Friction Is Not A Feature

Let’s be honest: buying a ticket to an attraction shouldn’t require a PhD in logistics.

You’re not booking an international holiday. You’re trying to visit a castle, a zoo, or a museum. But instead of a few quick clicks, you’re met with a labyrinth of calendars, time slots, family bundles, postcode restrictions, upsells, CAPTCHA tests, and an “experience journey” that feels more like a software stress test than a welcome mat.

And just like that, the magic starts to evaporate - before you’ve even left your house.

The Road to Confusion Is Paved with Good Intentions

Attractions don’t set out to make things difficult. On the contrary, most are trying to do the right thing. Manage crowds. Avoid overbooking. Spread demand. Keep pricing fair. Offer more options. All perfectly reasonable.

But when all these well-meaning additions are layered on top of one another, the result isn’t flexibility. It’s friction.

A basic ticket purchase turns into a decision tree worthy of airline pricing teams. Want to visit on Saturday? You’ll need a time slot. Want to bring Grandma? She's a concession, but only if she brings ID. Got a toddler? Free entry - except at peak times. Want to add a train ride or the adventure playground? That’s an enhancement… on another screen. Want to change your booking? Only if you pre-paid for the FlexiFlex™ Upgrade (£3.50 at checkout, terms and conditions apply, non-refundable, naturally).

And so, what should be a simple moment of saying “yes, we’d love to come,” becomes a digital gauntlet where you have to have planned your entire visit in one sitting (before the basket timer expires). 

Okay - maybe I am being a little dramatic, but you get my point.

Systems That Work for Us - But Not for Them

From the inside, these systems feel sophisticated. There are options, filters, upsell paths, dynamic pricing, and a beautiful logic to it all. It’s controlled. Measurable. Optimised.

But for the guest, it’s effort.

What we call “choice,” they experience as uncertainty. What we call “revenue opportunity,” they experience as pressure. What we call “operational control,” they feel as inflexibility.

This mismatch matters. Because this isn’t just a technical interaction - it’s the beginning of the day out. If that beginning feels confusing or transactional, we’ve already lost something we can’t get back: the lightness, the excitement, the sense that this was a good idea.

The Risk of Timeslots

Time slots are one of the most common culprits. And to be clear, they serve a purpose. They help manage capacity, reduce queues, and improve the on-site experience. But too often, they’re introduced without enough attention to the emotional tone they create.

Guests book a slot for 10:00-10:30. They hit traffic. They arrive at 10:34, flustered. Now they’re not sure if they’ll be let in. Will their QR code still scan? Is the gate staff going to tut at them?

The irony is that in most cases, there’s a grace period. But the system never told them that. It spoke in absolutes. And when your ticket speaks in absolutes, your guests start the day with tension in their shoulders and a plan to explain themselves at the entrance.

We’ve turned up the precision, but lost the reassurance.

Death by Upsells

Then come the extras. The charming little ways we inflate the basket.

People don’t mind spending more. Most would happily add something extra - if they understood why it mattered. But the way we present upgrades often skips the ‘why’ entirely. No narrative, no persuasion, no emotional hook. Just a series of extra charges dropped in their lap like a shopping list. Instead of guiding them through options, we barrage them with bolt-ons and expect them to work it out.

It’s not persuasion - it’s pressure. And it doesn’t build confidence.

Guests start to wonder if they’re missing something. If they say no to everything, are they getting a lesser experience? Are they doing it wrong? We’ve trained them to feel unsure or even guilty for sticking with the base ticket - when the reality is, they probably would have upgraded if we’d taken the time to show them why it was worth it.

Instead, we treat the booking flow like a vending machine. But if we’re not using any of the tools of actual persuasion - no storytelling, no context, no incentive - why are we surprised when guests feel like they’re being sold to, not invited? If your interface behaves like a budget airline, guests will treat it like one: with caution, not affection.

Designed by Policy, Not Empathy

What ties all this together is a mindset. One that sees the booking journey as a functional task - an interface to configure before arrival.

But that’s not what it is. It’s part of the experience. Arguably the most important part... like breakfast at the beginning of the day. And if it feels clunky, inconsistent, or confusing, it doesn’t matter how magical the day itself is. That first impression lingers.

Most booking systems are designed around operational needs, not emotional ones. But guests aren’t looking for functionality - they’re looking for clarity. They want to know:

• When can I come?

• How much will it cost?

• What do I get?

Everything else should be optional and come later. Not a hurdle, not a hoop, and definitely not a series of decisions that feel like a game of “spot the surcharge.”

When the Cleverness Gets in the Way

The irony is that some of these systems are clever. They can segment by visitor type, offer discounts by postcode, apply dynamic prices, and optimise yield down to the minute.

But cleverness is only useful if it feels helpful. And right now, a lot of it just feels like work.

When a guest doesn’t know what a “Family Saver Plus” ticket includes, or can’t tell if their toddler needs a booking confirmation, or doesn’t understand why the price changed since yesterday, the system hasn’t created clarity. It’s created confusion. Even if it’s mathematically elegant.

Simplicity isn’t the absence of features. It’s the presence of confidence. A well-designed journey makes people feel smart, not tested. Welcome, not processed.

The Quiet Cost of Friction

Friction rarely shows up in the data as a spike. It’s not a catastrophic failure - it’s a slow drip. Visitors who abandon their basket. Visitors who complete the booking but feel unsure. Visitors who arrive stressed. Visitors who don’t come back - not because they didn’t enjoy the visit, but because it took too much effort to get there in the first place.

It’s invisible loss. And that’s what makes it so dangerous. It’s hard to trace, easy to excuse, and quietly undermines everything you’re trying to build.

What Simplicity Looks Like

Fixing this isn’t about scrapping your system. It’s about looking at it with fresh eyes - and asking better questions.

• Does this step need to exist?

• Is this choice actually helpful, or just confusing?

• Are we making it obvious what to do, or making people work it out?

• Could this be phrased more clearly, more kindly?

• Does this feel like part of the experience - or just the price of entry?

Most friction points can be softened without losing functionality. Time slots can be framed as guidance. Add-ons can be offered without pressure. Copy can sound human. Refund terms can be explained without reading like legal threats. All it takes is a shift in perspective - from policy to empathy.

Start the Day Well

Visitors arrive in all sorts of moods. Rushed. Frazzled. Excited. Tired. What you don’t want is to tip them further into stress before they’ve parked the car.

Booking should feel like part of the promise. “We’re going to take care of you today.” If it feels easy, the visit starts strong. If it feels awkward or loaded with conditions, you’ve put friction in a place where you need flow.

Friction Is Not a Feature

It’s not inevitable. It’s not a sign of sophistication. It’s not a trade-off we have to live with.

Friction is what happens when processes serve themselves instead of the people using them.

Good flows invite people in. They make decisions feel easy. They build confidence, not doubt.

And when the booking process does that well, everything else gets to shine. The spaces, the stories, the moments your teams work so hard to create. But it only happens if the welcome starts before the gates.

And that starts by remembering: friction is not a feature.