February 2008
The fiery reaction to the release of Arc [blocked] had an unexpected consequence: it made me realize I had a design philosophy.
The main complaint of the more articulate critics was that Arc seemed so flimsy.
After years of working on it, all I had to show for myself were a few thousand lines of macros?
Why hadn't I worked on more substantial problems?
As I was mulling over these remarks it struck me how familiar they seemed.
This was exactly the kind of thing people said at first about Viaweb, and Y Combinator, and most of my essays.
The fiery reaction to Arc [blocked] made me realize I had a design philosophy. Critics complained it seemed flimsy: years of work, only a few thousand lines of macros—why not more substantial problems?
It struck me how familiar this was—exactly what people said at first about Viaweb, and Y Combinator, and most of my essays.
The fiery reaction to Arc made me realize I had a design philosophy—and that the same complaints had greeted everything I'd built.
When we launched Viaweb, it seemed laughable to VCs and e-commerce "experts." We were just a couple guys in an apartment, which did not seem cool in 1995 the way it does now.
And the thing we'd built, as far as they could tell, wasn't even software.
Software, to them, equalled big, honking Windows apps.
Since Viaweb was the first web-based app they'd seen, it seemed to be nothing more than a website.
They were even more contemptuous when they discovered that Viaweb didn't process credit card transactions (we didn't for the whole first year).
Transaction processing seemed to them what e-commerce was all about.
It sounded serious and difficult.
And yet, mysteriously, Viaweb ended up crushing all its competitors.
It seemed laughably lightweight.
Startup funding meant series A rounds: millions of dollars given to a small number of startups founded by people with established credentials after months of serious, businesslike meetings, on terms described in a document a foot thick.
Y Combinator seemed inconsequential.
It's too early to say yet whether Y Combinator will turn out like Viaweb, but judging from the number of imitations, a lot of people seem to think we're on to something.
I can't measure whether my essays are successful, except in page views, but the reaction to them is at least different from when I started.
At first the default reaction of the Slashdot trolls was (translated into articulate terms): "Who is this guy and what authority does he have to write about these topics?
I haven't read the essay, but there's no way anything so short and written in such an informal style could have anything useful to say about such and such topic, when people with degrees in the subject have already written many thick books about it."
Now there's a new generation of trolls on a new generation of sites, but they have at least started to omit the initial "Who is this guy?"
Viaweb seemed laughable to VCs and e-commerce "experts": a couple guys in an apartment, building a thing that wasn't even software to people who thought software meant big, honking Windows apps. They grew still more contemptuous on learning we didn't process transactions—to them the whole point.
And yet, mysteriously, Viaweb ended up crushing all its competitors.
Y Combinator drew an almost identical reaction: laughably lightweight beside the series A round, with its millions and foot-thick terms. It seemed inconsequential—but judging from the imitations, people think we're onto something.
The essays drew the same thing. Slashdot trolls used to ask "Who is this guy, and how could anything so short and informal beat the experts' thick books?" The new generation at least drops the "Who is this guy?"
Viaweb, Y Combinator, and my essays each looked laughably flimsy at launch—too lightweight to matter, judged by their presentation rather than understood.
Now people are saying the same things about Arc that they said at first about Viaweb and Y Combinator and most of my essays.
Why the pattern?
The answer, I realized, is that my m.o. for all four has been the same.
Here it is: I like to find (a) simple solutions (b) to overlooked problems (c) that actually need to be solved, and (d) deliver them as informally as possible, (e) starting with a very crude version 1, then (f) iterating rapidly.
When I first laid out these principles explicitly, I noticed something striking: this is practically a recipe for generating a contemptuous initial reaction.
Though simple solutions are better, they don't seem as impressive as complex ones.
Overlooked problems are by definition problems that most people think don't matter.
Delivering solutions in an informal way means that instead of judging something by the way it's presented, people have to actually understand it, which is more work.
And starting with a crude version 1 means your initial effort is always small and incomplete.
Why the pattern? My m.o. for all four was the same: (a) simple solutions (b) to overlooked problems (c) that actually need solving, (d) delivered as informally as possible, (e) starting with a crude version 1, then (f) iterating rapidly.
Laid out explicitly, this is a recipe for contempt. Simple solutions don't seem impressive. Overlooked problems are ones most people think don't matter. Informal delivery forces people to understand rather than judge presentation. A crude version 1 is always small and incomplete.
All four share one method—simple solutions to overlooked problems, delivered informally, starting crude and iterating—which is practically a recipe for contempt.
I'd noticed, of course, that people never seemed to grasp new ideas at first. I thought it was just because most people were stupid.
Now I see there's more to it than that.
Like a contrarian investment fund, someone following this strategy will almost always be doing things that seem wrong to the average person.
As with contrarian investment strategies, that's exactly the point.
This technique is successful (in the long term) because it gives you all the advantages other people forgo by trying to seem legit.
If you work on overlooked problems, you're more likely to discover new things, because you have less competition.
If you deliver solutions informally, you (a) save all the effort you would have had to expend to make them look impressive, and (b) avoid the danger of fooling yourself as well as your audience.
And if you release a crude version 1 then iterate, your solution can benefit from the imagination of nature, which, as Feynman pointed out, is more powerful than your own.
I'd thought people fail to grasp new ideas because they're stupid. Now I see more: like a contrarian fund, this strategy almost always seems wrong to the average person—which is exactly the point.
It works by giving you the advantages others forgo trying to seem legit. Overlooked problems mean less competition, so you discover more. Informal delivery saves the effort of looking impressive and keeps you from fooling yourself. And iterating from a crude version 1 lets nature's imagination—which Feynman called more powerful than your own—improve it.
Like a contrarian investor you'll seem wrong to most people—which is the point: less competition, no wasted effort on looking impressive, and nature's imagination working for you.
In the case of Viaweb, the simple solution was to make the software run on the server.
The overlooked problem was to generate web sites automatically; in 1995, online stores were all made by hand by human designers, but we knew this wouldn't scale.
The part that actually mattered was graphic design, not transaction processing.
The informal delivery mechanism was me, showing up in jeans and a t-shirt at some retailer's office.
And the crude version 1 was, if I remember correctly, less than 10,000 lines of code when we launched.
The power of this technique extends beyond startups and programming languages and essays.
It probably extends to any kind of creative work.
Certainly it can be used in painting: this is exactly what Cezanne and Klee did.
Viaweb fit each principle: software on the server; generating web sites automatically, since hand-built stores wouldn't scale; graphic design, not transactions, was what mattered; delivery was me in jeans at retailers' offices; and version 1 was under 10,000 lines.
The technique extends beyond startups, languages, and essays to any creative work—certainly to painting, exactly what Cezanne and Klee did.
Viaweb fit all five principles exactly, and the technique extends past startups and code to any creative work—even painting.
At Y Combinator we bet money on it, in the sense that we encourage the startups we fund to work this way.
There are always new ideas right under your nose.
So look for simple things that other people have overlooked—things people will later claim were "obvious"—especially when they've been led astray by obsolete conventions, or by trying to do things that are superficially impressive.
Figure out what the real problem is, and make sure you solve that.
Don't worry about trying to look corporate; the product is what wins in the long term.
And launch as soon as you can, so you start learning from users what you should have been making.
At Y Combinator we bet money on it. Look for simple things others overlooked—later called "obvious"—especially where obsolete conventions or superficial impressiveness mislead. Find the real problem and solve that. Don't try to look corporate; the product wins. And launch as soon as you can, to learn from users.
We bet on this at Y Combinator: find simple overlooked things, solve the real problem, ignore looking corporate, and launch as soon as you can.
When Reddit first launched, it seemed like there was nothing to it.
To the graphically unsophisticated its deliberately minimal design seemed like no design at all.
But Reddit solved the real problem, which was to tell people what was new and otherwise stay out of the way.
As a result it became massively successful.
Now that conventional ideas have caught up with it, it seems obvious.
People look at Reddit and think the founders were lucky.
Like all such things, it was harder than it looked.
The Reddits pushed so hard against the current that they reversed it; now it looks like they're merely floating downstream.
So when you look at something like Reddit and think "I wish I could think of an idea like that," remember: ideas like that are all around you.
But you ignore them because they look wrong.
Reddit is a classic example. At launch it seemed like nothing—its minimal design looked like no design at all. But it solved the real problem—telling people what was new and otherwise staying out of the way—and became massively successful. Now it seems obvious and the founders lucky. It was harder than it looked: the Reddits pushed so hard against the current that they reversed it, and now look like they're floating downstream.
So when you think "I wish I could think of an idea like that," remember: ideas like that are all around you. But you ignore them because they look wrong.
Reddit looked like nothing yet solved the real problem and became huge; ideas like that are all around you—you ignore them because they look wrong.