A few months ago, I had humbling lesson in humanising software development when a regular user (from the prototyping platform I built with my colleague) came to the factory for a tour. While he was here, he popped upstairs to the office, and I had the chance to introduce myself.
Gathering face-to-face, first-hand feedback from users of a public online platform doesn’t happen every day! The guy was lovely, and he told me something I never expected to hear as a software engineer: he was “star-struck.”
I totally felt like a rockstar when he said that ⬇️
He’d used the platform for multiple projects and was genuinely delighted by it. However, he did have one “geeky” question about a specific nuance. He noticed that when processing very long BOMs (Bill of Materials), the site would match about 100 components to suppliers and then seem to stall, requiring a page refresh to “unstick” it.
I could literally hear the penny drop when I explained the “why” behind the magic:
It’s actually a classic API rate-limiting constraint. When we hit those limits with massive data sets, the system has to pause to play nice with our suppliers’ servers.
This was one of those practical software engineering lessons I learned early on; sometimes the most elegant code still has to bow to the reality of third-party infrastructure.
(If you’re curious, you can read more about how rate limiting works here)
The People Behind the Products
The Importance of Humanising Software Development
He was so happy to finally put a face to the platform that it got me thinking:
How often do we actually consider the developers behind the websites we use?
Usually, we only think about them when a site is… well, terrible. When we encounter low contrast, bad UX, or sluggish performance, we might spare a thought for the “poor dev” tasked with maintaining that mess, or the “not-so-poor dev” who created it in the first place.
But when things work seamlessly? The creators become invisible.
Lessons from the Sewing Machine
I’ve started thinking about this more through the lens of my other passion: sewing. Since I started making my own clothes, my perspective on fashion has shifted entirely. I care deeply about the feel of the material (I’ll take the creases of natural fabrics over synthetics any day!), the drape, the stitching quality, the seam finishes, and the fastenings.
I now appreciate the craftsmanship and the sheer effort required to make a garment durable and comfortable. It has made me a much more mindful consumer.
The Craft of Code
Software is no different. Behind every intuitive interface and efficient algorithm, there are real people (developers, designers, product managers… or just one person wearing multiple hats, like me) working tirelessly to build digital experiences we often take for granted.
Just like how ensuring fabric is cut perfectly parallel to the selvedges makes a dress hang correctly, a well-written code makes a platform feel effortless. Both require a level of hidden craftsmanship that the end-user shouldn’t have to notice, but they certainly feel it when it’s missing.
So, next time you use an app that just works, take a second to appreciate the craft. There’s a human (or multiple) on the other side of that screen. And, if you are truly impressed by the app or site, send them a quick message. You will honestly make their week and let them feel that what they do, the care they put into the tiny details, matter.
In a world increasingly focused on AI and shipping fast, the act of humanising software development and acknowledging the real people and the craftsmanship behind the screen is more important than ever.
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