For the past few months, I've been on-again-off-again working to migrate this site from WordPress hosted on a linux VPS to 11ty ("eleven-tea") hosted on Netlify.
I'd avoided the move for sundry reasons that boiled down to inertia, but a recent weekend spent on maintainance — not to mention the treadmill of re-testing to ensure WP hadn't inadvertantly bloated pages via plugin "upgrade" — finally wore me down.
This is a strictly lateral move in terms of functionality, and writing importers and ensuring that urls didn't break was an adventure I'm not keen to revisit. Most of the complexity has been a consequence of this blog's sFTP-era Blogger → hosted Blogger → html-flavoured-WordPress → markdown-flavoured-WordPress → markdown-in-git transitions. I might write up the process at some point and perhaps publish the import script that consumed so much time, but this "first post!!!!" will have to suffice for now.
The transition has offered me the chance to fix niggling performance issues and opens the door to more and better in future. It has also been nice to have something else to plink away at (besides work) whilst the weeks in isolation flow anonymously, seemingly faster every day.
TL;DR: Having achieved much of what I hoped when running for the TAG six years ago, it's time for fresh perspectives. Therefore, with my deep and enthusiastic support, Google has nominated Alice Boxhall in the current election. If you work at a W3C member organisation, please seriously consider making Alice your first vote.
Back in 2012, a slate of reformers (including myself) ran with a few goals in mind:
Refocusing the group on the APIs that most impacted web developers; namely DOM, CSS, and interaction with JS
Improving the layering and overall quality of client-side APIs
Moving to work collaboratively with other groups -- both inside and external to the W3C -- to make progress on these fronts
I'm proud of the work we've done in that time. There's less "spooky action at a distance" in the web platform today, and many designs have been greatly reworked due to our collaboration with working groups.
It's against this backdrop that I'm pleased my colleague Alice Boxhall has decided to run in the current TAG election. Due to W3C rules surrounding representation from a single firm (a topic for another time), we cannot both stand. This means the upcoming TAG meeting in February in Tokyo will be my last -- and I hope Alice's first.
Why Alice, and why now?
First, Alice brings a new perspective to the TAG thanks to her dedication and leadership in accessibility.
Her work on Chrome's a11y systems and her development of the Accessibility Object Model speak to the depth of her understanding and willingness to solve gnarly, deep problems within the platform. This is the sort of expertise the TAG needs, and with changes to HTML's governance, it's important that the a11y community has a voice within the web's most influential design review body.
Second, in addition to broadening the skills represented within the TAG, it's important the TAG is staffed with members who will "do the work". The TAG's authority (such as it is) resides in its reputation for collaborative, constructive, timely design feedback. Having worked with Alice for more than 6 years, I am certain her dedication and working style are well suited to the rigors of the role.
Lastly, this nomination represents a continuing commitment from Google and the Chrome team to the health and quality of web APIs. Some AC members might worry that my stepping back from serving on the TAG indicates less emphasis on it from Chrome and the Chromium community. Nothing could be further from the truth. I continue to serve as Tech Lead for Google's overall web standards efforts and we maintain a keen interest in the good-functioning of the TAG -- particularly now that it has earned a place in the critical path for shipping features in Blink. In addition to the usual travel and logistical support I have enjoyed on the TAG, Alice has the backing and support of the entire Chrome Web Standards Team.
I trust the TAG will continue to improve the layering, coherence, and usability of the platform; and with your organisation's support, also it's accessibility.
For these reasons, I urge you to give Alice Boxhall your organisation's first vote on the currently open AC ballot.
Against this grim backdrop, there's something peculiar about conversations regarding the costs of JS-oriented development: a rhetorical substitution of developer value for user value. Here's a straw-man composite from several recent conversations:
These tools let us move faster. Because we can iterate faster we're delivering better experiences. If performance is a problem, we can do progressive enhancement through Server-Side Rendering.
This argument substitutes good intentions and developer value ("moving faster", "less complexity") for questions about the lived experience of users. It also tends to do so without evidence. We're meant to take it on faith that it will all work out if only the well intentioned people are never questioned about the trajectory of the outcomes.
Most unfortunately, this substitution is frequently offered to shield the preferences of those in a position to benefit at the expense of folks who can least afford to deal with the repercussions. Polluters very much prefer conversations that don't focus on the costs of emissions.
The backdrop to this argument is a set of nominally shared values to which folks assign different weights:
Universality and accessibility
Fidelity and richness
Competitive (or superior) cost to produce
The "developer experience" bait-and-switch works by appealing to the listener's parochial interests as developers or managers, claiming supremacy in one category in order to remove others from the conversation. The swap is executed by implying that by making things better for developers, users will eventually benefit equivalently. The unstated agreement is that developers share all of the same goals with the same intensity as end users and even managers. This is not true.
Shifting the conversation away from actual user experiences to team-level advantages enables a culture in which the folks who receive focus and attention are developers, rather than end-users or the business. It naturally follows that teams can then substitute tools for goals.
This has predictable consequences, particularly when developers, through their privileged positions as expensive-knowers-of-things-about-computers, are allowed to externalize costs. And they do. Few teams I've encountered have actionable metrics associated with the real experiences of their users. I can count on one hand the number of teams I've worked with who have goals that allow them to block launches for latency regressions, including Google products. Nearly all developers in modern frontend shops do not experience performance constraints until it's too late. The brakes aren't applied until performance is so poor that it actively hurts the business.
If one views the web as a way to address a fixed market of existing, wealthy web users, then it's reasonable to bias towards richness and lower production costs. If, on the other hand, our primary challenge is in growing the web along with the growth of computing overall, the ability to reasonably access content bumps up in priority. If you believe the web's future to be at risk due to the unusability of most web experiences for most users, then discussion of developer comfort that isn't tied to demonstrable gains for marginalized users is at best misguided.
There have been positive signs that this message has taken root in certain quarters, but it has not generally changed the dynamic. Despite the heroic efforts of Polymer, Preact, Svelte, Ionic, and Vue to create companion "starter kits" or "CLI" tools that provide the structure necessary to send less JS be default, as many (or more) JS-heavy performance disasters cross my desk in an average month as in previous years.
Perhaps my arguments have not been effective because I hold to a policy of not posting analyses without site owner's consent. This leaves me as open to critique by Hitchen's Razor as my dataless interlocutors. The evidence has never been easier to gather and the aggregates paint a chilling picture. But aggregates aren't specific, citable incidents. Video of a single slow-loading page lands in a visceral way; abstract graphs don't.
And the examples are there, many of them causing material, negative business impact. A decent hedge-fund strategy would be to run a private WPT instance and track JS bloat and TTI for commercial-intent sites -- and then short firms that regress because they just rewrote everything in The One True Framework. Seeing the evidence instills terror, yet I've been hamstrung to do more than roughly sketch the unfolding disaster while working behind the scenes with teams.
There is, however, one exception to my rule: the public sector. Specifically public sector sites in countries where I pay taxes. Today, that's the US and the UK, although I suspect I could be talked into a more blanket exception.
So I'm going to start posting and dissecting a lot more traces of public sector work, but the goal isn't to mock or shame the fine folks doing hard work for too little pay. Rather, it's to demonstrate what "modern frontend" is doing to the accessibility of the web -- not in the traditional "a11y" sense, but in the "is going to this site reasonable for its intended users?" sense. That is, I will be talking about this as a proxy for the data I can't share.
Luckily, the brilliant folks at the USDS and the UK's Government Digital Service have been cleaning up many of the worst examples of government-procurement-gone-wild. My goal isn't to detract anything from this extraordinary achievement:
My hope, instead, is that by showing specific outcomes and the overwhelming volume of these examples it will become possible to talk more specifically about what's wrong, using and pervasively citing data. I hope that by talking about what it means to build well when trying to serve everybody, we can show businesses how short they're falling of the mark -- and why those common root-causes in JS-centric development are so toxic. And if the analysis manages to help clean up some public sector services, so much the better; we're all paying for it anyway.
This isn't Plan A, but neither was the CDS talk in '16 that got everyone so upset. I don't like that this is where we are as a community and as a platform. I hate that this continues to estrange me from the JS community. We need tools. We need frameworks. But we need to judge them by whether or not the deliver a better developer experience without fundamentally impairing the user experience. We must get to JS-neutral (or, my preferred, Time-to-Interactive-neutral or negative) tooling. Frameworks and tooling need to explain clearly, in small words, with reproducible instructions how they deliver under-budget experiences, how much room is left after their budgetary cost, and what devices and networks their tools are appropriate in. This will mean that many popular tools are relegated to prototyping. That's OK.
This is very much Plan D...or E. But the crisis is real and it isn't inevitable. It is not exogenous. We made it, and we can fix it.
To get this fixed, we need to confront the "developer experience" bait-and-switch. Tools that cost the poorest users to pay wealthy developers are bunk. To do better, we need to move the conversation to an evidence-based footing. I wish the arguments folks made against my positions were data-driven. There's so much opening! Perhaps a firm is doing market analysis and only cares about ever reaching users who make more than $100K USD/yr or who are in enterprise settings. Perhaps research will demonstrate that interactivity isn't as valuable as getting bits on screen (the usual SSR argument). Or, more likely, that acknowledgement (bits on screen) buys a larger-than-anticipated amount of perceptual padding (perhaps due to scanning). Perhaps the global network landscape is shifting so dramatically that the budget for client-side JS runtime has increased. Perhaps the median CPU improvement that doesn't look set to materialize until 2021 at the earliest will happen much earlier; i.e., maybe the current baseline is wrong!
But we aren't having that conversation. And we aren't going to have it until we identify, call-out, and end the "developer experience" bait-and-switch.
The web standards process fails us too often. This series explores the forces at work, how we're improving the situation, and how you can shape new features more effectively.
"Part 1: The Lay of The Land" discussed persistent challenges in standards and forces that give rise to misunderstandings. It also described the ecosystem dynamics that make change difficult, even before considering the varying firm-level strategies of browser vendors.
Making progress on new features is extraordinarily challenging in this environment. However, armed with a clear understanding of the situation, it's possible to chart a narrow but reliable path forward. Necessary ingredients in solving problems on the web platform include:
The ability to fail cheaply ...at least early on. Most ideas and designs aren't good, and most of the ones we eventually accept don't start good. Spaces that allow ideas to spring to life and quietly pass into time, or radically change without undue drama, are essential to improving our outcomes.
Participation by web developers and browser engineers Nothing good happens without both groups at the table.
A venue outside a chartered Working Group in which to design and iterate Pre-determined outcomes rarely yield new insights and approaches. Long-term relationships of WG participants can also be toxic to new ideas. Nobody takes their first tap-dancing lessons under Broadway's big lights. Start small and nimble, build from there.
A path towards eventual standardisation Care must be taken to ensure that IP obligations can be met the future, even if the loose, early group isn't convened with a strict IP policy
Face-to-face deliberation I've never witnessed early design work go well without in-person collaboration. At a minimum, it bootstraps the human relationships necessary to jointly explore alternatives.
It's attractive to think that design can (or should) happen within a formal Working Group. A well-functioning WG should include both developers and implementers, after all. Those groups often have face-to-face meetings, and the path toward standardisation is shortest in those venues! But it doesn't work; not often enough to be useful, anyway.
Starting your journey there leads to pain and failure. Why? The deck is stacked against design-in-committee, both structurally and procedurally.
Structurally, it is the job of a Working Group to evaluate proposals for inclusion in a specification. The basis for inclusion in nearly all standards I know of is not rigorous or scientific. Evidence is not (yet) a compelling argument. The norms of standards organisations are set, largely, by social cohesion amongst those working to improve the systems they maintain. The older the specification and the more stable the composition of the group, the harder it is for new ideas and people to enter with credibility.
A further difficulty for non-implementers (in another universe, "customers") within these groups is the information asymmetry inherent in the producer/consumer relationship. Implementers feel a responsibility to resist designs they feel would be detrimental to either their architecture or their competitive position. New ideas have to enter this environment roughly "done" to even get on the agenda.
Procedurally, it's the responsibility of chairs and the overall group to make progress towards the promised deliverables. Working Group charters typically set up a scoped set of deliverables and a time-table, and while there's lots of play built into these things, groups that don't continue to produce new versions on a regular basis are considered problematic. Problematic groups tend not to continue to receive the organisational support they require to continue.
Failure and iteration are the lifeblood of good design, but these groups are geared for success. They aggressively filter out new ideas to preserve their ability to ship new versions of specs. Once something is locked into a WG agenda, it's "in". This is inherently anti-iteration.
If you've never been to a functioning standards meeting, it's easy to imagine languid intellectual salons wherein brilliant ideas spring forth unbidden and perfect consensus is forged in a blinding flash. Nothing could be further from the real experience. Instead, the time available to cover updates and get into nuances of proposed changes can easily eat all of the scheduled time. And this is expensive time! Even when participants don't have to travel to meet, high-profile groups are comically busy. Recall that the most in-demand members of the group (chairs, engineers from the most consequential firms) are doing this as a part-time commitment. Standards work is time away from the day-job, so making the time and expense count matters. Before anyone gets into the room, everyone knows what the important topics will be, and if precious time is taken from resolving those issues — particularly to explore "half baked" ideas — influential folks (and the teams they represent) will be upset. Not a recipe for agreement.
The idea that a public, agenda-driven, minuted, chaired forum with a full docket and a room full of powerful decision-makers primed to say "no" is where your best design work will happen is barmy. Policies aren't dreamt up in open session at Parliament, Congress, or the UN; rather they're presented and voted on, possibly with minor amendments.
Note: There are many dysfunctional standards groups; they tend to have lighter agendas or a great deal of make-work. Those groups are unlikely to be well-attended by busy implementers. Groups that can't keep implementer interest aren't worth investing time in.
This insight is why the Chrome team now insists on doing design work in "incubation" forums. These can be embedded into a WG's formal process (as at TC39), or in separate forums which are feeders for formal, chartered groups (e.g. WICG or RICG).
What I've learned over the past decade trying to evolving the web platform is a frustratingly short list given the amount of pain involved in extracting each insight:
Do early design work in small, invested groups
Design in the open, but away from the bright lights of the big stage
Iterate furiously early on because once it's in the web, it's forever
Prioritize plausible interoperability; if every implementer says "that can't work", believe them. 
Ship to a limited audience as soon as possible to get feedback
Drive standards with evidence and developer feedback from those iterations
Prioritise interop over perfect specs; tests create compatibility as much or more than tight prose or perfect IDL
Dot "i"s and cross "t"s; chartered Working Groups and wide review are important ways to improve your design later in the game
These derive from our overriding goal: ship the right thing.
All too often we've seen designs (coughAppCachecough) that could have been improved by listening to available feedback. Design processes without web developers involved tend to fail because they can't error correct. Implementers most acutely feel the constraints of their system, not web developer reality. Without the voices of web developers, designs tend towards easy-to-build — rather than fit-for-purpose. Group-think too often takes hold, as those represented share the same perspective, making change and iteration harder.
Similarly, design efforts without implementers present are missing the constraints that lead to successful design. Proposals without this grounding are easily written off. It's tempting to get a group together to design future APIs in a vacuum, but without implementers critical mass never forms.
So how can you shape the future of the platform as a web developer?
The first thing to understand is that browser engineers want to solve important problems, but they might not know which problems are worth their time. Making progress with implementers is often a function of helping them understand the positive impact of solving a problem. They don't feel it, so you may need to sell it!
Building this understanding is a social process. Available, objective evidence can be an important tool, but so are stories. Getting these in front of a sympathetic audience within a browser team is perhaps harder. Thankfully, functional browser engine teams now staff sizable outreach and Developer Relations groups (oh hai, @ChromiumDev, @mozappsdev, MSEdgeDev, and Jonathan!). Similarly, if you happen to work for a top-1k web property, your team may already have a connection to a browser's partnerships team. Those teams can route thoughtful questions to the right engineers.
Other models for early collaborations involve sideline conversations at industry gatherings, e.g. TPAC or BlinkOn. Special-purpose vehicles like W3C Workshops are somewhat harder to organize, but browser engineers are willing to join them. I can't speak for other vendors, but Chromies are also willing to travel for ad-hoc gatherings to do early design work. Andrew Betts masterfully orchestrated such an event while at the FT, kicking off what became Service Workers. You might not have Andrew's wealth of connections, but odds are you probably know someone who does. Remember, at the start this is about individuals. Drawing attention to an issue that you think is important means building a small group of like-minded folks. It's effort to find "your people", but it's far from impossible!
Next, recognize that the design, development, iteration, and eventual standardisation phases take time. Sometime a lot of time. As a web developer, it's unlikely that you'll be able to sustain professional interest in such a process as there's no practical way it can bear fruit in time for your current (or even next) project. This is not a personal failing, it's just how the gearing works. You have information that browser teams don't, but less leverage and time. Setting them on a better course is helping the next person and, if you're doing this as your profession, may eventually help you too. Don't feel guilt for needing to drop out of the process at some point.
It has gotten ever easier to stay engaged as designs iterate. After initial meetings, early designs are sketched up and frequently posted to GitHub where you can provide comments. Forums like WICG let you provide direct design feedback during development — a very intentional shift by the Chrome and Edge teams to give developers a louder voice when designs are still maleable.
Further along the process, Chrome is now running a series of "Origin Trials", an idea the Chrome team borrowed from Jacob Rossi at MSFT. Origin Trials allow developers to test new features on live sites and shape their evolution. Teams running these trials actively solicit feedback and frequently change them in response.
Astute readers will note none of this involves joining a Working Group or keeping up with busy mailing lists. Affecting the trajectory of the web platform has never been easier, assuming you know which side of the amplifier to approach.
These relatively new opportunities for participation outside formal processes have been intentionally constructed to give developers and evidence a larger role in the design process. We've supported their creation because they help us to separate open design and iteration from standardisation, allowing each process to assist the community in improving features at the point where they are most effective.
These processes aren't perfect by any stretch, and it would be an epic understatement to suggest that the broader browser and standards communities agree with design via incubation outside of formal Working Groups. Maintenance work is a particularly thorny topic. Regardless, the Chrome team has gathered compelling evidence that this is a better way to work.
Prizing collaboration, iteration, and evidence has enabled us to shape process to support those values. Incubation and related processes let us be more responsive to developers while simultaneously increasing confidence that features shipped to Stable meaningfully address problems worth solving. Hopefully this series will help you shape the future with fewer misunderstandings. After all, we all want to see the right thing ship.
I've been drafting and re-drafting versions of this post for almost 4 years. In that time I've promised a dozen or more people that I had a post in process that talked about these issues, but for some of the reasons I cited at the beginning, it has never seemed a good time to hit "Publish". To those folks, my apologies for the delay.
There's a meta-critique of formal standards and the defacto-exclusionary processes used to create them. This series didn't deal in it deeply because doing so would require a long digression into the laws surrounding anti-trust and competition. Suffice to say, I have a deep personal interest in bringing more voices into developing the future of the web platform, and the changes to Chrome's approach to standards discussed above have been made with an explicit eye towards broader diversity, inclusion, and a greater role for evidence.
Sometimes an implementer will say "that can't possibly work" and then another one will show up with a working prototype that does exactly what the first claimed was impossible. In this situation, it's fine to discount folks who have been proven wrong.
It's hard from the outside to know why they were wrong, but they were. Sometimes, they might have even known a feature was possible but just want to do less work. Even if that's not the case, it's also reasonable to discount their (personal) future claims of impossibility. Implementers should be very, very careful when they claim something is impossible. ↩︎
The web standards process fails us too often. This series explores the forces at work, how we're improving the situation, and how you can shape new features more effectively.
"Why don't browsers match standards!" muttered the thoughtful developer (just before filing an issue at crbug.com). "The point of standards is so that everything works the same."
Once something is in The Standard, everyone will implement interoperably...right?
Maybe. Confusion about how interoperability is really created sparks many of the worst arguments I've witnessed in my ~12 years working on web platform features.
Not every effort I've been involved in has succeeded (e.g. ES4), while some have but took too long. A few even went well. Having made most of the available mistakes, I was handed the responsibility to keep Chrome engineers from error as our "Web Standards Tech Lead". I don't write about it much because anything said is prone to misinterpretation; standards-making is inherently political. In the interest of progress, this 2-part series is a calculated risk.
Some problems on the web can be solved in userland. Others require platform changes. For historical and practical reasons, changes to the web platform must be codified in web standards. The community of web developers and browser vendors share this norm. Browsers are substitutable and largely rival goods.
Every party has reasons to value compatibility and interoperability. Developers benefit when interop extends the reach of their products and services. Browsers benefit from interop as end-users abandon browsers that can't access existing services and content. New features, then, require a trajectory towards standardisation. Features shipped without corresponding standards proposals are viewed critically. For business folks primed to hear "proprietary" as a positive, it can be surprising to encounter the web community's loathing of non-standard features.
From far enough away, it may appear as though new features "happen" at the W3C or WHATWG or ECMA or IETF. Some presume that features which are standardised at these organisations originated within them — that essential design work is the product of conversations in committee. If vendors implement what standards say, then surely being part of the standards process is how to affect change.
This isn't how things work in practice, nor is it how feature design should work. Instead, new features and modifications are brought to Standards Development Organisations ("SDOs") by developers and vendors as coherent proposals. It's important to separate design from standards making. Design is the process of trying to address a problem with a new feature. Standardisation is the process of documenting consensus.
The process of feature design is a messy, exciting exploration embarked upon from a place of trust and hope. It requires folks who have problems (web developers) and the people who can solve them (browser engineers) to have wide-ranging conversations. Deep exploration of the potential solution space — discarding dozens of ideas along the way — is essential. A lot of the work is just getting to agreement on a problem statement. This is not what formal standards processes do.
TL;DR: SDOs and their formal Working Groups aren't in the business of feature design.
SDOs and Working Groups can't tell you if a design solves an important problem or solves it well. They are set up to pass judgement on the details of a specification and a consensus surrounding the specific words in spec documents.
Working Groups and SDOs are not fitness functions for features.
Getting a design through committee says next to nothing about its quality. Many an august and thoughtful person has engaged in outrageous groupthink when these processes are asked to predict the future rather than document consensus. Without developers trying a feature and providing feedback, Working Groups quickly wander into irrelevant pastures. And who's to tell them they're wrong? They are staffed with experts, after all!
SDOs are best understood as amplifiers: they take raw inputs, filter them to prevent major harm if played at top volume, then use processes to broadcast them. How the inputs came to be gets obscured in this process.
I can report these histories aren't lost, but they are unattractive. Participants have reasons not to tell them — boredom with a topic, the phantom pain of arguments nearly won, and the responsibilities of statesmanship towards counterparties. Plucky documentarians sometimes try, but standards dramas don't exactly jump off the page.
When the deeper histories aren't told or taught, it becomes hard for newcomers to get oriented. There's no effective counter-narrative to "progress come from standards bodies", and no SDO is going to turn down new members. Nobody tells developers not to look to SDOs for answers. Confusion reigns.
Feature design starts by exploring problems without knowing the answers, whereas participation in Working Groups entails sifting a set of proposed solutions and integrating the best proposals. Late iteration can happen there, but every change made without developer feedback is dangerous — and Working Groups aren't set up to collect or prioritise it.
Even when consensus is roughly achieved, standards processes are powerless to compel anyone to implement anything, even Working Group participants! Voluntary standards are not regulations. Implementers adopt standards because customers demand interoperability to hedge against vendor market power.
It can't be repeated enough: the fact of something appearing in a web standard compels nobody to implement, even those who implemented previous versions. This flows from the fundamental relationships between browsers, developers, and users.
Preventing abuse is one thing, but perhaps new features are different? A browser can add dozens of proprietary features, but if developers decline to adopt, users don't benefit. Developer adoption is frequently gated on interoperability, a proxy for "can I reach all the users I want to if my app requires this feature?" That is, developers often decline to use features that aren't already in every engine they care about.
Circularly, non-implementing engines view features without broad use as cost rather than potential benefit. This is particularly true when the alternative is to improve performance of existing features. A sure way for a browser engineer to attract kudos is to make existing content work better, thereby directly improving things for users who choose your browser. Said differently, product managers intuitively prefer surefire improvements to their products rather than speculative additions which might benefit competitors as much (or more). Enlightened ecosystem thinkers are rare, although the web has been blessed with several of them recently.
Last, but not least, a lack of solidarity looms over the enterprise. Browser engineers don't make websites for a living, so they also lack intrinsic motivation to improve the situation. Many an epic web standards battle to advance an "obviously" missing feature can be traced to this root.
Note: the whole ecosystem breaks down when users do not have a real choice of engine, e.g. on iOS. When competition is limited vendors are free to structurally under-invest and the platform becomes less dynamic and responsive to needs. Everyone loses, but it's a classic deadweight loss, making it harder to spot and call out.
The status quo is powerful. Every vendor has plausible (if played-up) reasons not to implement new features. They can stall progress until they are last (or second-to last in a 4+ party ecosystem) to implement. There's no developer wrath until that point, and it's easy to cast FUD on not-yet-pervasive features while holding a pocket veto. Further, it's the job of SDOs and formal Working Groups to kill ideas that are not obviously fit for purpose or which lack momentum.
This situation looks hopeless for folks trying to make progress. The slow pace of some essential but overdue improvements (Responsive Images, CSS variables, ES6 Classes, Promises & async/await, Web Components, Streams, etc.) would give any sane observer pause. Is it worth even trying?
The enormous positive impact that changes to the web platform can deliver makes me believe the answer is "yes". In Part 2 I'll share details of how the Chrome Team changed its thinking about feature development and standards and how that's enabling the entire web community to deliver more progress faster.