On Simplicity

There's a particular kind of software that feels like it was always there. You open it, you do your work, you close it. No tutorials needed. No settings to tweak. It just works.

Bear is one of those apps. So is iA Writer. So is the terminal.

The disappearing tool

The best tools share a quality: they disappear. You stop thinking about the tool and start thinking about the work. The interface becomes invisible.

This is extraordinarily hard to achieve. Simplicity isn't the absence of complexity — it's complexity that's been resolved. Every feature that isn't there represents a decision someone made. Every default that just works is the result of careful thought.

Complexity creep

Most software moves in the opposite direction. Features accumulate. Settings multiply. The app that started as a focused tool becomes a platform, then an ecosystem, then a burden.

It happens because:

1. Every feature has a champion. Someone wants it. Someone asked for it.
2. Removal is harder than addition. Taking something away feels like loss.
3. Simplicity doesn't demo well. "It does less" is a tough pitch in a meeting.

What simplicity costs

Choosing simplicity means saying no to things that are individually reasonable. It means accepting that some users will outgrow your tool and leave. It means trusting that focus is a feature.

# The simplest blog
echo "Hello" > post.md

Sometimes the right answer really is that simple.

Perfection is achieved, not when there is nothing more to add, but when there is nothing left to take away. — Antoine de Saint-Exupery

The hard part isn't building something simple. The hard part is keeping it simple.