As designers, we often aspire to create designs that are simple, sleek, and clear for users. But we have a long list of requirements to meet and features to add to our products. Adding is always easier than cutting back. We’re working with digital spaces which, in theory, can expand and grow to fit anything. There’s no limit to how much we can add, but there is definitely a limit to how the human brain comprehends things. Simplicity takes real thought.
From aesthetic simplicity (how it looks), to logical simplicity (how it works), all the way to technical simplicity (how it performs)—those layers are intrinsically connected and work together to create a simple experience for users. If your product looks simple but takes long minutes to load, users likely won’t perceive it as simple.
Not everything listed in the requirements document needs to be included in the product, let alone become an interface element. Design isn't just making screens for every feature. Simplicity is achieved when you prioritize, merge, organize, reduce, combine, hide, gradually unveil, shorten, compress, and sacrifice. In Laws of Simplicity, John Maeda talks about the idea of thoughtful reduction: that when in doubt, you should remove, and just be careful of what you remove.
The beauty of digital products is that we can play with the axis of time; we can build interactions that gradually and contextually reveal themselves to users. The folks at Signal vs. Noise argue that unless you’re making a product that does one thing (like a paperclip, for example), you have to make tough calls about what needs to be obvious, what should be easy, and what should be possible. More than simply removing things or saying no, it’s about HOW you say yes.
Videogames are notoriously famous for keeping the interface simple while relying on visual hints and low-consequential tutorials to progressively introduce mechanics and more complex operations.
Designers working on feature-rich products (a B2B dashboard, for example) tend to argue that simplicity is impossible. They are thinking of simplicity as a synonym for minimalism instead of coherence. An inconsistent icon, a different use of color, a slightly off-lexicon naming, or a misplaced menu item can do more harm than a multi-step task. With coherence, something can be robust and simple at the same time.
Simplicity isn't a coat of paint. You cannot start your designs assuming the product will be complex, that it will cover a lot of ground. Start with the most important problem and the simplest solution. That is the core of your product; the one thing it needs to be excellent at. Then, and only then, build new features around it.
Often times, an interface “feels” complicated because your brain is trying to understand how it works and trying to learn how to use it. Start with what people already know. And when adding something, make it feel like they may have seen it before, even if its a distant or unexpected reference. Achieving simplicity is building familiarity; the delight from when things happen as expected.
That’s just a lousy argument others use to convince you to clutter up your homepage. It's a relic from the dial-up days when navigating from one page to another was a more time-consuming decision. If you’re uncritically accommodating every request from stakeholders, your interface will look chaotic, and the cognitive burden will fall on the user.
If you’re aiming for simplicity, don’t overlook your writing. Headings and calls-to-action can always be shorter, more consistent, and less generic. If something is hard to explain in simple terms, that might be the symptom of a bigger issue.
When Google Search launched in 1998, it was so simple and efficient that it changed people’s expectations of how a search engine should work. Over the years, Google’s offerings have expanded so widely that people rarely associate the brand with simplicity anymore.
In the white space between modules. In the negative shape around a sculpture, in the white page between chapters, in the stillness before a dance move. What you don't design is just as important as what you do.
MASP, by Lina Bo Bardi. The building's audacious simplicity makes it appear to float and creates a striking negative space beneath it—an area that's then used for public gatherings and special events.
Designers can get in their own way by losing focus and getting lost in the problem space. When you try to solve everything, you end up not solving anything. The key to simplicity is finding the essence.
Tech is supposed to make our lives simpler, but many times can create complexities all around. Nothing exists in a vacuum. Everything we add comes with other consequences: operational costs (production, maintenance, technical debt), personal costs (cognitive load, attention span, extra work for users), and societal costs (from energy consumption to need for regulation). It’s our responsibility as designers to carefully evaluate technology so we don’t sacrifice too much for too little.
This Honda ad positions the car as a simple solution to unlock everything else in life (life's meaning, it seems, hinges on ticking off an overwhelming series of boxes). What it doesn't tell you is that owning a car brings a whole set of complexities to your life (maintenance, inspection, taxes, insurance, parking) and to your community (pollution, noise, accidents, traffic, decline of public spaces, and so on).
When you put the time and thought to make something simple, you’re showing you care. Simplicity is important in every aspect of your work—not only in how you design, but how you collaborate, how you choose to communicate, how you organize your files, how you lead your meetings. A messy team cannot make a simple product. When you make simplicity a priority, you're not just making things easier. You're giving them meaning.