Wayfinding, Part 2: Maps, Not Mazes

In my last commentary, I proposed the idea of using directional lines and breadcrumbs in signage designs as a means to support wayfinding in unfamiliar places. But what happens when all you have is a static map consisting of contour lines, rigid grids, and cryptic symbols for you to figure out?

All MRT stations in Singapore feature a locality map, where commuters first locate their destination before figuring out which exit they should head towards. Notice the map is in a track-up (versus north-up) orientation. Source

Static maps present an interesting challenge of trying to achieve the Goldilocks of information. Unlike digital variants such as Google Maps, they do not benefit from the ability to selectively overlay or omit information like traffic conditions, landmarks, or real-world street imagery. Everything must coexist within a single frozen frame.

This creates a persistent temptation when designing maps, that more information equals better navigation. If we simply include enough roads, symbols, labels, and visual detail, surely users can construct a richer mental picture of their surroundings. This flood of information should theoretically feed our visuospatial sketchpad, the component of our working memory that temporarily holds and manipulates visual and spatial information, thus allowing us to better navigate in a foreign land.

But that is not quite how human cognition works.

Unlike computers, our brains do not thrive on exhaustive detail. They are cognitive misers, always preferring lean efficiency over unnecessary mental work. We instinctively conserve cognitive resources because our mental capacity is less like a limitless hard drive and more like an overcrowded desk. Every additional detail or data competes for finite attentional space.

This is why maps overloaded with information often achieve the opposite of their intended purpose. Rather than clarifying the environment, they force users into a scavenger hunt of visual filtering, mentally separating what matters from what does not. Navigation becomes less about moving through space and more about decoding the map itself.

Cutting and pasting architectural plans as wayfinding maps is just lazy. The additional details provide minimal value (possibly even causing more confusion) to someone trying to figure out the fire escape route.

One of few universal principles I regard as fundamental is the data-ink ratio, a term popularized by information design scholar Edward Tufte. The concept argues that good design should maximize the proportion of visual space devoted to meaningful information, while minimizing everything else that does not directly support understanding. Every line, color, border, texture, icon, or decorative flourish has to justify its existence. Poor data-ink ratios force users to spend precious mental effort separating signal from noise, turning what should have been an intuitive navigational aid into a visual sorting exercise.

Good map design therefore is an exercise in restraint. The goal is not to reproduce reality in miniature, but to present only the information necessary for the next meaningful decision. In many cases, the most helpful element on a map is not the addition of another detail, but the deliberate omission of one.

This fire escape plan somehow feels so much better in my head. Source

Despite the spirit of ‘less is more,’ there remains certain environmental details that maps must retain. Prominent landmarks, preferably famous or distinctive, serve as anchors that help us orient ourselves and stitch together a coherent sense of place. Examples might include the lift lobby or toilets, the subway station, the student union, the three towers balancing a boat, that vomiting fish-lion at the waterfront. These waypoints reassure us that we are not lost, guiding us from one meaningful breadcrumb to the next.

This explains why wayfinding maps can feel strangely difficult to use despite being technically accurate. These maps often confuse completeness with usefulness, meticulously depicting every corridor, room, and structural detail while overlooking the few spatial features people actually remember. Humans do not naturally move through environments using absolute distances and cardinal directions, nor do we construct perfect mental replicas of spaces. Instead, we rely on simplified cognitive maps stitched together from memorable landmarks and salient cues.

This tourist map features visualizations of prominent landmarks around Singapore's Marina Bay area, which helps folks to know what to look out for as they triangulate their location and route. Source.

Unlike homing pigeons, humans are not especially gifted at sensing magnetic north. We instead navigate relative to our own orientation, and good maps should do the same. Maps with track-up or head-up orientations align with the user’s current facing direction, reducing the need to mentally rotate a fixed north-up perspective just to “make things line up.” In these maps, the corridor or building directly ahead of us also appears ahead on the map. Left remains left. Forward remains forward. Navigation therefore feels considerably more instinctive.

Given all these considerations, static “You Are Here” maps should be understood less as information displays and more as journeying interfaces. Their purpose is not to present environments in exhaustive detail, but to support the task of moving through them. The best maps avoid turning navigation into a maze that people must first decode. They subtly guide us forward with as little cognitive effort as possible.

While venturing down this rabbit hole, I came across several excellent pieces on wayfinding design that are well worth exploring:

Hornbeck, a British company specializing in wayfinding signage, also provides a thoughtful discussion on several principles of effective map design.

I like the wayfinding signs that Studio Binocular did for the city of Adelaide.

The e-wayfinding kiosks at National University Hospital incorporate many of the good design principles discussed in this commentary.

Walkonomics offers an interesting perspective on wayfinding maps by exploring how they can be intentionally designed to encourage people to walk.