Say it thrice: a nice example of layering and story-telling

I enjoyed the New York Times's data viz showing how actively the Democratic candidates were criss-crossing the nation in the month of March (link).

It is a great example of layering the presentation, starting with an eye-catching map at the most aggregate level. The designers looped through the same dataset three times.

This compact display packs quite a lot. We can easily identify which were the most popular states; and which candidate visited which states the most.

I noticed how they handled the legend. There is no explicit legend. The candidate names are spread around the map. The size legend is also missing, replaced by a short sentence explaining that size encodes the number of cities visited within the state. For a chart like this, having a precise size legend isn't that useful.

The next section presents the same data in a small-multiples layout. The heads are replaced by dots.

This allows more precise comparison of one candidate to another, and one location to another.

This display has one shortcoming. If you compare the left two maps above, those for Amy Klobuchar and Beto O'Rourke, it looks like they have visited roughly similar number of cities when in fact Beto went to 42 compared to 25. Reducing the size of the dots might work.

Then, in the third visualization of the same data, the time dimension is emphasized. Lines are used to animate the daily movements of the candidates, one by one.

Click here to see the animation.

When repetition is done right, it doesn't feel like repetition.

 

Form and function: when academia takes on weed

I have a longer article on the sister blog about the research design of a study claiming 420 "cannabis" Day caused more road accident fatalities (link). The blog also has a discussion of the graphics used to present the analysis, which I'm excerpting here for dataviz fans.

The original chart looks like this:

The question being asked is whether April 20 is a special day when viewed against the backdrop of every day of the year. The answer is pretty clear. From this chart, the reader can see:

• that April 20 is part of the background "noise". It's not standing out from the pack;
• that there are other days like July 4, Labor Day, Christmas, etc. that stand out more than April 20

It doesn't even matter what the vertical axis is measuring. The visual elements did their job. 

***

If you look closely, you can even assess the "magnitude" of the evidence, not just the "direction." While April 20 isn't special, it nonetheless is somewhat noteworthy. The vertical line associated with April 20 sits on the positive side of the range of possibilities, and appears to sit above most other days.

The chart form shown above is better at conveying the direction of the evidence than its strength. If the strength of the evidence is required, we use a different chart form.

I produced the following histogram, using the same data:

The histogram is produced by first locating the midpoints# of the vertical lines into buckets, and then counting the number of days that fall into each bucket.  (# Strictly speaking, I use the point estimates.)

The midpoints# are estimates of the fatal crash ratio, which is defined as the excess crash fatalities reported on the "analysis day" relative to the "reference days," which are situated one week before and one week after the analysis day. So April 20 is compared to April 13 and 27. Therefore, a ratio of 1 indicates no excess fatalities on the analysis day. And the further the ratio is above 1, the more special is the analysis day. 

If we were to pick a random day from the histogram above, we will likely land somewhere in the middle, which is to say, a day of the year in which no excess car crashes fatalities could be confirmed in the data.

As shown above, the ratio for April 20 (about 1.12)  is located on the right tail, and at roughly the 94th percentile, meaning that there were 6 percent of analysis days in which the ratios would have been more extreme. 

This is in line with our reading above, that April 20 is noteworthy but not extraordinary.

 

P.S. [4/27/2019] Replaced the first chart with a newer version from Harper's site. The newer version contains the point estimates inside the vertical lines, which are used to generate the histogram.

 

 

 

 

 

Visually exploring the relationship between college applicants and enrollment

In a previous post, we learned that top U.S. colleges have become even more selective over the last 15 years, driven by a doubling of the number of applicants while class sizes have nudged up by just 10 to 20 percent. 

The top 25 most selective colleges are included in the first group. Between 2002 and 2017, their average rate of admission dropped from about 20% to about 10%, almost entirely explained by applicants per student doubling from 10 to almost 20. A similar upward movement in selectivity is found in the first four groups of colleges, which on average accept at least half of their applicants.

Most high school graduates however are not enrolling in colleges in the first four groups. Actually, the majority of college enrollment belongs to the bottom two groups of colleges. These groups also attracted twice as many applicants in 2017 relative to 2002 but the selectivity did not change. They accepted 75% to 80% of applicants in 2002, as they did in 2017.

***

In this post, we look at a different view of the same data. The following charts focus on the growth rates, indexed to 2002. 

To my surprise, the number of college-age Americans  grew by about 10% initially but by 2017 has dropped back to the level of 2002. Meanwhile, the number of applications to the colleges continues to climb across all eight groups of colleges.

The jump in applications made selectivity surge at the most selective colleges but at the less selective colleges, where the vast majority of students enroll, admission rate stayed put because they gave out many more offers as applications mounted. As the Pew headline asserted, "the rich gets richer."

Enrollment has not kept up. Class sizes expanded about 10 to 30 percent in those 15 years, lagging way behind applications and admissions.

How do we explain the incremental applications?

• Applicants increasing the number of schools they apply to
• The untapped market: applicants who in the past would not have applied to college
• Non-U.S. applicants: this is part of the untapped market, but much larger

Light entertainment: the crack pie that escaped and then resurfaced on TV

A famous restaurant bowed to pressure recently to rename its famous item, previously known as the "crack pie" (link).

The crack pie that escaped the Milk Bar showed up here:

Thanks to twitter friend DorsaAmir for alerting us to this chart.

An exercise in decluttering

My friend Xan found the following chart by Pew hard to understand. Why is the chart so taxing to look at? 

It's packing too much.

I first notice the shaded areas. Shading usually signifies "look here". On this chart, the shading is highlighting the least important part of the data. Since the top line shows applicants and the bottom line admitted students, the shaded gap displays the rejections.

The numbers printed on the chart are growth rates but they confusingly do not sync with the slopes of the lines because the vertical axis plots absolute numbers, not rates. 

The vertical axis presents the total number of applicants, and the total number of admitted students, in each "bucket" of colleges, grouped by their admission rate in 2017. On the right, I drew in two lines, both growth rates of 100%, from 500K to 1 million, and from 1 to 2 million. The slopes are not the same even though the rates of growth are.

Therefore, the growth rates printed on the chart must be read as extraneous data unrelated to other parts of the chart. Attempts to connect those rates to the slopes of the corresponding lines are frustrated.

Another lurking factor is the unequal sizes of the buckets of colleges. There are fewer than 10 colleges in the most selective bucket, and over 300 colleges in the largest bucket. We are unable to interpret properly the total number of applicants (or admissions). The quantity of applications in a bucket depends not just on the popularity of the colleges but also the number of colleges in each bucket.

The solution isn't to resize the buckets but to select a more appropriate metric: the number of applicants per enrolled student. The most selective colleges are attracting about 20 applicants per enrolled student while the least selective colleges (those that accept almost everyone) are getting 4 applicants per enrolled student, in 2017.

As the following chart shows, the number of applicants has doubled across the board in 15 years. This raises an intriguing question: why would a college that accepts pretty much all applicants need more applicants than enrolled students?

Depending on whether you are a school administrator or a student, a virtuous (or vicious) cycle has been realized. For the top four most selective groups of colleges, they have been able to progressively attract more applicants. Since class size did not expand appreciably, more applicants result in ever-lower admit rate. Lower admit rate reduces the chance of getting admitted, which causes prospective students to apply to even more colleges, which further suppresses admit rate. 

 

 

 

The Bumps come to the NBA, courtesy of 538

The team at 538 did a post-mortem of their in-season forecasts of NBA playoffs, using Bumps charts. These charts have a long history and can be traced back to Cambridge rowing. I featured them in these posts from a long time ago (link 1, link 2). 

Here is the Bumps chart for the NBA West Conference showing all 15 teams, and their ranking by the 538 model throughout the season. 

The highlighted team is the Kings. It's a story of ascent especially in the second half of the season. It's also a story of close but no cigar. It knocked at the door for the last five weeks but failed to grab the last spot. The beauty of the Bumps chart is how easy it is to see this story.

Now, if you'd focus on the dotted line labeled "Makes playoffs," and note that beyond the half-way point (1/31), there are no further crossings. This means that the 538 model by that point has selected the eight playoff teams accurately.

***

Now what about NBA East?

This chart highlights the two top teams. This conference is pretty easy to predict at the top. 

What is interesting is the spaghetti around the playoff line. The playoff race was heart-stopping and it wasn't until the last couple of weeks that the teams were settled. 

Also worthy of attention are the bottom-dwellers. Note that the chart is disconnected in the last four rows (ranks 12 to 15). These four teams did not ever leave the cellar, and the model figured out the final rankings around February.

Using a similar analysis, you can see that the model found the top 5 teams by mid December in this Conference, as there are no further crossings beyond that point. 

***
Go check out the FiveThirtyEight article for their interpretation of these charts. 

While you're there, read the article about when to leave the stadium if you'd like to leave a baseball game early, work that came out of my collaboration with Pravin and Sriram.

A data graphic that solves a consumer problem

Saw this great little sign at Ippudo, the ramen shop, the other day:

It's a great example of highly effective data visualization. The names on the board are sake brands. 

The menu (a version of a data table) is the conventional way of displaying this information.

The Question

Customers are selecting a sake. They don't have a favorite, or don't recognize many of these brands. They know a bit about their preferences: I like full-bodied, or I want the dry one. 

The Data

On a menu, the key data are missing. So the first order of business is to find data on full- and light-bodied, and dry and sweet. The pricing data are omitted, possibly because it clutters up the design, or because the shop doesn't want customers to focus on price - or both.

The Visual

The design uses a scatter plot. The customer finds the right quartet, thus narrowing the choices to three or four brands. Then, the positions on the two axes allow the customer to drill down further. 

This user experience is leaps and bounds above scanning a list of names, and asking someone who may or may not be an expert.

Back to the Data

The success of the design depends crucially on selecting the right data. Baked into the scatter plot is the assumption that the designer knows the two factors most influential to the customer's decision. Technically, this is a "variable selection" problem: of all factors determining the brand choice, which two are the most important? 

Think about the downside of selecting the wrong factors. Then, the scatter plot makes it harder to choose the sake compared to the menu. 

 

How to describe really small chances

Reader Aleksander B. sent me to the following chart in the Daily Mail, with the note that "the usage of area/bubble chart in combination with bar alignment is not very useful." (link)

One can't argue with that statement. This chart fails the self-sufficiency test: anyone reading the chart is reading the data printed on the right column, and does not gain anything from the visual elements (thus, the visual representation is not self-sufficient). As a quick check, the size of the risk for "motorcycle" should be about 30 times larger than that of "car"; the size of the risk for "car" should be 100 times larger than that of "airplane". The risk of riding motorcycles then is roughly 3,000 times that of flying in an airplane. 

The chart does not appear to be sized properly as a bubble chart:

You'll notice that the visible proportion of the "car" bubble is much larger than that of the "motorcycle" bubble, which is one part of the problem.

Nor is it sized as a bar chart:

As a bar chart, both the widths and the heights of the bars vary; and the last row presents a further challenge as the bubble for the airplane does not touch the baseline.

***

Besides the Visual, the Data issues are also quite hard. This is how Aleksander describes it: "as a reader I don't want to calculate all my travel distances and then do more math to compare different ways of traveling."

The reader wants to make smarter decisions about travel based on the data provided here. Aleksandr proposes one such problem:

In terms of probability it is also easier to understand: "I am sitting in my car in strong traffic. At the end in 1 hour I will make only 10 miles so what's the probability that I will die? Is it higher or lower than 1 hour in Amtrak train?"

The underlying choice is between driving and taking Amtrak for a particular trip. This comparison is relevant because those two modes of transport are substitutes for this trip. 

One Data issue with the chart is that riding a motorcycle and flying in a plane are rarely substitutes. 

***

A way out is to do the math on behalf of your reader. The metric of deaths per 1 billion passenger-miles is not intuitive for a casual reader. A more relevant question is what's the chance of dying from the time I spend per year of driving (or riding a plane). Because the chance will be very tiny, it is easier to express the risk as the number of years of travel before I expect to see one death.

Let's assume someone drives 300 days per year, and 100 miles per day so that each year, this driver contributes 30,000 passenger-miles to the U.S. total (which is 3.2 trillion). We convert 7.3 deaths per 1 billion passenger-miles to 1 death per 137 million passenger-miles. Since this driver does 30K per year, it will take (137 million / 30K) = about 4,500 years to see one death on average. This calculation assumes that the driver drives alone. It's straightforward to adjust the estimate if the average occupancy is higher than 1. 

Now, let's consider someone who flies once a month (one outbound trip plus one return trip). We assume that each plane takes on average 100 passengers (including our protagonist), and each trip covers on average 1,000 miles. Then each of these flights contributes 100,000 passenger-miles. In a year, the 24 trips contribute 2.4 million passenger-miles. The risk of flying is listed at 0.07 deaths per 1 billion, which we convert to 1 death per 14 billion passenger-miles. On this flight schedule, it will take (14 billion / 2.4 million) = almost 6,000 years to see one death on average.

For the average person on those travel schedules, there is nothing to worry about. 

***

Comparing driving and flying is only valid for those trips in which you have a choice. So a proper comparison requires breaking down the average risks into components (e.g. focusing on shorter trips). 

The above calculation also suggests that the risk is not evenly spread out throughout the population, despite the use of an overall average. A trucker who is on the road every work day is clearly subject to higher risk than an occasional driver who makes a few trips on rental cars each year.

There is a further important point to note about flight risk, due to MIT professor Arnold Barnett. He has long criticized the use of deaths per billion passenger-miles as a risk metric for flights. (In Chapter 5 of Numbers Rule Your World (link), I explain some of Arnie's research on flight risk.) The problem is that almost all fatal crashes involving planes happen soon after take-off or not long before landing. 

 

The unreasonable effect of chart labels

In discussing the bar-density and pie-density charts with a buddy (thanks LB!), it became obvious that the labeling is a challenge. And he's right.

Here is the pie-density chart for the Youtube views with the labels as originally conceived.

These labels are trying too hard to provide precise data to the reader.

Here are some simplified labels that get at the message rather than the data:

Here is a slightly different version: