The term “dark patterns” was coined by UX designer Harry Brignull in 2010 to describe a specific category of user interface design: elements that are intentionally designed to manipulate users into doing something they didn’t want or intend to do. Signing up for a subscription when they thought they were making a one-time purchase. Opting into email marketing when they thought they were completing a form. Donating more than they meant to because a higher amount was pre-selected. Today we use a more inclusive and comprehensive term: deceptive patterns.
In commercial software, deceptive patterns are distressingly common. They’re effective at increasing conversions, which is why product teams who are measured on conversion rates keep building them. They’re also, increasingly, the subject of regulatory attention—the FTC has taken action against companies using deceptive patterns in checkout flows, and the EU’s Digital Services Act includes provisions addressing them.
Nonprofits don’t usually set out to use deceptive patterns. But in the push to grow email lists, increase donations, and improve engagement metrics, some of the same manipulative design choices have found their way into nonprofit websites. And the people most likely to be affected by those patterns—people who are already in a vulnerable situation, people who are less experienced with digital interfaces, people who are accessing your site under stress—are exactly the people your organization is supposed to be serving.
What deceptive patterns look like in nonprofit contexts
Pre-checked boxes. A form field that asks whether the user wants to receive your newsletter, with the checkbox already checked. The user has to actively opt out rather than actively opt in. This is manipulative in any context; it’s particularly problematic for organizations whose clients may not notice the checkbox, may not know they can uncheck it, or may not have the ability to easily unsubscribe later.
Confusing unsubscribe flows. An email unsubscribe that takes the user to a preferences page with seventeen options, none of which is simply “stop sending me emails.” Or an unsubscribe link that says “you’ve been unsubscribed” but continues sending emails because the user didn’t also confirm in a follow-up email. Or a process that requires the user to log into an account they don’t remember creating.
Donation amount manipulation. Pre-selecting a monthly recurring donation when the user intended to make a one-time gift. Presenting donation amounts in a way that makes the higher amount visually prominent and the lower amounts look like the “wrong” choice. Using progress-bar or urgency language (“only 3 days left to double your impact”) that creates artificial pressure.
Guilt-based opt-out language. The “no thanks, I don’t care about children” style of opt-out—where declining an offer requires clicking text that frames the refusal as a moral failure. This is common in pop-up newsletters and has become enough of a cliché that there’s a name for it: “confirmshaming.” It’s manipulative and it doesn’t belong on a website that claims to respect the people it serves.
Hidden costs or commitments. A donation checkout that defaults to monthly giving without making that clearly visible until after the transaction. An event registration that adds a “processing fee” at the end of the checkout flow. These aren’t always intentional—sometimes they’re defaults in third-party platforms that nobody changed—but the effect is the same.
Forced continuity. A free membership trial that requires a credit card to sign up, with the subscription terms buried in fine print. More common in commercial nonprofit-adjacent software than on organizational websites, but worth naming.
The conversion optimization trap
Here’s the dynamic that produces most nonprofit deceptive patterns: someone is looking at email signup rates and sees that switching from opt-in to opt-out increases signups by 40%. That looks like a win. List grows. A metric improves. Nobody is specifically thinking about the experience of the person who got signed up without fully intending to.
Conversion optimization is legitimate. Understanding what content resonates, testing which calls to action are clearest, making your donation flow less confusing—these are good things. The line is crossed when optimization starts working against the user’s interests rather than with them. A larger email list full of people who didn’t really want to be on it is not a better list. A higher average donation from people who didn’t realize they were committing to monthly giving is not a better donor relationship.
The organizations that build long-term trust with their communities do it by being genuinely easy to deal with—not by using friction against users when it benefits the organization and removing it when it doesn’t.
What ethical design looks like instead
- Explicit opt-in with clear language. “Yes, send me updates” as a checkbox that starts unchecked, with a brief sentence about what those updates will contain and how often.
- Donation forms that are unambiguous about what the user is committing to. One-time vs. recurring stated clearly, at the beginning of the flow, not as a footnote.
- Unsubscribe processes that work in one click.
- Opt-outs that respect the user’s choice without editorializing about it. “No thanks” is sufficient. No need to make the user feel bad about it.
- Pricing and commitment transparency upfront—whatever you’re asking someone to agree to, make it clear before they need to scroll down or squint at fine print.
These aren’t radical principles. They’re just what it looks like to treat the people on your website as intelligent adults who deserve accurate information and genuine choice. Which, for an organization whose mission involves serving and advocating for people—is presumably the baseline.
If you’d like a second opinion on whether anything on your site crosses the line, I’m happy to take a look.