← UX laws

Chunking

Miller, 1956GroupingInteractive

Twelve characters is twelve things. The same twelve in three groups of four is three things. Nothing was taken away.

Chunking is the only lever that moves the limit on how much a person can hold. Everything else about that limit is fixed, and roughly awful. This one is free.

The word is Miller's, from 1956, and the mechanism is duller than the word suggests. A group your memory already treats as one thing costs the same to hold as a single letter. 4KP9 is four things the first time you see it and one thing the moment you have grouped it. Nothing was removed. The material is identical down to the character. What changed is the number of separate objects being tracked, and that number is the one with a ceiling on it.

So below is a twelve-character reference code, the kind that comes back from a booking or an order. You get four seconds, then it goes, then you type back whatever you still have. Six of them. Three are shown as one unbroken run of twelve. Three are shown as three groups of four. Same length, same alphabet, same four seconds.

Which kind comes first is a coin flip, and then they alternate. That matters more than it reads. The back half of any memory test is done by someone more practised and more bored than the person who started it, and if one condition always went second it would be carrying both of those on its own.

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six codes, twelve characters each

Six twelve-character codes, four seconds each, typed back from memory. Three are shown as one run of twelve. Three are shown as three groups of four. The page counts how many characters come back in the right place from each kind. It needs scripting to run, and scripting is off.

All six codes are drawn from the same twenty-five characters and are the same length, shown at the same size for the same four seconds. Grouping is the only thing that changes. Which kind you see first is a coin flip taken when you press start, and after that they alternate.

How it is counted

A character scores if it is the right character in the right place. Out of twelve. Drop one early and everything behind it shifts left and scores nothing, which is harsh, and it is harsh in exactly the same way for both kinds of code. Spaces you type are ignored, so grouping your own answer costs you nothing and gains you nothing.

Three pairs is a small number and the page says so at the end rather than rounding it up. A single lucky four seconds moves the average by more than half a character, and one code with a run of familiar digits in it will do the same.

What it costs you

The group size is part of the design, not a detail of it. Three and four work. Five is where a group stops being one thing and starts being a small list, which is the problem you were solving. A sixteen-digit number in two groups of eight has been formatted and not chunked.

Grouping against the meaning is worse than leaving it alone. A phone number split after the wrong digit, a sort code broken in halves, a date rendered as 2026-0 8-13 by a column that ran out of room. The reader has to undo your grouping before they can use theirs, and undoing costs more than the gap ever saved.

It is not only for numbers. Eleven form fields in one column is eleven things. The same eleven under three headings is three things and a place to stop. Nothing was removed there either.

The field that rejects the spaces is rejecting the chunking. Whoever grouped the code in the email and whoever wrote the validator for the field are usually two different people, and the person retyping it is a third one who did nothing wrong.

I group my own wifi password in fours when I read it out to someone. They write it down in threes and ask me to say it again slower. The grouping was mine the whole time.

← UX laws

Where the list comes from. The collection I'm working through is Laws of UX by Jon Yablonski — the canonical version, and worth reading in full. His content is licensed CC BY-NC-ND 4.0, which permits sharing but not rewriting, so none of the wording here is his. The laws themselves belong to the psychologists who found them.

Who wrote it. Claude did. The prose, the demonstrations and the statistics, all of it, working from my direction and my edits. I picked the laws, decided what each page had to prove, and threw out the versions that did not. I would rather say that than let you assume otherwise.