Monday: one person. Wednesday: one bit. Thursday: it shipped. Friday: Oma.

Monday: one person. Wednesday: one bit. Thursday: it shipped. Friday: Oma.

She has been on this advisory board from the beginning, unpaid and incorruptible, and her job has never changed: if she doesn't understand it, it isn't finished.

The app has been in the App Store since yesterday morning. Her verdict is still outstanding — she takes the time she takes, and an App Store approval only ever proved that the thing installs.

But she did ask something, and it wasn't the question I expected.

"And what is it in ten years?"
"How do you mean?"
"If I still have it then. What does it do?"

I started listing things and stopped, because the honest answer is: the same. In ten years it still says yes or no. One bit.

What changes isn't the answer. It's who's asking. Today a website. Then a door. Then a screen where a kid wants to upload something and somebody has to know he's old enough — without anybody learning who he is.

“As long as it doesn’t want more from me in ten years than it does today — and I can still do it myself, whatever shape it comes in and however it has to be done — then it’ll be the thing you always dreamed of.”

Fourteen Fridays, and this is the first one where she asked about something that hasn't happened yet.

If Oma understands it, everyone does. We're not there yet.

hashID is how you get to be yourself, without having to explain yourself.
Prevention by Design, not Surveillance by Default.