Two pills, one in each hand
I've watched the first Matrix more times than I can count. It's one of my favorite movies because underneath the kung fu and the slow-motion bullets, it's asking real philosophical questions. The pill scene is the most famous one, famous enough that "red pill" became its own word. Morpheus holds out his hands. Blue: the story ends, Neo wakes up in his bed and believes whatever he wants. Red: he stays in Wonderland, and Morpheus shows him how deep the rabbit hole goes.
What I notice now, watching it as a designer, is how fair the setup is.
- Both options are explained before the choice. No fine print, no "learn more" link.
- They're the same size. One pill in each hand. Neither one glows.
- Nothing is chosen for him. Morpheus doesn't slip one into his drink.
- He's even told what he isn't getting. Morpheus says he's only offering the truth, nothing more. No promise that it'll feel good.
And then the movie does something brave: it shows someone regretting the red pill. Cypher, one of the crew, ends up wishing he'd taken the blue one. He'd rather have the steak that isn't real. Ignorance is bliss, he says. The movie doesn't pretend the honest choice is always the happy one. It just insists that it was his to make.
Condemned to be free
Jean-Paul Sartre gave a lecture in Paris in 1945 that became the short book Existentialism Is a Humanism. The idea everyone remembers is that we're "condemned to be free." Nobody hands us a script. We're thrown into the world and have to choose, and we're responsible for what we choose.
The part I think about most is the trap door he closes: you can't escape by not choosing. If you refuse to decide, that's a decision too, with consequences you own.
Websites have the same problem, just smaller. There's no neutral layout. If one button is orange and the other is gray text, you've chosen. If the box is pre-ticked, you've chosen for them. If the "no thanks" link says "No, I don't like saving money," you've chosen to make them feel stupid for disagreeing. The question isn't whether you influence the decision. You will. The question is whether you're honest about it.
The blue pill nobody chose
There's a name for the dishonest version. In 2010 a UX designer named Harry Brignull started calling them dark patterns: interfaces built to trick people into things they didn't mean to do. You've met all of them:
- The pre-ticked box. You "agreed" to the newsletter because you didn't notice the check.
- Confirmshaming. The decline link is written to make you feel bad: "No thanks, I'll stay uninformed."
- The roach motel. Signing up takes one click. Canceling takes a phone call during business hours.
- The disguised option. "Accept all" is a big bright button. "Manage settings" is small gray text, three screens deep.
That last one is the blue pill nobody chose. It's a choice that was made for you, dressed up as one you made yourself.
This isn't just a design-ethics argument anymore. In 2019 the EU's top court ruled in the Planet49 case that a pre-ticked box doesn't count as cookie consent. Regulators in the US have published reports on dark patterns too. The law is slowly catching up to something Morpheus understood in 1999: a choice only counts if the person actually makes it.
How I tried to build it fair
This site has an actual red pill and blue pill. They're the end of a hidden side quest: a white rabbit hops into a terminal on the homepage, and if you follow it, the screen goes to Matrix rain and the two pills appear. (The full story of the rabbit is in Follow the white rabbit.)
It's just an easter egg. But it was a good excuse to practice the rules on something small:
- Both choices are spelled out first. The two lines from the movie type out before the pills appear, so you know what each one does before you can click.
- Same size, same weight. Two pixel pills side by side. Hover one and the other line dims, so you can see what you're pointing at.
- No default. Nothing is pre-selected. (On a keyboard, the focus has to start somewhere, so it lands on the first pill, but nothing happens until you choose.)
- A real way out. There's an "Esc · Wake up" button the whole time. Leave without choosing, and nothing gets logged. Not choosing is allowed, and it's treated as its own choice.
- Both endings are real. The blue pill isn't a punishment. Your eyes blink open, a little blurry, and you're back on the page. The red pill shows you every side quest hidden on the site. Different, not better or worse.
The same thinking shows up in less silly places on the site:
- The motion switch. There's an "Engines on / off" switch in the nav that turns the site's animation off. If your device already asks for reduced motion, the site doesn't argue. It switches off and says so ("Engines off (device)"). You made that choice already, somewhere else. I don't get to overrule it.
- The contact form. It starts on a plain question by default. It only starts on "Book a call" if you clicked a button that said Book a call. The default follows what you already chose, not what I'd like you to choose.
The rules I use
- Explain both options before the choice. If it needs fine print, it isn't a fair choice.
- Make them look equal when they are equal. Save the big bright button for when one option really is the main path, like "Send" on a form.
- Never pre-tick for them. An empty box is honest. A checked one is a guess about what they want that happens to suit you.
- Write the "no" with respect. "No thanks" is enough. Nobody should feel stupid for declining.
- Make leaving as easy as joining. If it's one click in, it's one click out.
- Respect choices they already made. Device settings, earlier clicks, a "no" last week.
In practice
- Audit your two-button moments. Signup, cookie banner, upgrade prompt, cancel flow. For each one, ask: would I be comfortable explaining this layout to the person using it?
- Read your decline copy out loud. If it sounds like a guilt trip, rewrite it.
- Count the clicks both ways. Joining and leaving should cost about the same.
- Check your defaults. Every pre-filled field is a choice you made for someone.
Sartre would say you can't design without choosing for people a little. Morpheus would add: then at least tell them what's in each hand.