A few years ago, I suggested adding a new interaction to Figma. If your text cursor was on a misspelled word (anywhere inside, or the edges), you could press Tab to quickly accept the suggested correction, without even seeing it:

Independently, Google Docs approached it from a slightly different angle, but landing on a similar interaction – in their version there’s a small visual callout, although you can still press Tab (and then Enter) to accept the suggestion:

I know the Tab key has a lot of jobs – from indenting bullet points to jumping through GUI elements – but in this context this new addition doesn’t seem to be in conflict.

(Should I write a long photoessay about the Tab key, similar to the ones I wrote for Return/​Enter and Fn keys?)

Since we added it, I’ve really loved how it feels. From various typeaheads and autocompletes elsewhere, Tab has a strong “forward movement” energy so it makes conceptual sense, and it’s just really fun to go around and quickly fix your writing this way.

I think a lot about how to make keyboard interactions feel superpower-y: a good keyboard shortcut on a large key, a tight interaction, a blink-of-an-eye velocity – something that’s eminently designed to lodge itself in your motor memory as quickly as possible, as it builds on top of prior motor memory. I’m biased, of course, but I like the “no scope” Figma version more, and it has that feeling to me.

This is a thoughtful post from Florian Schulz about designing a typeahead experience.

I liked the details both within the implementation – for example, making sure the kerning is preserved! – but also in the presentation. I particularly enjoyed Schulz making the component demo itself, rather than using prerecorded videos. (I was delighted to discover that even the first large “picture” of the component is actually interactive!)

A small comment to this bit:

Unfortunately, not all browsers expose the selection or accent color of an operating system. For example, if a user would set the accent color in macOS to pink, the special CSS keyword color “Highlight” will still result in a light blue color in Safari. In other browsers like Chrome, the color will match the user preference. But since this is an attack vector for user tracking / fingerprinting, Apple made the right choice to hide the user preference from developers.

From my understanding, this is not necessarily correct. For example, in theory, the purple visited link color can be used for fingerprinting, by building a profile of whether or not I visited one of the hundreds of popular websites, quietly in the background.

The way browsers solve this is to never expose the color programmatically back to JavaScript – if your code asks for a link color, it will be blue regardless of whether the link was visited or not. It seems to me that the Highlight color could be used the same way here. Given that CSS now supports things like color-mix(in srgb, Highlight 20%, white), it would even allow a designer to riff on the color without ever knowing what it is.

In the video linked in the previous post, one of the hosts mentions at one point:

The biggest rebuttal is that the greatest audio engine of all time, the one baked into all Apple products, has 16 volume steps. And no one has ever been like, “My iPhone doesn’t have enough granularity to the volume.”

But of course they have. And the solution is easy: on both the iPhone and Mac you can grab one of the many volume sliders and immediately get a lot more precision:

(Can’t help but notice this volume control has a nice set of notches, too!)

But if I told you that you can actually also increase the precision from 16 to 64 stops using the volume up/down keys, would you know how to do it?

Occam’s Razor: it must be a modifier key. So let’s go through them all.

Pressing ⌥ and brightness up/down opens the Displays settings pane, and consequently, pressing ⌥ and any of the three volume keys gives you the Sound settings pane. (This convention, however, isn’t followed for other keys. ⌥ and Mission Control only opens top level of Settings, and ⌥ and other function keys like Spotlight, Dictation, or media transport doesn’t do anything. My guess is that someone simply forgot about this over time which is a pity, because one of the best ways to teach people about a power-user shortcut is to make it as transferrable as possible, to allow motor memory to blossom.)

So ⌥ is out. ⌃ and brightness keys changes the brightness on the external display, and even though that doesn’t really apply to volume, it’s safe to stay away.

⇧ + volume keys reverses the meaning of this toggle below, making ping sounds if the toggle is off, or suppressing them if the toggle is on. This is nice.

That only leaves Fn/Globe which already reverses top-row keys into function keys, and ⌘. But ⌘ is inert. Instead, the combination to add precision is ⌥ + ⇧ + volume keys. (Same with brightness, which can be useful e.g. on a very dark plane.)

I don’t understand this, and I wonder what is the reason it got this way. Modifier keys are generally tricky, but this doesn’t follow any of the go-to rules I would try in this situation:

• Reuse an existing convention for consistency: I don’t think anywhere else ⌥⇧ means “precision.”
• Follow naturally from existing UI building blocks: ⌥ and ⇧ do different things and this is not an intuitive combination of what they do independently.
• Use mnemonics: This doesn’t feel like it’s doing that at all.
• Failing everything else, make it pleasant to press: ⌥ and ⇧ is possibly the least ergonomic two-modifier-key combination.

This shortcut has another problem, which is that it is the only two-modifier-key option here. If you don’t use it often, you might only remember it as “two modifier keys” without further detail, which actually ends up being 10 possible combinations of keys! So if you’re like me, you always awkwardly button mash a bunch of them before rediscovering ⌥⇧.

My recommendation for a small tweak here?

• ⇧ and brightness/​volume: Secondary display/Add pings (both are most important; Shift is nice to press and the “default” modifier key).
• ⌃ and brightness/​volume: Add extra precision (as that gives you more control).
• ⌥ and brightness/​volume/other keys: Open the relevant Settings pane.

Obviously, I might not have all the information that led to the current situation (and it’s possible I don’t even understand it fully), plus changing any long-existing shortcuts is hard. But as above, ⌥⇧ is so peculiar, and it also misses out on the last important consideration: I don’t think anyone would ever discover it by mistake or out of curiosity.

One of my favorite bits of trivia about the 1983 movie WarGames is that all the computer typing scenes have been faked in a clever way: The actors (many of whom might have never typed before, as home computers were only slowly becoming popular) were allowed to press any key they wanted, but the interface would still proceed as if the correct letter was typed.

This allowed the computer to respond to keystrokes, making it all feel real, but also reduced the burden on actors to type things properly – and also make it easier for proper sight lines to happen, as the actors didn’t have to constantly look at the keyboard.

WarGames used it really well, showing all sorts of face reflections in the CRT screens, as if people literally talked to the machines, which must have been hell to film:

I have never seen this demoed or mentioned outside of the anecdote. However, yesterday, Cathode Ray Dude released an excellent video about the challenges of filming computer screens. The whole video is worth watching, although at this point mostly off-topic for this blog. But starting at 1:32 and ending around 1:37, there’s an actual demo of a similar piece of auto-typing software used in the 1996 movie Scream:

You might think this is just a piece of old-computer trivia, but I’ve actually used that in at least two of my talks, for some of the similar reasons! I run most of my talks from HTML/CSS/JS; it’s nice for the audience to see things being typed and responding properly to (audible, and occasionally visible) key presses – but it’s also nice as a speaker not to worry about messing things up under pressure.

For extra realism, make sure Backspace goes back in the script – you might occasionally press it instinctively – and for extra extra verisimilitude, actually bake in a typo or two into the predefined sequence. (And an escape hatch if you actually change your mind and want to go manual.)

Then, of course, there’s a classic 2011 piece of software called HackerTyper. Did someone already marry this idea with an LLM? Seems like a logical next step.

I just published a new photoessay about the history of the Fn key, and particularly what Apple has been doing with it recently.

Do we need yet another person crashing out about Apple’s design decisions? Am I doing it only because it’s fashionable to be on Apple Design Hate Train these days? I’ll be honest: I don’t know.

But I have been bothered by Apple’s approach to this aspect of its keyboard design for a while, because it starts breaking what I think is really important in using a computer well: keyboard shortcuts.

I hope it’s also a fun visual history of the most tricky of modern modifier keys.

(And if you like it, I linked to a few of my other keyboard essays in the footer.)

⌘T is a very important shortcut in Slack. It allows you to quickly talk to someone just by typing in their name. I use it probably dozens, if not hundreds of times a day.

⌘T is right next to ⌘R, which reloads Slack. Occasionally, on the way to ⌘T, my fingers graze ⌘R. Fingers being fingers, I immediately realize something went wrong and wince, and within a second or two I witness Slack completely reloading. It’s not a big deal – no data is lost, and the reload is only 5 to 10 seconds, but when you move fast, it feels like eternity.

⌘O is a very important shortcut in Finder. It opens the selected file in the correct app. I use it probably dozens, if not hundreds of times a day.

⌘O is right next to ⌘P, which prints the file I’m pointing to. Curiously, and in contrast with most apps, the print function is not gated in any way by a confirmation dialog box, or an intermediate print settings window.

So, occasionally, on the way to ⌘O, my fingers graze ⌘P. Fingers being fingers, I immediately realize something went wrong and wince, and within a few seconds, the lights in my old apartment dim for a second. Then, far away, I hear the recognizable sound of my laser printer spitting out a page.

Gamers used to deride Windows key for automatically ejecting them from the game to the desktop, before an option to disable it started appearing in gaming keyboards. (Some of the professional gaming leagues were very strict about how a player could use their keyboard.)

Similarly, professional Excel champions and players started physically removing keys: In Excel, F1 (right next to an often-used F2) opens the help dialog and slows you down.

I served as a judge for the ModelOff Financial Modeling Championships in NYC twice. On my first visit, I was watching contestant Martijn Reekers work in Excel. He was constantly pressing F2 and Esc with his left hand. His right hand was on the arrow keys, swiftly moving from cell to cell. F2 puts the cell in Edit mode so you can see the formula in the cell. Esc exits Edit mode and shows you the number. Martijn would press F2 and Esc at least three times every second.

But here is the funny part: What dangerous key is between F2 and Esc? F1.

If you accidentally press F1, you will have a 10-second delay while Excel loads online Help. If you are analyzing three cells a second, a 10-second delay would be a disaster. You might as well go to lunch. So, Martijn had pried the F1 key from his keyboard so he would never accidentally press it.

I enjoyed this essay that presents prying off the key as a rite of passage:

Removing the F1 key from the equation is just the beginning. By embracing the keyboard-centric approach, you have the opportunity to become an Excel Wizard!! Okay, maybe that’s not a technical term, but it perfectly captures the essence of those who navigate Excel solely using the keyboard.

And I particularly liked this tongue-in-cheek answer telling people they could construct their own homemade molly guard to protect against “fat-fingering”:

Here’s an alternative snippet that can be used:

• Use bits of plastic or cardboard to make a tiny box that fits around your F1 key.
• Affix this box with duct tape, so that the F1 key is guarded.
• Fool-proof, works on any key, and can easily be reversed if needed!

Obviously, none of this can help me with my ⌘R and ⌘P woes, so, two final thoughts:

• If your app has a well-trafficked shortcut, it’s worth thinking of the shortcuts immediately adjacent to that one. Could they cause any inadvertent damage or confusion?

• Apps and operating systems should very easily allow you to unset a keyboard shortcut, in addition to setting or changing it. (Unfortunately, this is not as common as it should be.)

I just stumbled upon a nice little power-user innovation in Chrome’s Web Inspector.

In Safari, and previously in Chrome, when editing CSS properties, you’d get a usual editing typeahead for the property name, and then the same on the other side for the property value.

In newer versions of Chrome, the typeahead menu works as before on the right side. However, the menu on the left side also includes the right side.

I think this is really clever in this context – not just to speed you up, but also to aid understanding. Just like the inert mouse up and down in the previous post could serve as a safe “peek” into the values, this new interaction can quickly allow you to explore the CSS space if you are curious, or if you only lightly remember part of the name, or even just one of the values.

This blog is authored in Apple Notes, and some time ago Notes added quick linking via typing >>, and that has a similar effect: The interactions are so nimble and precise that it is very easy to link to something, but a nice side effect is that it also feels very welcoming just to type a few letters to remind yourself of a title of an article, and then cancel out.

The downside of the Chrome change is, well, more stuff matching, but I think the audience for this UI is going to be okay with that.

One of the most mysterious keys on the PC keyboard has always been Scroll Lock, joining Caps Lock and Num Lock to create the instantly recognizable LED triumvirate:

Scroll Lock was reportedly specifically added for spreadsheets, and it solved a very specific problem: before mice and trackpads, and before fast graphic cards, moving through a spreadsheet was a nightmare. Just like Caps Lock flipped the meaning of letter keys, and Num Lock that of the numeric keypad keys, Scroll Lock attempted to fix scrolling by changing the nature of the arrow keys.

This is normal arrow key usage in Lotus 1-2-3, doing what you’d expect, if likely a bit slower:

And this is Lotus 1-2-3 with Scroll Lock enabled. Here, the arrows do not move the cursor, but move the spreadsheet:

(You can play with it yourself!)

In time, scrollbars helped with the problem, then mice with wheels solved it in one direction, and then trackpads in both. (Although even though my 2025 Windows laptop doesn’t have a Scroll Lock key, its onscreen keyboard does, and the key still works in Excel.)

But, I grew to believe that UI problems never fully die, and often come back dressed up in new clothes.

This is the TV app on my Apple TV, doing movement as you’d expect:

But Netflix a while back picked a different approach – scrolling almost as if Scroll Lock was on:

More recently, I saw that approach spread to HBO Max and YouTube apps as well:

Is this good? To me personally, the Scroll Lock-esque approach feels strange and claustrophobic. I see the (hypothetical) value of keeping the selection in one place, but the downsides are more pronounced: things feel lopsided, going back in this universe is flying blind, and the system creates strange situations at the edges, where Scroll Lock struggled as well.

And yet, given I just dated myself by reminiscing Lotus 1-2-3, I’m curious how it feels to others.

Mac allows you to assign keyboard shorcuts to menu items, but the interface is clunky – you have to select the app even if you just came from it, and then type in the menu item name by hand without any assistance:

Other tools, like Keyboard Maestro, do something similar. You either have to type it again, or you can point to it, but in a replica of the menu of the app shown in a very different style and orientation:

But this week I learned of another app, KeyCue, that approaches this differently. You simply point to the menu item and hold the desired key for a while:

Okay, this is not a universal endorsement. The feature works clunkily, and KeyCue as a whole is way too comfortable adding itself to login items without asking.

But as far as singular interactions go, this is great and eye-opening. It made me realize that the previous things I’ve shown – System Settings, Keyboard Maestro – are really not GUIs, and they don’t practice direct manipulation. They’re still partially command line interfaces dressed up in GUI clothing.

We kind of lightly made fun of Jony Ive going angelic on “staying true to the material” and things being “beautifully, unapologetically plastic.” And there is, of course, value in command line and those kinds of approaches. But this part of KeyCue at least is unapologetically a graphical user interface, and it is nice to still be surprised in this space.

I’m slightly suspicious of this story that Unix commands were made so short (cp instead of copy, mv instead of move, ls instead of list, and so on) because the console keyboard had really unpleasant keys.

I imagine it must be a confluence of many things, not just this one. Shorter means faster even with amazing keyboards. Shorter also means the commands travel quicker over the slow modems of the era. The downsides were limited: the early nerdy user base of Unix could handle the extra confusion.

On the other hand – no pun intended – I typed on the keyboard on the picture and I can confirm it is absolutely, positively atrocious, with the tallest keys you have possibly seen:

At any rate, it’s a good a reminder of the power of motor memory, and the difficulty of change management. Even the worst keyboards imaginable are so much better now, and the modems so much faster. And yet, the short and confusing commands remain to this day.

Everybody who routinely takes screenshots on a Mac knows very well the motor memory heaven and hell that are the screenshotting shortcuts: ⌘⇧3 to grab the whole screen, ⌘⇧4 to grab part of it, hold ⌃ ahead of time to put the result in the clipboard, press space at the right moment to select a window, hold ⌥ at a different time to remove a shadow, and so on. (Yes, there’s more.)

It’s strange to talk about those shortcuts, because the world is divided into two groups: people who have never used any of these because they are the scariest shortcuts that induce RSI if you just think about them, and people who have used them for so long that their fingers do all the work. Either group would struggle with writing the above paragraph – as did I, needing to watch my hands first, and then take notes.

But: why do the shortcuts start with 3? After all, ⌘⇧1 and ⌘⇧2 don’t seem to do anything.

That wasn’t always the case. Turns out that once upon a time Apple was trying to create a larger universe of nerdy shortcuts for your Mac. The effort is so old – they were introduced in 1986 – that ⌘⇧1 was added as a quick shortcut to… eject the floppy disk. And, since you could also have an external floppy drive, ⌘⇧2 was assigned to eject that, and the shortcuts for screenshots followed in sequence: ⌘⇧3 to save the screen, and ⌘⇧4 to send it straight to your printer. (Even then, there was already Caps Lock thrown into the mix, too, switching between the entire screen and the current window.)

Early BASIC programmers knew to separate their line numbers by 10 because there will always be a line you want to insert in between, but keyboard shortcut designers do not have that luxury.

And so the nice system backfired immediately. Some Macs started coming with two built-in floppy drives, but still allowed you to plug in an external one. What would you press to eject that?

Well, of course it had to be ⌘⇧0, since ⌘⇧3 was already taken.

(In an absolutely delicious bit of rhyming, the 0 key itself is on the “wrong” side of most keyboards – except Hungarian – because it was added to keyboards before the 1 key was! It felt more natural to put it after 9 than right before 2.)

Things were quiet for a while. Floppies disappeared over time. Only in 2018, Apple evolved the old Grab app that it inherited from NeXT into a Screenshot app, and assigned it a new shortcut, ⌘⇧5. That was a nice improvement – video recording, a very helpful timer, a few smaller options, and a bit of a GUI thrown atop for convenience.

There are a bunch of system and change management lessons in here, but I want to talk about something else I just learned about.

Acorn 8, a graphic app, has a delightful screenshotting feature parked under ⌘⇧7 that does something incredible: it takes a screenshot, but does so in a way where windows are separate layers, grouped by app. It’s amazing; you can re-compose stuff afterwards, reveal covered stuff, remove windows, even change the wallpaper. A mouse cursor arrives too in its own tiny layer, like a cherry on top.

I’m sharing this both because I gather people who read this blog take a lot of screenshots – but also because this is software craft. I know “delightful” is (mis—? ab—?)used to refer to beautiful but slow transitions, and cute but distracting UI copy, but this is the stuff of true delight: using newly abundant technology to actually do something useful, and rewrite the rules of something that hasn’t been touched for ages, in a way that feels magical. There is still room for improvement – notably, you cannot just fire and forget a screenshot straight into your filesystem – but I find this kind of stuff inspiring.

I also know what you’re thinking: hey, what happened to ⌘⇧6? I’m not going to tell you. It’s probably not that hard to google it, but maybe you’ll enjoy trying to guess like I did. What was a feature of Macs that arrived after 2018 that Apple would want you to forget about even more so than the floppy disks?

An entertaining 9-minute video by Shloop that starts with a common mistake of typing in an English mode on a Korean keyboard, but then goes through a bunch of other fun and light input internationalization stories:

This is the page for non-English programming languages that is shown at some point. Quite a bit of stuff in there.

Oh, also, in Polish (my native tongue), spitting is “tfu.”

Fun little story by Bruce Horn on folklore.org about the original Mac and how modes are sometimes good:

We went to quite a few stores in the week or so after the introduction, and found that, without exception, every Mac’s floppy disk had a garbage name! They were all named something like ”;lkakl;rt;klgjh”, as if someone had just randomly typed characters to see what would happen. Which is exactly what they did.

In the Finder, the startup disk would appear on the desktop, in the top-right corner, ready to be opened. The Finder would initially select it; once selected, typing would replace the current name, following the modeless interaction model that I had learned in the Smalltalk group from Larry Tesler. This meant that whatever anyone typed when they first came up to the Macintosh would end up renaming the disk.

On the early Mac, just typing with any item selected renamed it, which caused all sorts of trouble.

The eventual solution for renaming that survives until today was: click to select and then click again to rename… but don’t click too fast, because that’s double-clicking, and that means something else. Windows, starting in Windows 95, did something similar, but also put rename under F2 – so at least you didn’t ever have to wait.

I liked the emergent behaviour from some graphic apps which put rename under ⌘R. It’s not that hard to make Finder work that way – see below – but I have always been curious why Mac or Windows didn’t steal this solution.

(Added later: People reminded me that of course Enter also renames, and does so immediately. I wonder why it slipped my mind in this context – possibly because in any other list or similar place, Enter would be the equivalent to opening? Maybe I’m discovering in slow motion how unusual Finder can be in its details compared to conventions we established after.)

The first iPhone famously introduced the soft keyboard, which could change its shape depending on the need. Sometimes it would mean becoming a keypad (for numeric entries), and sometimes something subtler, like introducing a “.com” key to the bottom row, or adding a new column of keys and making the keys a bit more narrow for a few languages that need that.

Bear (the note-taking app) does something interesting: after a button press, it replaces the onscreen QWERTY keyboard with a “funpad” or a “function keypad” (like StreamDeck or Figma Creator Micro). This achieves a similar result to a scrolling toolbar above the keyboard (see: Apple Notes), but in a different way. I haven’t seen anything like this before, and I think it’s really clever and it has worked well for me in practice.

(It also cleverly closes itself upon some actions like introducing a divider, but stays put for bolding, indentation, etc.)

One thing I really admired in earlier versions of Windows was the thing that was also its weak point: the keyboard orientation.

I miss the old tradition in Windows where many commands had underlined letters, and you could simply press Alt and that letter to jump to it:

If I remember correctly, eventually this got simplified so that the underlines were only there when you held Alt (although I bet there was an option to keep showing it all the time).

Opening Windows 11 today, it feels like the system got less elegant. I can still press Alt and stuff happens, but it doesn’t look nearly as good or tightly integrated, and the two alternate entry points (Alt and the keyboard shortcuts) become muddled:

In the meantime, on a Mac, in various places apps reinvent the wheel by their own thing.

I just saw this in Nova, the code editor, which is very thoughtful; those shortcuts only exist within this dialog (and one wonders if they couldn’t just be letters without modifiers)?

A little more old-fashioned from Photoshop, and the same question: could they just not be digits, without requiring ⌥?

Previously, I mentioned yet another idea from DevonThink.

I appreciate these gestures toward moving faster via a keyboard, but I wonder if we lost something that already used to work well in old Windows.

Made me laugh. lanyardigan on Bluesky:

Appreciate little moments showing utmost keyboard orientation in Raycast.

The millisecond you hover over the back button, the app says “you should be using the keyboard for this”:

I am not sure you often see tooltips on buttons, with keyboard shortcuts only:

Every select menu – even those with literally two options – has an inline search:

Party like it’s 1983! Or 1982! Or 1967!

Also, unrelated, love the clarity of this panel. This is what’s synced. This is what’s not.

A really interesting convention I just spotted in DevonThink that shows the shortcuts as soon as you hold ⌘, although it feels a bit clunky and cheap in execution.

(The main worry here for me would be that it’s distracting if you already know the shortcuts. I haven’t noticed it disappear if you use it, but maybe it does after a while.)