe a violinist effortlessly playing a challenging piece or an athlete gracefully performing a difficult manoeuvre, we experience a sense of admiration. We feel a pleasure that these actions seem to fully deserve. This response arises not merely from the successful completion of the task, but from the perceived harmony between the actor's capabilities and the action's requirements. While Montero's account focuses on the perception of effortlessness in others, our analysis requires a shift to the first-person experience of effortlessness. This leads us to the concept of agentive effortlessness, which includes proprioceptive effortlessness as one of its forms. Agentive effortlessness refers to an agent's experience of their own actions as effortless, even when performing objectively difficult tasks. In the context of design interactions, the concept of agentive effortlessness can explain how users derive aesthetic satisfaction from using well-designed objects. This type of effortlessness does not concern the ease of simple actions or mundane interactions discussed earlier, but rather the specific experience of performing tasks in a manner that reduces perceived effort while still requiring a degree of engagement. The application of agentive effortlessness to design interactions reveals two distinct types of experiences: - _Expert-oriented_ agentive effortlessness: tools like a well-balanced chef's knife. Such objects allow users to develop and express high levels of skill. The knife's design facilitates smooth, precise cutting, enabling experienced users to perform complex tasks with apparent ease. The aesthetic satisfaction derives from the user's sense of their own expertise, amplified by the tool's design. This aligns closely with Montero's original concept, where the superfluity of fitness is most apparent in skilled performances. - _Novice-oriented_ agentive effortlessness: devices like the original iPod. Here, the design allows even novice users to perform what would otherwise be complex tasks (managing a large music library) with ease. The aesthetic pleasure stems from the user's sense of accomplishing something sophisticated effortlessly, despite their lack of expertise. This extends Montero's concept by suggesting that good design can create a sense of superfluity of fitness even in users who lack high levels of skill. In both cases, the aesthetic quality of the interaction stems from the user's experience of effortlessness, which is facilitated by the object's design. This effortlessness reflects a perceived abundance of ability relative to the demands of using the object, echoing Montero's concept of superfluity of fitness. This account of agentive effortlessness in design interactions offers several advantages over Nguyen's concept of harmony of capacity: - It explains aesthetic satisfaction across a broader range of interactions, from simple to complex. While Nguyen's harmony of capacity focuses on experiences at the edge of one's abilities, agentive effortlessness can account for aesthetic experiences in both challenging and everyday interactions. - It focuses on the user's subjective experience of ease, rather than the objective match between task difficulty and user ability. This allows for aesthetic experiences in interactions with well-designed objects that don't push users to their limits. - It directly addresses how object design contributes to the aesthetic experience. The concept of agentive effortlessness explicitly considers how the design of an object can facilitate a sense of effortlessness in the user, whether expert or novice. - It aligns with the design goal of creating objects that feel effortless to use, while still allowing for the development and expression of skill. This dual consideration of both ease and skill development is particularly relevant for design contexts. In sum, by adapting Montero's concept of aesthetic effortlessness to the realm of agentive experience in design interactions, we can account for the aesthetic satisfaction derived from interacting with well-designed objects. This framework accommodates both the simple pleasure of effortless everyday interactions and the more complex satisfaction of skilful use, providing an explanation of the relationship between difficulty, ease, and aesthetic pleasure in design that aligns with and extends Nguyen's aesthetics of agency. 4. Agentive Phenomenology and Intentional Structure 4.1 Nguyen's Harmony of Action and Agentive Phenomenology In Section 3, we explored how Nguyen's concept of harmony of capacity, while illuminating for game aesthetics, has limited application to the aesthetics of design. Nguyen also introduces the notion of "harmony of action," which he describes as the aesthetic quality arising from how well an individual's actions fit the demands of a situation. Unlike the harmony of capacity, Nguyen believes that harmony of action can be experienced both in games and in real life: "When you time a jump just so in Super Mario Brothers; or when you figure out, during a rock climb, that you need to slide your hips over just enough to balance on that tiny nubbin of rock, you're experiencing more than the harmony of solution. You're experiencing your agency and action as fitting the demands of the environment." (Nguyen 2020, p. 108) Earlier, he provides a real-world example: "A car swerves into my lane and I react smoothly, dodging perfectly. Afterward, I am struck by the gracefulness of my own instinctive response." (ibid., pp. 101–102) Harmony of action can be applied straightforwardly to design aesthetics. Design choices directly affect our ability to achieve that harmony. Take the example of avoiding an obstacle in a car: good design choices about steering sensitivity and suspension response might let us experience our defensive driving as perfectly matched to the situation. Poor design choices about these same elements might make identical manoeuvres feel uncontrolled and awkward. This suggests that one way design shapes aesthetic experience is by enabling or preventing such harmony. What we have said in the previous section as for aesthetic effortlessness in design interaction might be traced back to the broader notion of harmony of action. However, there is a difference here that merits attention. While it is reasonable to think that something like the harmony of action factors into both real-life and in-game interactions, the way in which actions fit the environment differs in each type of case. This difference is reflected in our agentive phenomenology—that is, in the way we experience ourselves as agents acting in the world. Agentive phenomenology refers to the subjective experiences associated with exercising agency, particularly during intentional actions (Mylopoulos and Shepherd 2020). When we act intentionally, we typically experience ourselves as initiating our actions, feeling in control, and able to start or stop our actions at will, even if it might be unwise to do so. This sense of agency is absent in cases of involuntary movement, such as when a tap on the knee causes our leg to jerk reflexively. In both games and real life, we can have this sense of agency, but the nature of our agentive experience can differ depending on the context. In games like _Super Mario Brothers_, our actions are shaped by the game's design. The environment is controlled, and the challenges are predefined. Timing a jump perfectly to overcome an obstacle fits precisely within the game's immediate demands and offers instant feedback.The player's actions are confined within the "magic circle" of the game (Huizinga 1955), a boundary that separates the game world from ordinary life. Within this context, the reasons for our actions and the way they fit the environment are provided by the game's rules and objectives. In contrast, real-life actions occur in more complex environments embedded in a web of considerations. Our decisions and actions are influenced by personal values, social norms, legal obligations, and long-term goals. The way our actions fit the environment in real life is therefore more intricate, and this complexity is reflected in our agentive phenomenology, which includes various aspects such as the feeling of initiating an action, the sense of control over one's movements, the felt possibility of being able to do otherwise, and the awareness of acting for reasons (Mylopoulos and Shepherd 2020). These experiences can vary depending on the context in which we act, leading to differences in how we experience our own agency in games versus real life, as we shall now see. 4.2 Chromatic Illumination, Purposiveness, and Means-Ends Teleology To understand how our agentive phenomenology differs between real life and games, we can consider two specific aspects: purposiveness and means-ends teleology. Purposiveness refers to the experience of acting on purpose, of engaging in actions that are goal-directed. When we act intentionally, we often have multiple purposes, both broad and specific. For example, when we enter our office in the morning, our general purpose might be to start the workday, but this involves specific purposes like turning on the computer, checking emails, and preparing for meetings. These purposes influence our experience of acting, even if we are not explicitly thinking about them at every moment. Means-ends teleology involves understanding our actions as means to achieve certain ends. It includes recognising how our desires and beliefs combine to provide practical reasons for action. For instance, we might desire to finish a project and believe that working uninterrupted for an hour is necessary to achieve that goal. This belief-desire combination shapes our experience of acting as we organise our activities to meet our objectives. These aspects of our agentive experience are often present in the background of awareness, influencing our actions without being the focus of our attention. In a dialogue with Nida-Rümelin, Horgan introduces the concept of chromatic illumination to describe how these background purposes and meanings colour our agentive experience without being explicitly represented in consciousness: "Often, many of the purposes informing one's actions affect the character of one's agentive experience by being implicitly appreciated consciously without actually being represented in consciousness. These purposes are phenomenologically operative as reasons for one's actions, colouring the specific character of one's agentive experience without being overtly 'before the mind.'" (Horgan & Nida-Rümelin 2020, p. 265) Through chromatic illumination, we are aware of our purposiveness and means-ends teleology as background aspects of our experience. In real-life actions, our purposes and means-ends relationships are numerous and layered, involving personal values, social norms, and long-term aspirations. This complexity contributes to the way we experience ourselves as agents, as our actions are connected to various facets of our lives. In games, the purposiveness and means-ends teleology of our actions are different. The purposes and means-ends relationships are typically defined by the game's rules and objectives, confined within the game's magic circle. While we still act on purpose and use actions as means to achieve ends, these purposes are more straightforward and less embedded in our broader life context. We are aware of these differences because the background purposes in games are less interconnected with personal values and long-term goals. Therefore, the way in which actions fit the environment in games versus real life leads to differences in our agentive phenomenology, particularly regarding purposiveness and means-ends teleology. In real life, these aspects contribute to a richer experience of agency. Our actions are connected to our personal narratives and social contexts, influencing how we perceive and engage with the world. In games, the experience of agency may be more focused and confined, reflecting the structured nature of the game's environment and objectives. 4.3 The Agentive Aesthetics of Design  The differences in agentive phenomenology between real-world and game actions influence the aesthetics of design, particularly in terms of the harmony of action they afford. One main way in which the agentive aesthetics of using designed objects differs from that of gameplay lies in the richer phenomenology of purposiveness and means-ends teleology present in real-life actions, contributing to a more integrated harmony of action. Designed objects enable a harmony of action that is integral to our daily lives and connected to our purposes. When we interact with a well-designed object, such as a finely made tool or a user-friendly piece of technology, our agentive experience involves purposiveness and means-ends relationships that align with our broader goals. This alignment can make our agentive experience aesthetically pleasing, as the object helps us to act in ways that matter to us, thereby deserving the pleasure we take in it. In contrast, games, while providing enjoyable experiences, offer a different kind of harmony of action that is confined within the "magic circle," in which actions are framed and their meanings are limited to the game context. The agentive aesthetics of gameplay is shaped by the game's predefined purposes and means-ends relationships, which, although present, may not align as deeply with our everyday purposes. Therefore, while both games and designed objects involve purposiveness and means-ends teleology, the harmony of action is more integrated in the case of designed objects, leading to agentive experiences that differ from those in games. By recognising how designed objects facilitate a harmony of action in our interactions with the world, we can see how they enhance our everyday experiences. Our agentive experiences with designed objects are aesthetically pleasing because they help us act harmoniously in ways that we value in our daily lives. The agentive aesthetics of design can thus contribute to the “everyday aesthetics” (Saito 2017) in a way the agentive aesthetics of games could not. Design, from this perspective, is to games as architecture is to sculpture. Both sculpture and architecture shape volumes but the former does so in a framed way, in the “magic circle” of the art gallery for instance, whereas the latter does so in the wild. Likewise, both games and design shape actions but the former do so in their magic circles whereas the latter does so in the wild.   Evnine's (2016) hylomorphic account of actions can further illuminate this point. According to Evnine, actions can be seen as artifactual events, where the intentional form represents the agent's purposes and goals, and the material aspect involves the physical movements performed. In sum, actions are constituted by an intentional form impressed onto a matter that consists of bodily movements. In the context of design, this alignment of intentional form and material movement contributes to a harmony of action, as the designed object facilitates actions that are integrated with our purposes and means-ends relationships. For example, when using a well-designed tool, the action is not just a physical movement but is harmoniously informed by our intentions and purposes. This hylomorphic account of actions  ultimately enables us to properly differentiate the aesthetics of design from both the aesthetics of dance and the aesthetics of games. Aesthetically appreciating design is a sort of playing or dancing with a technical artifact. The aesthetics of design differs from the aesthetics of dance since the former may also consist of mental actions while the latter is based on bodily movements. Designed objects are closer to games than dance in this respect since the aesthetic appreciation of them both can be centred on actions whose hylomorphic matter consists of changes in mental content rather than bodily movements. However, the aesthetics of design differs from the aesthetics of games in virtue of the depth and complexity of its chromatically illuminated form. Games and dance are similar in this respect since they both involve framed actions. Design, instead, leads us to aesthetically appreciate actions intertwined with our life.  Conclusion This paper has explored the role of user experience in the aesthetics of design, arguing that current philosophical accounts have not fully addressed the aesthetic dimensions arising from the use of designed objects. Beginning with Parsons and Carlson's theory of Functional Beauty, we observed that while perception—particularly visual perception—plays a significant role in appreciating design, this approach is limited when considering objects where good design is not immediately apparent through perception alone. We highlighted that certain designs are such that their aesthetic value emerges primarily through interaction and use rather than perceptual features. We then examined Forsey's Kantian perspective, which incorporates function into aesthetic judgement by assessing how well an object fulfils its intended purpose. Although this view allows both perception and use to inform aesthetic appreciation, we argued that it still does not fully capture the aesthetic experiences derived from the act of using an object. Specifically, we argued that use should not be regarded merely as a means of evaluating functional efficiency but should be recognized as an object of aesthetic attention in its own right. To address this gap, we introduced the concept of agentive aesthetics, drawing on Montero's notion of aesthetic effortlessness. We proposed that the aesthetic satisfaction derived from using designed objects often stems from the experience of performing tasks that are inherently challenging yet are executed with apparent ease. This sense of effortlessness reflects a harmony between the user's abilities and the demands of the task, facilitated by the design of the object itself. Unlike Nguyen's agentive aesthetics of games, which emphasise actions that push users to their limits, we suggested that aesthetically pleasing interactions with designed objects do not typically involve actions that test the user's maximum capacities. Furthermore, we discussed how the richer phenomenology of purposiveness and means-ends teleology in real-life actions contributes to the agentive aesthetics of design. Interactions with designed objects are embedded within broader personal goals and contexts, unlike actions in games that are confined within a structured environment. This integration enhances the aesthetic experience, as the use of well-designed objects aligns with and facilitates the user's intentions and purposes in everyday life. By incorporating the aesthetic appreciation of use into the discussion on design aesthetics, we have aimed to provide a more comprehensive account that complements existing theories. Recognising the aesthetic value that emerges from the interaction between users and objects enriches our understanding of what constitutes good design. This perspective acknowledges that the agentive pleasure derived from seamless interactions is a significant dimension of aesthetic appreciation, thereby offering a more complete picture of the aesthetics of design without dismissing the importance of perceptual qualities or functional assessments. The dualism of form and function is surely the crux of the aesthetics of design and has traditionally been addressed as if the form were related to the experience of the technical artefact while the function were related to a more cognitive or pragmatic stance towards that artefact. 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