Care about what you do — even when nobody's watching

Against better advice, I’ve done a fair bit of introspection over the last year. Resurrecting this blog and putting words on the page every week has forced it. While technology is a long-running passion, I’ve struggled to find a single thread that runs through my work. I’m not a single-issue voter, on a crusade to save physical media or document every last detail of Emacs. What makes Nvidia’s DLSS 5, Xbox’s identity crisis, and AI price rises interesting enough for me to spend hours refining my thoughts into articles every week?

Then I realised what ties my interests together: I love to see people care about what they’re doing. Really care. Software with a no-nonsense UI, a video game with details players discover over the course of years, or even an original and cohesive marketing campaign – all of these things show that someone behind the scenes cares about the craft and quality of their work.

At the other end of the spectrum are the corner cutters. Products deemed “good enough” and pushed onto users despite known issues; services that abuse loyalty, slowly becoming less useful and more costly as companies try to squeeze every penny from customers; and technologies that help us to do things more quickly but are abused to flood the world with inferior output.

Displays of care, attention to detail, and – yes – taste, are an updated version of the shopping cart problem for the digital age. Will you do the right thing when nobody’s watching and there’s no penalty for cutting corners? There are ripple effects, and digital utilitarianism (or the lack thereof) determines the paths of our careers, lives, and societies. If we excuse shortcuts – due to distraction, negligence, or malice – the world around us declines in tandem.

What I talk about when I talk about caring

In this context, to care means to feel concern over quality and downstream consequences, independent of personal reward or punishment. It’s often demonstrated by the infusion of art into areas where it wouldn’t usually be deemed necessary, like Steve Jobs’ famous insistence that Apple computer internals were thoughtfully arranged even if few would ever see them.

When I make a mistake at work or a typo sneaks its way into a blog post, I feel dismayed not because of the potential impact on my employment or readership (in the latter case, it’s unlikely anybody would even notice), but because I know I’m capable of a better end product, and through a lapse in concentration I delivered something inferior. I admire people who aim to close the delta between their achievements and what is achievable.

The outlook I’m describing is distinct from perfectionism. It stems from the same instinct, but it’s more sustainable. The perfectionist may never deliver a product because they can’t get it just right. Someone who cares about what they do will still think a product through, produce it to the very best of their ability, and check it over properly – but they will share it. Their care shows through diligence in their approach and the drive to improve and iterate.

The capacity to care

Craig Mod, a writer who lives in Japan and documents his long walks across the countryside, often references the concept of yoyū. It can be translated literally as “room” or “surplus”, but the word is used in practice to describe the extra mental and emotional capacity to be attentive to others.

In his book Things Become Other Things (and various podcast appearances), Mod argues that Japanese people have greater yoyū because of the safety net their society affords them. Having spent a fair amount of time in Japan, I can see what he means. It’s not just about money – there is a cultivated feeling that people care at all levels, from the children who clean their classrooms before the cleaners arrive, to apologetic television adverts announcing road closures due to works or small price increases. Inconveniencing others is not accepted as a normal occurrence. You are expected to give others your best.

In Japan, inconveniencing others is not accepted as a normal occurrence. Meanwhile in the West, penny-pinching and doublespeak create an environment incompatible with care.

Contrast that with the West, where leaders in politics and business routinely make decisions that negatively affect people – often hidden in a footnote and obscured by language. To give one example of many, the price of a UK Netflix subscription has more than doubled since 2012, increasing from £6 to £13 per month. Emails carefully frame each hike as a “price update” that helps Netflix to deliver “more value” to its members. It’s a conscious decision to share the news that way, rather than with apologetic transparency. It feels like users are a resource to be manipulated, rather than valued customers.

This environment nurtures a scarcity mindset. If your job could disappear any day due to a “reduction in force”, your electricity bill could shoot up at a moment’s notice due to “the current economic climate”, and your broadband provider thinks inflation plus 4 percent is a fair annual price rise, it’s easy to live your life in a state of fight or flight. Ironically this is not only caused by a lack of care, it also produces a lack of care because of the pressure people feel. If it feels like everybody else is penny-pinching, why shouldn’t you?

Bucking the trend

Somebody has to break the cycle. I’ve increasingly been thinking about the examples that deviate from the modern mould. I’ve been jotting down notes when I see people who do care, and relishing their successes – especially when they do the unthinkable and produce quality that’s profitable at scale.

Jason Fried, cofounder and CEO of 37signals (the makers of Basecamp), leads a company that makes tens of millions of dollars every year – but he hates optimisation based on figures. In conversation with David Senra, he said his goal is to “make stuff for people like me”. He’d rather spend money improving the product than pursuing endless expansion that dilutes what made it great. By focusing on output, keeping costs low, and turning away traditional venture capital funding, 37signals has managed to continue to build a well-regarded platform with a relatively small, efficient team.

Hideo Kojima’s video games are played by millions, but Kojima Productions refuses to succumb to the issues that usually affect such a large company. Its games align closely with the director’s vision, and are widely praised for their attention to detail and grandiose themes. When developing Death Stranding 2: On the Beach, Kojima’s obsession was the idea of connection in an online world – especially since the pandemic. He invited the games media to his company’s Tokyo office for a rare in-person preview, and ran a series of live shows for fans that were collectively dubbed the World Strand Tour.

The Ivy might seem like an odd example, but it has in my estimation resisted enshittification despite rapid growth. Its first restaurant opened in 1917, and with a second location only arriving in 2014. Now it’s approaching 50. Some might argue that dilutes the brand, but – while I’m not a regular – every location I’ve visited has had an atmosphere that sets it apart from its rivals. The décor and music, the service and uniforms, make it feel as though you’ve stepped into a different era when there was a little more formality and a lot more customer service. The food is fine for a restaurant of its calibre – it’s the experience and attention to detail that makes each visit memorable.

The aforementioned writer Craig Mod has carved out a niche for himself where he can produce what he believes is best for the world without worrying about commercial pressures. I’m an avid admirer of the way he completely commits to his craft when he’s on a walk, making kinetic progress in the day and writing in the evenings. And there’s a physical quality to his work, too – the self-published versions of his books are beautiful limited editions with intricate covers and double-page spreads filled with photos from his travels. The physical books are as much a work of art as the words contained within.

These examples prove that even in the present day – and even at a scale that would usually reduce customers to decimals on a dashboard – it is possible to commit to quality. It is possible to get into the weeds and ensure your vision is realised. And it is possible to care about the end user’s experience.

The resistance to enshittification, AI slop, and the race to the bottom starts with individuals. That doesn’t mean rejecting AI or refusing to make money. In many cases, distinct and carefully made products are more valuable in the long run than cheaper, lower-quality alternatives. Think about what you bring to your customers. Think about what your work adds to the world.

We do less business than ever face-to-face. It’s easy to forget that there are humans involved, and to hide behind social accounts and support emails and dashboards when making decisions that deteriorate your product. Choose to return the shopping cart, even when nobody’s watching. Choose control and care over speed or percentage-point profit increases. No matter what you do and what you create, put the best of yourself out into the world.

The key to it all is to care about what you do.

Related posts

•   Quality products begin with detail-obsessed leaders
•   AI could commodify thinking and destroy deep work
•   Good business writing makes the reader’s life easier

Recommended reading

•   Things Become Other Things by Craig Mod (book)
•   Jason Fried, 37signals – David Senra (podcast)
•   Precious Cargo (Death Stranding 2 preview) – Edge #411 (article)
•   Why Japan is Winning the War on Distraction – Rich Roll (podcast)
•   Craig Mod (Part 1 | Part 2) – The Tim Ferriss Show (podcast)