User needs: don’t go to Chino

The concept ‘don’t go to Chino’ may be my most significant intellectual contribution to GDS and digital transformation, though I cannot account for any practical impact. Or at least it might have been, had I published this when I wrote it in 2014. At the time I was leading work on how to get ‘digital by default’ services to digitally excluded users. It matters equally to me now as Director of Customer Journey at Citizens Advice.


If you are involved in making public services more digital, don’t represent users of public services in a less flattering light than you represent yourselves.


This concept is derived from The O.C., an American teen drama. It is a very good programme. Ryan Atwood, one of the main characters, is from the wrong side of the tracks, specifically a place called Chino. The scenes set in Chino or associated with Ryan’s working class roots are shot in a sad, grey light. The look very bleak in comparison to the shiny, bright, upper middle class new life the Cohen family offer to Ryan in posh Newport Beach. The first season in particular is anchored by the ever-present narrative risk that Ryan will return to Chino – don’t go to Chino! I feel that the line ‘don’t go to Chino’ is used in the dialogue but I’ll confirm that next time I do an OC re-watch.

The opening credits give a sense of this, when at the start Ryan is in a car going away from Chino, looking sad and grey.

This concept was coined by yours truly when I got cross at a difference I perceived between the representation of GDS employees and services users in GDS’s photographs. The pictures of users were a bit sad and grey, like they were in Chino. A bad place. The pictures of GDS staff were bright and cheerful, like they were in a nice office in central London, or Newport Beach, bathed in the warm glow of their (our) privilege.

My irritation at this became an imperative: don’t go to Chino [when representing your users]! Which makes no grammatical sense, but you get the point.


The concept is important to me as a reminder to consider how we represent the parties involved in public service provision and use. We should be as respectful to the people who use our services as we are to the people who make them, if not more, and this should show in our visual and other communications.

More broadly, the concept acts as a prompt for me to remember the power relations in digital transformation work, especially when working on services for the whole public, or more disadvantaged or vulnerable people. These power relations are, in my view, very present but mainly unacknowledged. When you work in the public sector and your work is making decisions about the provision of public services to citizens (be that policy decisions about whether services will be provided at all and to what level, or delivery decisions about how they are provided), you are in a position of power over the people who use you services. This is a privileged position. We should inhabit it respectfully and interrogate ourselves to make our actions and our work the best they can be.

A blog is your contribution, over time, on the internet

I love this post by Giles Turnbull about what blogs do for organisations. Giles argues that

“A blog provides something that posting on social networks has never been able to match: a searchable, linkable archive of thoughts over time. A blog is a terrific way of explaining what you’re thinking and how those thoughts change.”

I agree. My blog shows my thoughts over time. Sometimes my thoughts are “I would also like to modify the citational practices of digital government, which as an intellectual project rests almost exclusively on a canon written by white men” (December 2014, pretentious, true). Sometimes they are “I’ve been doing a bit of talking” (December 2015, less pretentious, also true).

But blogging has another purpose for me – recording my contribution. I try to write a factual summary of the work I’ve been doing every month or so. Partly, I record my work because I want people to hire me to do more work. Mostly, I do it because I want my contribution to be publicly recorded. I blog to take up space. Too many people (women) I know have had their contributions written out of the story of things they’ve worked on. Writing down what I do might not solve this, but I hope it will help.

Health apps and Haraway

My life has recently been enriched by two health apps. The work of Donna Haraway has enriched my understanding of why I like them, and why I don’t. Ella prompted me to think of them together.

Hormone Horoscope

Hormone Horoscope is an app for people with regular menstrual cycles. It’s very simple and very effective. It takes the findings from lots of scientific studies into the menstrual cycle and its effects, and feeds them to you day-by-day. Each day it gives you a ‘horoscope’ with information about your likely mental and physical state on that day of your cycle.


Babylon is a virtual GP. You book a video call with a GP, usually within an hour, do the consultation, and they email the prescription to a pharmacy of your choice. I have used it for minor ailments but I wouldn’t use it for anything more serious. It’s currently free but I will happily pay for it in future.

Donna Haraway


Donna Haraway is a feminist theorist of science and technology. Last weekend I re-read her essay A Cyborg Manifesto, which is probably her most famous work. One of the many arguments in A Cyborg Manifesto is to distrust binaries including the one between human and machine. Haraway makes this argument by writing about the concept of the cyborg. The essay is playful and complex.

I have learned from A Cyborg Manifesto that a strict binary between human and machine is incorrect. At the most basic level this has the implication that us humans are constituted by technology, and technology is part of us, we don’t live outside it. But while I begrudgingly accept I’m probably a cyborg not a human (or at least might be in future, and that this might be a form of liberation), I don’t like the idea of having health apps collect lots of data about me. I know my iPhone already does this to an extent, and it gives me the creeps. I suppose this makes me a reluctant cyborg.

A reason I like these two apps is because they use my input and combine it with other people’s existing scientific knowledge, which I would not otherwise have access to, rather than collecting data about me in the background and giving me the results, like lots of health apps. I like how all the medical knowledge Hormone Horoscope has about me is the start date and length of my menstrual cycle. I like that Babylon can link up with my medical records and update my regular GP with new information, or not. I like that it gives me better access to the medical profession, rather than collecting and analysing lots of information about me.

Haraway teaches us to ground our experiences and critiques of science and technology in their social contexts. A Cyborg Manifesto takes aim at patriarchy and capitalism, among other oppressive systems. This reminds me that my previous paragraph makes these apps sound more innocent than they are.

I am troubled by using private healthcare like this because I think excellent healthcare, including women’s healthcare, should be available on the NHS. I love Babylon because my GP’s surgery doesn’t give appointments quickly enough to be useful for short-term conditions, or conveniently enough to be accessible if you work. I love Hormone Horoscope because it makes scientific knowledge available in way that is meaningful for non-specialists, rather than leaving it in journals behind paywalls. They are both work-arounds for healthcare systems that don’t work for me.

They are also exclusionary for various reasons. They are only available to people with expensive phones, internet access and particular skills. Hormone Horoscope is very pink, presumably because it’s aimed at cis women. I could go on but this post was meant to mainly be about why I like these apps.

I’d like to write a sentence here that neatly resolves the conflict in me liking and disliking things at the same time but I can’t. I hope Haraway would approve.


Concept: executive realness

This is a post about a concept that helps me make sense of the world I work in. Part of my reason to write it is because I find that when feminist ideas are used in the digital, government and digital government communities work in, they are frequently used to explore and understand matters of gender only. For me, feminist, queer and anti-racist ideas can help us explore and understand much more. I would also like to modify the citational practices of digital government, which as an intellectual project rests almost exclusively on a canon written by white men.


When a person who is not a business executive dresses and acts so much like an executive, that people think they are an executive, and in some sense they become an executive.


To the best of my knowledge, ‘realness’ and the related concept ‘executive realness’ come from ball culture in the US in the 1980s and 1990s. Some drag performers explain what ‘realness’ means to them in the documentary Paris is Burning:

‘to be able to blend, that’s what realness is’

‘it’s not a take-off or a satire, no, it’s actually being able to be this’

The concept of ‘executive realness’ thus means being able to be an executive through your actions and presentation, even if you are not employed as an executive. Note that is means ‘being’, not just ‘pretending to be’. You can see a tiny bit of an example at 0:12 in the video. There are examples of executive realness elsewhere in Paris is Burning, but I can’t find clips of those sections online.

Note that the term is probably not fixed in definition, rather becoming fixed through the documentary (see bell hooks’ critique below).

The term has also been used in RuPaul’s Drag Race, which brings styles and language of drag balls to the genre of the TV talent show.

Paris is Burning has been analysed by feminist scholars including bell hooks in her essay ‘Is Paris Burning?’ and Judith Butler in ‘Stories that Matter’. In my mis-remembering, it is a text used in Butler’s ‘Gender Trouble’ in relation to the theory of gender performativity but this is not the case. I note that here because Gender Trouble and Paris is Burning, and so executive realness, are things I always think of together. I make a Butlerian interpretation of the concept because I stress the idea of someone ‘being’ or ‘becoming’ executive through their actions, not just the idea of pretending so well you pass. If the idea of ‘being’ or ‘becoming’ something rather than ‘pretending to be’ something through your actions is unfamiliar, Butler is a good place to start.


At the most superficial level, the concept points out that in the workplace, we are all acting within certain modes of behaviour. Or deliberately acting outside them, but probably not too much outside, else we are likely to have to leave the workplace.

The concept points out that executive-ness is unevenly distributed across bodies. In the context in which I live and work it is most frequently found on/in white, heterosexual, middle class, cis male bodies. It is naturalised in these bodies, so it doesn’t seem like acting or adopting and performing a set of behaviours, it just seems ‘real’.

Or, some people get to act in ways that accrue socio-economic privilege, in large part because of their existing socio-economic privilege, while others don’t.

The concept also shows, though, that these behaviours can easily be adopted by people who don’t usual exhibit them. If you can pass as an executive in a drag ball, then you could pass in an office. To stretch this again, there is no intrinsic greater value or talent in a person who gets to be an executive every day, than one who gets to pass as an executive in a drag ball. The only difference is that one owns the body on which executive-ness is most often found and moves in the socio-economic circles that make doing executive-ness everyday possible.

Or, don’t think you’re in your position just because of your talent and hard work. 

To use the concept in a more cheeky and personal way, when I dress smartly at work or perform boss-like tasks, I sometimes conceptualise myself as doing executive realness. As a white, middle class cis woman, I can pass as an executive pretty easily. There are small penalties for adopting these behaviours, for example receiving negative comments about being overly confident in my abilities, being called blunt, or being called masculine, or excessively careerist, which to the best of my understanding are not negative comments that men who are broadly equivalent to me receive. These are minor penalties, however, because I occupy a body which can pass as executive relatively easily, from which I accrue substantial socio-economic privileges.

Finally, and most importantly, the concept reminds me to value and respect the perspectives of people who do not adopt or fulfil the expectations of executive realness, either because their bodies are not those on which executive behaviours are naturalised, or because they do not choose to or cannot adopt these styles. It reminds me that there are people who do not appear at all in the work I do, where I frequently work entirely with people exhibiting executive behaviours. These ideas are often discussed in the workplace and in the technology sector in the language of ‘diversity’. I’m going to write more about ‘diversity’ and what it means to me separately.


I’m using the concept of executive realness a long way from its home. I am taking it from US to UK context and across boundaries of gender, race, class and sexuality, in which I am the more privileged party. bell hooks criticised the film Paris is Burning and its critical reception for presenting the particular culture of drag balls through the lens of a middle class, educated, white woman, as if it was an unmediated truth and ‘as though [Jennie Livingstone, the director] somehow did this marginalized black gay subculture a favor by bringing their experiences to a wider public’ (hooks cited in Butler, Bodies That Matter, Routledge, 1993, p92). I don’t think I’m doing them a favour by writing this post. I think the subjects of Paris is Burning did me a favour by creating a concept that illuminates how executive authority is created. (Edit: the language of ‘favours’ suggests that the creators of the concept did it to benefit me, which they didn’t – they did it for themselves and I pinched it). I hope I am using their concept respectfully, but do so expecting to be critiqued if I am not, in which case I will change or discontinue my use of it.