So, you hear about Jamie Heinemeier Hansson, or DHH, and all his talk about building software, running companies, and, you know, not going crazy while doing it. Sounds pretty appealing, right? Especially that whole “less is more” thing, and building “calm companies.” I thought so too. I really did.
I figured, okay, let me actually put this stuff into practice. Not just nod along to a podcast or a blog post. I had this side project, a little web app. Perfect candidate, I thought. I was going to be the model DHH disciple. Keep it lean. Focus on the essentials. No bloated features. Just pure, elegant simplicity.
First couple of weeks? Man, it felt good. I was saying no to new ideas left and right. “Is this really essential?” I’d ask myself, channeling my inner DHH. My to-do list was short. I felt so in control. So zen.
Then reality started to knock. Gently at first. My friend, who I was kind of building this for, started with the, “Hey, it’s great, but wouldn’t it be cool if it also did X?” And X was definitely not essential. It was a nice-to-have. A shiny distraction.
I tried to hold the line. “We’re keeping it focused,” I’d say, trying to sound wise and confident. But then you see that look in their eye. That little flicker of, “Oh, so it’s… basic.” Or worse, “Oh, so you can’t do it?”
It got tougher when I thought about, you know, what if this thing actually went somewhere? I looked at other apps, the ones people actually used. And guess what? They had X. And Y. And Z. They were feature-packed. Maybe not “calm,” but definitely comprehensive.
The real kicker, the moment I truly understood how this DHH philosophy can clash with the messy world, was with a small freelance gig I took on. I was all fired up, ready to apply these calm, sustainable principles. The client wanted a website. I proposed a clean, simple site. Fast, easy to use, focused on their core message. DHH would’ve been proud.
I explained my approach: “We’ll build what’s essential first, make it solid, and avoid unnecessary complexity that just slows things down and costs more.” They nodded, seemed to like the sound of it. Keywords like “efficient” and “focused” usually go down well.
So, I got to work. Delivered the first version. It did exactly what we agreed was essential. And then the feedback came. “It’s nice, but… where’s the animated intro? Can we have a parallax scrolling section here? And my cousin’s nephew said we absolutely need a chatbot that tells jokes.”
I tried to gently push back, explaining the philosophy of simplicity, of not adding tech for tech’s sake. I talked about user experience, about how all those extras can actually be distracting. I probably sounded like a broken record, or worse, like I was trying to get away with doing less work.
This is how I know this stuff is harder than it looks. After a bit of back and forth, where I felt like I was defending a PhD thesis on minimalism, the client got quiet. A week later, I saw their new website. It was built by someone else. It had the animated intro, the parallax scrolling, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it had a joke-telling chatbot too. It was also a bit of a mess, slow to load, but hey, it ticked all their boxes.
That gig didn’t pay much, but the lesson was valuable. It’s like DHH’s ideas are a beautiful, handcrafted wooden chair. It’s strong, elegant, and serves its purpose perfectly. But sometimes, the client just wants a big, squishy beanbag with cup holders and flashing lights, even if it’s poorly made and falls apart in six months. And if you’re the one trying to sell them the wooden chair, you might just go hungry.
So yeah, I admire the principles. I really do. Build less, stay calm, focus. It’s a great ideal. But when you’re not the one with the established success, when you’re not DHH running Basecamp, when you’re just trying to make things work in the day-to-day grind, it’s a constant battle. You try to stick to your guns, but the world keeps asking for more guns, bigger guns, laser guns. It’s exhausting.
I still try to apply those lessons where I can, in my own way. But I’ve learned that it’s less about a rigid dogma and more about finding small pockets of sanity, small ways to push back against the chaos. Because out here, it feels like the default setting is always “more” and “faster,” not “better” and “calmer.” And changing that default? That’s a marathon, not a sprint. And DHH, well, he’s been running it longer than most of us.
