A few years ago, I was working at my first startup company. The company was going to outfit each of us with a laptop, and we were allowed to choose what we wanted. There were only three of us at the time, and all three of us chose Macs. One of my colleagues, our Director of Design, was currently using a Macbook Pro as her personal machine and elected to continue with a Mac at work (of course). I had been a Mac user years previous, but had switched to Windows for the same reason a lot of professionals I knew did: there was software for Windows PCs that was necessary for my job that just wasn't available for Mac. With the advent of Intel-based Macs and virtual machines, this was no longer an issue, so I was, frankly, pleased to switch back and did. But my other colleague was our Director of Development, and a Windows user who had never used a Mac before. He was unsure if it would be practical or wise for him to switch, but after some consultation and a bit of gentle cajoling, he opted for Mac as well. Shortly after making the switch, we were curious to find out his reaction to this new OS in comparison to his years of using Windows. I still remember his response: “It makes me feel more human.”
I just love that. And I never forgot it.
That phrase helped form the basis of my understanding of one of the main, perhaps even defining features of any great technology product, and perhaps any product at all. What does it mean to say “It makes me feel more human?” In my case when I use a great product, I feel as if it knows me and what I want. It knows how I do things and it even seems to understand how I like things done. It also knows what I want done, and in equal measure, what I don’t want done. It knows what I care about, and what I don’t. By seeming more “human” it makes me feel more human when I use it.
For these reasons, I’ve come around to the following expression: Truly great products have a “soul.” I’m sure that probably sounds like either a marketing cliché, or worse, the kind of loopy hyperbole found in too much B-grade self-help literature. But there’s one thing I know for sure: There’s no formula for truly great products. Good products? Perhaps. Not great ones. If there were a formula, every company being run by competent non-idiots would be churning them out. But they’re rare and exceptional. And just as with any sufficiently advanced technology, to paraphrase Arthur C. Clarke, any sufficiently great product is indistinguishable from magic. A literal soul? OK, no. But if a thing is the sum of it’s effects, then it’s probably more accurate to claim a great product has a soul than it does to claim it has a formula.
This is the first in a series of pieces on The Soul of a Great Product. I’ve worked in a wide variety of companies and have had my share of both successes and failures. And my hobby is basically studying and trying to understand the successes. I’ve learned about what’s necessary (if not sufficient) to produce greatness, and what can almost certainly kill it. To claim that it’s my intention (let alone within my abilities) to emerge from this with a recipe for greatness would be absurd, and the height of hubris. But by laying the pieces out on the table, I will have an opportunity to make sense of what I’ve learned. And if you’re reading this, hopefully you get something out of it too.