Friction is a feature, not a bug

Why convenience isn’t always better

In the digital world, products are designed to be seamless, smooth, and efficient. One swipe takes us from one photo to another. One tap delivers food straight to your door. The low friction design is intended to make life easier.

In my day job in Strategy & Operations at DoorDash, my team and I map user journeys to design every part of the experience. We optimize for business metrics while creating a pleasant consumer-first experience, one that often has very little friction. Behind every swipe or tap is a team of engineers, designers, product managers, marketers, and operators who have decided exactly what should happen next.

However, this convenience often comes at the cost of feeling less.

When you write on a computer, play games online, or chat with friends virtually, there’s something that’s lost. You lose the weight of a pen in your hand, the physical roll of the dice, and the nuanced body language of a person sitting across from you. I’ve found that while I love the efficiency of remote work, I’ve started seeking out the “magic” of physical, in-person experiences in my personal life. These things are objectively harder, requiring time to set up, time to go somewhere else, money to be spent, and, ultimately, more friction.

I tried learning guitar last year with YouTube videos online from the convenience of my home, but it was an interest that didn’t last very long. This year, I started taking in-person lessons. Each week, it takes time to get there and back, made harder by the harsh cold of Toronto winters. Yet over the past months, I’ve found it far more rewarding in being able to ask questions, learn in real time, and laugh at myself as I fumble through chords. It’s become part of my routine and something I look forward to.

Over the past few years, I’ve also gotten into Magic: The Gathering, a fantasy-based card game. Each week, I drive nearly an hour to a friend’s home to play. It’s become the highlight of my week. It could have easily stayed a solo hobby on my phone. In the digital version, the app handles all the calculations for you, highlights available options to play, and tracks every trigger. In essence, all the “hard” parts are handled, leaving you to simply react. It’s smooth, but hollow. It removes the “mental load” but also lowers the emotional stakes.

In person, the physical act of shuffling, tracking life points, and rolling dice is what forces you to be present in the game. You can’t multitask in a physical card game. The friction of getting there becomes part of the experience. It builds anticipation. The friction of getting becomes a cool down, a moment to reflect on the experience.

Friction, when done right, gives experiences weight and meaning.

While digital convenience is beautiful, there’s a sense of “good friction” that makes things worth doing. There was a version of me who thought he was a homebody, someone who preferred staying in, glued to a screen. I’ve since realized that while I enjoy being at home, I was also just choosing the path of least resistance. Oftentimes these essays are written in cafes now, instead of the comfort of my own desk, because that added friction brings a little magic to the experience.

I still deeply love the convenience of a fully remote job and the efficiency of digital tools, but I’ve begun to slow down and stop trying to optimize my entire life.

The best moments of my week aren’t the ones where I saved time, but the ones where I spent it intentionally, fumbling through a chord or driving through the snow to play a card game. I spend my days optimizing consumer experiences and minimizing friction in digital products. Lately, in my personal life, I’ve been choosing to add a little bit of friction back in.

Real life will always have friction. But it’s a feature, not a bug.