I don't know

2 minutes read

I've met a few people in my life that rarely or ever said these words: "I don't know."

The other day, I had a conversation with someone who confidently explained what screen readers users "really needed." Here was this person who knew exactly how blind people navigate websites, but was completely lost when their mouse lost bluetooth connectivity.

Fake expertise kills curiosity.

The problem is the more you think you know, the less open you are to learning anything. When someone thinks they've got accessibility sorted, the conversation stops.

Learning requires admitting you don't have all the answers. Of course, that feels too much like admitting you're thick. So people rarely admit it.

And this one person wasn't the exception. I've also met the developer who thinks WCAG compliance equals accessibility. And the designer who was convinced that bigger buttons solve everything. I've yet to deal with the manager who dismisses user feedback because "their disabled mate said it's fine." But I'm sure I'll have the chance.

Why does this matter though?

It matters because disabled voices get pushed aside. User testing gets skipped because "people know what works." Assumptions go unchallenged and bad decisions pile up like dominoes.

Behind every leader confident in what they're saying is a team that follows them blindly. So they launch products that are broken because no one wanted to say "hang on, I'm not sure about this."

I don't know is a complete sentence. And in accessibility, it might be the smartest thing you can say.

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