There’s something about modern software that I’ve never really understood.
Why does everything want my attention?
Open an app.
There’s a notification.
Close the notification.
There’s a popup.
Close the popup.
“Would you like to enable notifications?”
No.
“Are you sure?”
Yes.
Then there’s a banner telling me about a feature I didn’t ask for, a little red dot that won’t disappear, and eventually an email reminding me that I haven’t opened the app lately.
I know.
I was there.
I was the one who didn’t open it.
Maybe I didn’t need it that day.
And that’s okay.
At least, I think it should be.
Somewhere Along the Way, Attention Became the Product
I understand why this happens.
For a lot of companies, success isn’t simply measured by whether their software works.
It’s measured in engagement.
Daily active users.
Time in app.
Clicks.
Retention.
Notifications opened.
Screens viewed.
Those numbers matter when your business depends on advertising, subscriptions, upgrades, or keeping people inside an ecosystem.
But I’m building software a little differently.
If you open one of my apps, accomplish what you came to do, and close it thirty seconds later…
I’m not disappointed.
I think the app did its job.
That’s a successful thirty seconds.
I Don’t Need You to Form a Relationship With My App
This might not be great marketing, but here goes.
I don’t want JustMail to become an important part of your life.
It’s an email client.
I don’t want OMV Companion competing with your family for screen time.
It’s there to check your server.
Software is a tool.
My hammer doesn’t send me a notification because I haven’t used it since Tuesday.
My screwdriver doesn’t have a daily streak.
And my tape measure has never asked me to rate it while I’m halfway through measuring something.
It just sits there until I need it.
Then it works.
There’s something nice about that.
There’s Another Way to Build Loyalty
This is where I think software companies sometimes get things backwards.
They try incredibly hard to make sure you don’t forget them.
I’d rather give you permission to forget me.
Seriously.
Go do something else.
Then, six months from now, when you need one of my apps, open it.
If it works exactly the way you remember…
If your settings are still there…
If everything is where you left it…
If there isn’t a giant advertisement waiting for you…
If I haven’t moved your favorite feature behind a new subscription…
Maybe you’ll think:
“I like this app.”
That’s the relationship I’d rather have.
Not attention.
Trust.
Trust Takes Longer
The problem with trust is that you can’t really manufacture it.
You can buy advertising.
You can optimize a store listing.
You can make a beautiful website.
You can probably hire somebody who knows exactly which shade of blue makes people click a button.
But none of that creates trust.
Trust happens slowly.
You say there won’t be ads.
Then there aren’t ads.
You say you’re going to respect someone’s privacy.
Then you actually do it.
You charge someone a fair price.
Then you don’t spend the next year trying to squeeze another payment out of them.
You release an update.
Their software still works.
Do that enough times and maybe people start believing you.
That’s worth more to me than another click.
This Changes How You Build Things
If your goal is attention, you make different decisions.
You ask:
“How do we get people back into the app tomorrow?”
If your goal is trust, you ask:
“How do we make sure they don’t regret installing it?”
I like the second question better.
It doesn’t mean I don’t want people using the software.
Of course I do.
It doesn’t mean I don’t want to sell apps either.
I’d like this little software adventure to pay for itself.
Maybe even buy me a few coffees along the way.
But I don’t think those things require treating the person on the other side of the screen like a metric.
There’s a person there.
They have things to do.
Their time belongs to them.
Their computer belongs to them.
Their phone belongs to them.
And their attention definitely belongs to them.
Maybe That’s Bad Business
I suppose we’ll find out.
I’m a small independent developer. I don’t have investors asking why engagement dropped 3.7% this quarter.
That gives me a luxury bigger companies sometimes don’t have.
I can decide what success means.
And I’ve decided I’d rather have 1,000 people who genuinely trust something I’ve built than 100,000 people I’ve figured out how to keep clicking.
Because if I build something useful today…
Treat you fairly tomorrow…
And keep doing that for a few years…
Maybe the next time you see HackitZ on an app, you won’t need an advertisement telling you it’s worth trying.
You’ll already know what to expect.
That’s the kind of brand I’d like to build.
We don’t build software to get your attention.
We build software to earn your trust.
Until next week,
Kev