human experience

"Human experience" isn't about perfect designs or impressive builds.

It’s not about clean lines, smooth animations, or the cleverness of your code. It’s not the part that wins awards, goes viral, or makes your portfolio look stacked. It’s the part no one really notices unless they feel it. The subtle stuff, the moments where something clicks, not because it was impressive, but because it was honest.

I used to think that to be respected in tech — or design, or anything really — I had to be perfect. I had to build something sleek, groundbreaking, technically beautiful. But the things that actually moved people? They were never perfect.
They were personal. They were vulnerable. They were made with the intention to understand, not just to impress.

When someone uses a product and feels a little more capable, a little less alone, a little more seen — that’s the win.
Not the cleanest UI. Not the smartest backend logic. But that quiet moment of connection. I think we forget sometimes that everything we build — the websites, the apps, the tools — are just attempts at translating human needs.
We’re trying to reach people. To help. To comfort. To give power. To make space.

That’s what “human experience” really is. Not something you decorate your landing page with. Not something you add at the end. It’s the core. And if it’s missing, nothing else matters.

So now, when I make things, I start there. Not with, “How can I impress people?”
But with:
“How do I make someone feel understood?”
“What would I have needed, back then?”
“What would make this more human?”