Imagine entering a house with an endless series of doors and corridors. Behind some of those doors are the most delightful things imaginable: feasts straight out of Redwall, <\/em>unicorns, an endless supply of scenic vistas, and unionized workplaces. Behind other doors, however, are grotesque and terrifying jack-in-the-boxes that pop up the minute you crack the door open, blasting up to fill the entire frame, dangling lasciviously on rusty springs as a creaky, vaguely circus-themed song plays. <\/p>\n

That\u2019s what navigating the internet is like for me. Every time I click a link, I have to ask myself if it\u2019s going to be Bozo the clown or something delightful and captivating that I will be happy to have encountered. <\/p>\n

All of us find the internet stimulating, but I find it extremely <\/em>stimulating, specifically when it comes to animated and moving content \u2014 and not in a good way. Something about the wiring of my brain makes it difficult to process animations or repetitive movements, like the blinker you\u2019ve left on for the last five miles, turning them into an accessibility issue: a website with animated content is difficult and sometimes impossible to use because the movement becomes all I can think about. <\/p>\n

I never met a digital animation I liked, and their use is only increasing. GIFs, sure, but also cutesy little ornamental doodles you probably don\u2019t notice. The weirdly nauseating loop of the Boomerang effect on Instagram. The once-again en vogue <\/em>giant animated cursors that chase you. Autoplay video, of course, especially when it follows you down the page. Flashing ads, the perennial bane of our collective internet existence. Parallax scrolling for all your sexy data viz and prestige immersive feature needs. Bouncing menus jiggling for your attention. The little \u201cloading\u201d animation at the edge of a background tab. <\/p>\n

We are surrounded by a world of motion and I would like to get off of it. <\/p>\n