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In “Why is Claude an Electron App?” Drew Breunig wonders: Claude spent $20k on an agent swarm implementing (kinda) a C-compiler in Rust, but desktop Claude is an Electron app. If code is free, why aren’t all apps native? And then argues that the answer is that LLMs are not good enough yet. They can do 90% of the work, so there’s still a substantial amount of manual polish, and thus, increased costs. But I think that’s not the real reason. The real reason is: native has nothing to offer. API-wise, native apps lost to web apps a long time ago. Native APIs are terrible to use, and OS vendors use everything in their power to make you not want to develop native apps for their platform. That explains the rise of Electron before LLM times, but it’s also a problem that LLMs solve now: if that was a real barrier to developing native apps, it doesn’t exist anymore. Then there’re looks and consistency. Some time ago, maybe in the late 90s and 2000s, native was ahead. It used to look good, it was consistent, and it all actually worked: the more apps used native look and feel, the better user experience was across apps (which we used to call programs). These days, though, native is as bad as the web, if not worse. Consistency is basically out the window. Anything can look like anything, buttons have no borders, contrast doesn’t exist, and neither do conventions. Apple, for example, seems to place traffic lights and corner radius by vibes rather than by any measurable guidelines. Maybe the server should round the corners? Looks could be good, but they also can be bad, and then you are stuck with platform-consistent, but generally bad UI (Liquid Glass ahem). It changes too often, too: the app you made today will look out of place next year, when Apple decides to change look and feel yet again. There’s no native look anymore. Computer UIs also degrade over time Theoretically, native apps can integrate with OS on a deeper level. This sounds nice, but what does that mean in practice? There are almost no good interoperable file formats; everything is locked inside individual apps, most services moved to the web, and OSes dropped the ball for making a good shared baseline. You can integrate with OS-provided calendar, but you can’t do it with web calendar. Well, you can, of course, but it’s easier on the web; native doesn’t help with it at all. Web pages only lead to more web pages Finally, the last hope of people longing for native is performance. They feel that native apps will be faster. Well, they can, but it doesn’t mean they will. Web apps can be faster, too, but in practice, nobody cares. There’s no technical reason why Slack needs to load 80 MiB just to show 10 channel names and 3 messages on a screen. The web is not the problem here! It’s a choice to be bad. What makes you think it’ll be different once the company decides to move to native? Don’t get me wrong: writing this brings me no joy. I don’t think web is a solution either. I just remember good times when native did a better-than-average job, and we were all better for using it, and it saddens me that these times have passed. I just don’t think that kidding ourselves that the only problem with software is Electron and it all will be butterflies and unicorns once we rewrite Slack in SwiftUI is not productive. The real problem is a lack of care. And the slop; you can build it with any stack.
I was reading Macintosh Human Interface Guidelines from 1992 and found this nice illustration: accompanied by explanation: Fast forward to 2025. Apple releases macOS Tahoe. Main attraction? Adding unpleasant, distracting, illegible, messy, cluttered, confusing, frustrating icons (their words, not mine!) to every menu item: Sequoia → Tahoe It’s bad. But why exactly is it bad? Let’s delve into it! Disclaimer: screenshots are a mix from macOS 26.1 and 26.2, taken from stock Apple apps only that come pre-installed with the system. No system settings were modified. Icons should differentiate The main function of an icon is to help you find what you are looking for faster. Perhaps counter-intuitively, adding an icon to everything is exactly the wrong thing to do. To stand out, things need to be different. But if everything has an icon, nothing stands out. The same applies to color: black-and-white icons look clean, but they don’t help you find things faster! Microsoft used to know this: Look how much faster you can find Save or Share in the right variant: It also looks cleaner. Less cluttered. A colored version would be even better (clearer separation of text from icon, faster to find): I know you won’t like how it looks. I don’t like it either. These icons are hard to work with. You’ll have to actually design for color to look nice. But the principle stands: it is way easier to use. Consistency between apps If you want icons to work, they need to be consistent. I need to be able to learn what to look for. For example, I see a “Cut” command and next to it. Okay, I think. Next time I’m looking for “Cut,” I might save some time and start looking for instead. How is Tahoe doing on that front? I present to you: Fifty Shades of “New”: I even collected them all together, so the absurdity of the situation is more obvious. Granted, some of them are different operations, so they have different icons. I guess creating a smart folder is different from creating a journal entry. But this? Or this: Or this: There is no excuse. Same deal with open: Save: Yes. One of them is a checkmark. And they can’t even agree on the direction of an arrow! Close: Find (which is sometimes called Search, and sometimes Filter): Delete (from Cut-Copy-Paste-Delete fame): Minimize window. These are not some obscure, unique operations. These are OS basics, these are foundational. Every app has them, and they are always in the same place. They shouldn’t look different! Consistency inside the same app Icons are also used in toolbars. Conceptually, operations in a toolbar are identical to operations called through the menu, and thus should use the same icons. That’s the simplest case to implement: inside the same app, often on the same screen. How hard can it be to stay consistent? Preview: Photos: same and mismatch, but reversed ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Maps and others often use different symbols for zoom: Icon reuse Another cardinal sin is to use the same icon for different actions. Imagine: I have learned that means “New”: Then I open an app and see. “Cool”, I think, “I already know what it means”: Gotcha! You’d think: okay, means quick look: Sometimes, sure. Some other times, means “Show completed”: Sometimes is “Import”: Sometimes is “Updates”: Same as with consistency, icon reuse doesn’t only happen between apps. Sometimes you see in a toolbar: Then go to the menu in the same app and see means something else: Sometimes identical icons meet in the same menu. Sometimes next to each other. Sometimes they put an entire barrage of identical icons in a row: This doesn’t help anyone. No user will find a menu item faster or will understand the function better if all icons are the same. The worst case of icon reuse so far has been the Photos app: It feels like the person tasked with choosing a unique icon for every menu item just ran out of ideas. Understandable. Too much nuance When looking at icons, we usually allow for slight differences in execution. That lets us, for example, understand that these technically different road signs mean the same thing: Same applies for icons: if you draw an arrow going out of the box in one place and also an arrow and the box but at a slightly different angle, or with different stroke width, or make one filled, we will understand them as meaning the same thing. Like, is supposed to mean something else from ? Come on! Or two-letter As that only slightly differ in the font size: A pencil is “Rename” but a slightly thicker pencil is “Highlight”? Arrows that use different diagonals? Three dots occupying ⅔ of space vs three dots occupying everything. Seriously? Slightly darker dots? The sheet of paper that changes meaning depending on if its corner is folded or if there are lines inside? But the final boss are arrows. They are all different: Supposedly, a user must become an expert at noticing how squished the circle is, if it starts top to right or bottom to right, and how far the arrow’s end goes. Do I care? Honestly, no. I could’ve given it a shot, maybe, if Apple applied these consistently. But Apple considers and to mean the same thing in one place, and expects me to notice minute details like this in another? Sorry, I can’t trust you. Not after everything I’ve seen. Detalization Icons are supposed to be easily recognizable from a distance. Every icon designer knows: small details are no-go. You can have them sometimes, maybe, for aesthetic purposes, but you can’t rely on them. And icons in Tahoe menus are tiny. Most of them fit in a 12×12 pixel square (actual resolution is 24×24 because of Retina), and because many of them are not square, one dimension is usually even less than 12. It’s not a lot of space to work with! Even Windows 95 had 16×16 icons. If we take the typical DPI of that era at 72 dots per inch, we get a physical icon size of 0.22 inches (5.6 mm). On a modern MacBook Pro with 254 DPI, Tahoe’s 24×24 icons are 0.09 inches (2.4 mm). Sure, 24 is bigger than 16, but in reality, these icons’ area is 4 times as small! Simulated physical size comparison between 16×16 at 72 DPI (left) and 24×24 at 254 DPI (right) So when I see this: I struggle. I can tell they are different. But I definitely struggle to tell what’s being drawn. Even zoomed in 20×, it’s still a mess: Or here. These are three different icons: Am I supposed to tell plus sign from sparkle here? Some of these lines are half the pixel thicker than the other lines, and that’s supposed to be the main point: Is this supposed to be an arrow? A paintbrush? Look, a tiny camera. It even got an even tinier viewfinder, which you can almost see if you zoom in 20×: Or here. There is a box, inside that box is a circle, and inside it is a tiny letter. i with a total height of 2 pixels: Don’t see it? I don’t. But it’s there... And this is a window! It even has traffic lights! How adorable: Remember: these are retina pixels, ¼ of a real pixel. Steve Jobs himself claimed they were invisible. It turns out there’s a magic number right around 300 pixels per inch, that when you hold something around to 10 to 12 inches away from your eyes, is the limit of the human retina to differentiate the pixels. And yet, Tahoe icons rely on you being able to see them. Pixel grid When you have so little space to work with, every pixel matters. You can make a good icon, but you have to choose your pixels very carefully. For Tahoe icons, Apple decided to use vector fonts instead of good old-fashioned bitmaps. It saves Apple resources—draw once, use everywhere. Any size, any display resolution, any font width. But there’re downsides: fonts are hard to position vertically, their size doesn’t map directly to pixels, stroke width doesn’t map 1-to-1 to pixel grid, etc. So, they work everywhere, but they also look blurry and mediocre everywhere: Tahoe icon (left) and its pixel-aligned version (right). They certainly start to work better once you give them more pixels. iPad OS 26 vs macOS 26 or make graphics simpler. But the combination of small details and tiny icon size is deadly. So, until Apple releases MacBooks with 380+ DPI, unfortunately, we still have to care about the pixel grid. Confusing metaphors Icons might serve another function: to help users understand the meaning of the command. For example, once you know the context (move window), these icons explain what’s going on faster than words: But for this to work, the user must understand what’s drawn on the icon. It must be a familiar object with a clear translation to computer action (like Trash can → Delete), a widely used symbol, or an easy-to-understand diagram. HIG: A rookie mistake would be to misrepresent the object. For example, this is how selection looks like: But its icon looks like this: Honestly, I’ve been writing this essay for a week, and I still have zero ideas why it looks like that. There’s an object that looks like this, but it’s a text block in Freeform/Preview: It’s called character.textbox in SF Symbols: Why did it become a metaphor for “Select all”? My best guess is it’s a mistake. Another place uses text selection from iOS as a metaphor. On a Mac! Some concepts have obvious or well-established metaphors. In that case, it’s a mistake not to use them. For example, bookmarks: . Apple, for some reason, went with a book: Sometimes you already have an interface element and can use it for an icon. However, try not to confuse your users. Dots in a rectangle look like password input, not permissions: Icon here says “Check” but the action is “Uncheck”. Terrible mistake: icon doesn’t help, it actively confuses the user. It’s also tempting to construct a two-level icon: an object and some sort of indicator. Like, a checkbox and a cross, meaning “Delete checkbox”: Or a user and a checkmark, like “Check the user”: Unfortunately, constructs like this rarely work. Users don’t build sentences from building blocks you provide; they have no desire to solve these puzzles. Finding metaphors is hard. Nouns are easier than verbs, and menu items are mostly verbs. How does open look? Like an arrow pointing to the top right? Why? I’m not saying there’s an obvious metaphor for “Open” Apple missed. There isn’t. But that’s the point: if you can’t find a good metaphor, using no icon is better than using a bad, confusing, or nonsensical icon. There’s a game I like to play to test the quality of the metaphor. Remove the labels and try to guess the meaning. Give it a try: It’s delusional to think that there’s a good icon for every action if you think hard enough. There isn’t. It’s a lost battle from the start. No amount of money or “management decisions” is going to change that. The problems are 100% self-inflicted. All this being said, I gotta give Apple credit where credit is due. When they are good at choosing metaphors, they are good: Symmetrical actions A special case of a confusing metaphor is using different metaphors for actions that are direct opposites of one another. Like Undo/Redo, Open/Close, Left/Right. It’s good when their icons use the same metaphor: Because it saves you time and cognitive resources. Learn one, get another one for free. Because of that, it’s a mistake not to use common metaphors for related actions: Or here: Another mistake is to create symmetry where there is none. “Back” and “See all”? Some menus in Tahoe make both mistakes. E.g. lack of symmetry between Show/Hide and false symmetry between completed/subtasks: Import not mirrored by Export but by Share: Text in icons HIG again: Authors of HIG are arguing against including text as a part of an icon. So something like this: or this: would not fly in 1992. I agree, but Tahoe has more serious problems: icons consisting only of text. Like this: It’s unclear where “metaphorical, abstract icon text that is not supposed to be read literally” ends and actual text starts. They use the same font, the same color, so how am I supposed to differentiate? Icons just get in a way: A...Complete? AaFont? What does it mean? I can maybe understand and . Dots are supposed to represent something. I can imagine thinking that led to . But ? No decorations. No effects. Just plain Abc. Really? Text transformations One might think that using icons to illustrate text transformations is a better idea. Like, you look at this: or this: or this: and just from the icon alone understand what will happen with the text. Icon illustrates the action. Also, BIU are well-established in word processing, so all upside? Not exactly. The problem is the same—text icon looks like text, not icon. Plus, these icons are excessive. What’s the point of taking the first letter and repeating it? The word “Bold” already starts with a letter “B”, it reads just as easily, so why double it? Look at it again: It’s also repeated once more as a shortcut... There is a better way to design this menu: And it was known to Apple for at least 33 years. System elements in icons Operating system, of course, uses some visual elements for its own purposes. Like window controls, resize handles, cursors, shortcuts, etc. It would be a mistake to use those in icons. Unfortunately, Apple fell into this trap, too. They reused arrows. Key shortcuts: HIG has an entire section on ellipsis specifically and how dangerous it is to use it anywhere else in the menu. And this exact problem is in Tahoe, too. Icons break scanning Without icons, you can just scan the menu from top to bottom, reading only the first letters. Because they all align: macOS Sequoia In Tahoe, though, some menu items have icons, some don’t, and they are aligned differently: Some items can have both checkmarks and icons, or have only one of them, or have neither, so we get situations like this: Ugh. Special mention This menu deserves its own category: Same icon for different actions. Missing the obvious metaphor. Somehow making the first one slightly smaller than the second and third. Congratulations! It got it all. Is HIG still relevant? I’ve been mentioning HIG a lot, and you might be wondering: is an interface manual from 1992 still relevant today? Haven’t computers changed so much that entirely new principles, designs, and idioms apply? Yes and no. Of course, advice on how to adapt your icons to black-and-white displays is obsolete. But the principles—as long as they are good principles—still apply, because they are based on how humans work, not how computers work. Humans don’t get a new release every year. Our memory doesn’t double. Our eyesight doesn’t become sharper. Attention works the same way it always has. Visual recognition, motor skills—all of this is exactly as it was in 1992. So yeah, until we get a direct chip-to-brain interface, HIG will stay relevant. Conclusion In my opinion, Apple took on an impossible task: to add an icon to every menu item. There are just not enough good metaphors to do something like that. But even if there were, the premise itself is questionable: if everything has an icon, it doesn’t mean users will find what they are looking for faster. And even if the premise was solid, I still wish I could say: they did the best they could, given the goal. But that’s not true either: they did a poor job consistently applying the metaphors and designing the icons themselves. I hope this article would be helpful in avoiding common mistakes in icon design, which Apple managed to collect all in one OS release. I love computers, I love interfaces, I love visual communication. It makes me sad seeing perfectly good knowledge already accessible 30 years ago being completely ignored or thrown away today. On the upside: it’s not that hard anymore to design better than Apple! Let’s drink to that. Happy New year! From SF Symbols: a smiley face calling somebody on the phone Notes During review of this post I was made familiar with Jim Nielsen’s article, which hits a lot of the same points as I do. I take that as a sign there’s some common truth behind our reasoning. Also note: Safari → File menu got worse since 26.0. Used to have only 4 icons, now it’s 18! Thanks Kevin, Ryan, and Nicki for reading drafts of this post.
I have a weird relationship with statistics: on one hand, I try not to look at it too often. Maybe once or twice a year. It’s because analytics is not actionable: what difference does it make if a thousand people saw my article or ten thousand? I mean, sure, you might try to guess people’s tastes and only write about what’s popular, but that will destroy your soul pretty quickly. On the other hand, I feel nervous when something is not accounted for, recorded, or saved for future reference. I might not need it now, but what if ten years later I change my mind? Seeing your readers also helps to know you are not writing into the void. So I really don’t need much, something very basic: the number of readers per day/per article, maybe, would be enough. Final piece of the puzzle: I self-host my web projects, and I use an old-fashioned web server instead of delegating that task to Nginx. Static sites are popular and for a good reason: they are fast, lightweight, and fulfil their function. I, on the other hand, might have an unfinished gestalt or two: I want to feel the full power of the computer when serving my web pages, to be able to do fun stuff that is beyond static pages. I need that freedom that comes with a full programming language at your disposal. I want to program my own web server (in Clojure, sorry everybody else). Existing options All this led me on a quest for a statistics solution that would uniquely fit my needs. Google Analytics was out: bloated, not privacy-friendly, terrible UX, Google is evil, etc. What is going on? Some other JS solution might’ve been possible, but still questionable: SaaS? Paid? Will they be around in 10 years? Self-host? Are their cookies GDPR-compliant? How to count RSS feeds? Nginx has access logs, so I tried server-side statistics that feed off those (namely, Goatcounter). Easy to set up, but then I needed to create domains for them, manage accounts, monitor the process, and it wasn’t even performant enough on my server/request volume! My solution So I ended up building my own. You are welcome to join, if your constraints are similar to mine. This is how it looks: It’s pretty basic, but does a few things that were important to me. Setup Extremely easy to set up. And I mean it as a feature. Just add our middleware to your Ring stack and get everything automatically: collecting and reporting. (def app (-> routes ... (ring.middleware.params/wrap-params) (ring.middleware.cookies/wrap-cookies) ... (clj-simple-stats.core/wrap-stats))) ;; <-- just add this It’s zero setup in the best sense: nothing to configure, nothing to monitor, minimal dependency. It starts to work immediately and doesn’t ask anything from you, ever. See, you already have your web server, why not reuse all the setup you did for it anyway? Request types We distinguish between request types. In my case, I am only interested in live people, so I count them separately from RSS feed requests, favicon requests, redirects, wrong URLs, and bots. Bots are particularly active these days. Gotta get that AI training data from somewhere. RSS feeds are live people in a sense, so extra work was done to count them properly. Same reader requesting feed.xml 100 times in a day will only count as one request. Hosted RSS readers often report user count in User-Agent, like this: Feedly/1.0 (+http://www.feedly.com/fetcher.html; 457 subscribers; like FeedFetcher-Google) Mozilla/5.0 (compatible; BazQux/2.4; +https://bazqux.com/fetcher; 6 subscribers) Feedbin feed-id:1373711 - 142 subscribers My personal respect and thank you to everybody on this list. I see you. Graphs Visualization is important, and so is choosing the correct graph type. This is wrong: Continuous line suggests interpolation. It reads like between 1 visit at 5am and 11 visits at 6am there were points with 2, 3, 5, 9 visits in between. Maybe 5.5 visits even! That is not the case. This is how a semantically correct version of that graph should look: Some attention was also paid to having reasonable labels on axes. You won’t see something like 117, 234, 10875. We always choose round numbers appropriate to the scale: 100, 200, 500, 1K etc. Goes without saying that all graphs have the same vertical scale and syncrhonized horizontal scroll. Insights We don’t offer much (as I don’t need much), but you can narrow reports down by page, query, referrer, user agent, and any date slice. Not implemented (yet) It would be nice to have some insights into “What was this spike caused by?” Some basic breakdown by country would be nice. I do have IP addresses (for what they are worth), but I need a way to package GeoIP into some reasonable size (under 1 Mb, preferably; some loss of resolution is okay). Finally, one thing I am really interested in is “Who wrote about me?” I do have referrers, only question is how to separate signal from noise. Performance. DuckDB is a sport: it compresses data and runs column queries, so storing extra columns per row doesn’t affect query performance. Still, each dashboard hit is a query across the entire database, which at this moment (~3 years of data) sits around 600 MiB. I definitely need to look into building some pre-calculated aggregates. One day. How to get Head to github.com/tonsky/clj-simple-stats and follow the instructions: Let me know what you think! Is it usable to you? What could be improved? P.S. You can try the live example at tonsky.me/stats. The data was imported from Nginx access logs, which I turned on and off on a few occasions, so it’s a bit spotty. Still, it should give you a general idea.
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Details of how the White House tried to suppress the vote by messing with mail-in voting. An early proposal was that all ballots would have to be sent via certified mail.
Today we are releasing the version 1.0 of Lexxy. Lexxy is a rich text editor for Rails built on Lexical. It already powers Basecamp, Fizzy and many others, and it will become the default editor in Rails. I recently presented it in Rails World (slides, video coming soon). This is the article version of my talk. Trix hit a wall Trix has been our editor since 2015, and every Rails app’s editor since Action Text shipped in Rails 6. It’s small and reliable, and it has served millions of people for a decade. But in the last few years our customers kept asking for features like tables or code highlighting, and we kept struggling to deliver them. The reason is the Trix document model. A Trix document is a flat list of blocks. A block is a line of text with some labels attached, like quote, bullet list, bullet. There is no tree, and a block can never contain another block. Nesting is an illusion: at render time, adjacent blocks with the same labels get wrapped together. A flat list of blocks with very limited extensibility options That design bought a lot of simplicity, but you can’t express something like a table with it. Two cells next to each other would carry exactly the same labels, so Trix would merge them into one. The model can say “this bullet is one level deeper”. It cannot say “this cell is different from the cell next to it”. A tables issue has been opened since 2015! The model just can’t do it. The second problem was maintenance. An editor built on contenteditable behaves differently in every browser and even changes from time with operating system releases. In 2024, three iOS releases in a row broke typing, dictation or the caret in Trix, and each one cost us real effort to work around. Check this one as an example. Why Lexical This was a conversation we had at 37signals for years: 2022. We started a project to add tables to Trix. We gave up after a week. The document model can’t represent two-dimensional things. 2023. I built a proof of concept with Tiptap inside HEY. We liked it, but we never started a serious project with it. 2024. We built House, our own Markdown editor, for Writebook. Not WYSIWYG, but WYSIWYM: what you see is what you mean. A wonderful editor for long-form writing like books or technical documentation. 2025. We tried House in another product, and it didn’t fit. For most apps, WYSIWYG was just the right answer. 2025. We had the discussion again, and this time we looked at the whole field. Four years of the same conversation David ruled out Tiptap, CKEditor and the other commercial editors: an open source core with features kept proprietary, and a sales team behind them. We didn’t want our editor to depend on somebody else’s licensing decisions. Then we found Lexical: MIT, from Meta, and very powerful. I spent two weeks evaluating it, and in May we made the call to go with it. A tiny core. Pick the rest. Lexical’s core has zero dependencies and weighs forty-two kilobytes. In a way, it validates the approach that Trix pioneered. The document is an immutable state you never mutate directly, you just get new snapshots when performing updates; contenteditable is an input device and a rendering surface, never the source of truth. It has a DOM reconciler to update the actual DOM very efficiently, and other primitives to deal with handling commands and node transformations. Everything else, from lists to tables to markdown, is a package in the orbit. Lexxy uses thirteen of them. Lexical solved the maintenance problem too. Meta’s products like Facebook or Instagram use Lexical and their user count is in the hundreds of millions. This means that even small issues with new keyboards and devices are fixed fast by the dedicated Meta team that maintains it. Furthermore, Meta’s business is the products, not the editor. We much rather liked this structure of incentives for the long-term investment an editor represents. The iceberg The plan was simple. Pick Lexical, wire it up to Action Text, add a toolbar and ship it. Well, it didn’t go exactly like that. What you envision, and what's under the water Lexxy today is thirteen thousand lines of vanilla JavaScript on top of Lexical. A great editing experience is very hard to get right. An editor is a machine where the user can change the state in a thousand different ways. For example. you have two images one after the other and want to put the cursor between them, but there is nothing there to put a cursor in. Or somebody pastes from Google Docs, and you have to turn a pile of inline styles and empty spans into clean markup. And then Safari, and Android keyboards, and the clipboard, and undo, and… From the first pull request to Basecamp 5 The first pull request landed in May 2025. Fizzy launched with Lexxy in December, and Basecamp 5 in May this year. Basecamp was the real test: twenty years of content written with Trix, and people who use the editor all day, every day. Zoltán Hosszú and Samuel Péchèr were the key people who made this happen. The took a very green version of Lexxy, added a ton of features (including Tables) and polish, and they fixed countless bugs. They also pulled off a remarkable milestone: seamlessly switching millions of Basecamp users from Trix to Lexxy. What’s included? We didn’t want a to build Trix with tables. We had Lexical and we had agents to help, so we wanted to be ambitious here. We went for the whole package. Features In terms of major features: A color highlighter, built in instead of this being a custom Basecamp extension, as it was with Trix. Tables, with an interface we worked hard to keep simple and accessible. Markdown. You type it, you get rich text. Code blocks with syntax highlighting as you type, in more than twenty languages. Image galleries you can navigate and reorder with the keyboard. Prompts. Type a character, get a menu: mentions, emoji, or whatever your app needs. Links by pasting a URL over selected text. Previews of attachments like videos and PDFs, rendered as your app renders them. Action Text Native Lexxy is also Action Text native. Action Text stores attachments in a canonical format that Trix doesn’t speak, so it translates on save and again on render. We taught Lexxy to emit exactly that markup. What you see in the editor is what gets saved, and what gets saved is what your app renders. Your existing content, attachments and views keep working. That opened another door. Action Text now talks to an editor adapter, with an implementation for Trix and one for Lexxy, so switching is one line: config.action_text.editor = :lexxy. Here the credit goes to Sean Doyle, who started that pull request before Lexxy existed and took it to the finish line with our input. It ships with Rails 8.2, and we hope other editors will use it too. Extensibility And you can extend Lexxy. Extensions are built on Lexical’s own mechanism, and this is not a second-class API: Lexxy itself is thirteen extensions, tables included, and Basecamp has nine more. class MyExtension extends Lexxy.Extension { get enabled() { … } get allowedElements() { … } get lexicalExtension() { return this.defineExtension({ name: "my-extension", nodes: [ … ], register(editor) { … } }) } initializeToolbar(toolbar) { … } dispose() { … } } Lexxy.configure({ global: { extensions: [ MyExtension ] } }) My favorite of how extensible is Lexxy are voice notes in Basecamp: you record, you see the waveform while you talk, and it becomes a player inside the document. About a thousand lines, without forking or patching anything. Performance Lexxy is fast, because Lexical is fast. In a ten thousand word document, Trix takes thirty-eight milliseconds to process a keystroke. Lexxy takes four. Above fifty milliseconds, the editor starts feeling sluggish. Compared to Trix, Lexxy brought a whole new performance regime. Milliseconds per keystroke by document size Accessibility Accessibility in Trix was not great. In general, building accessible experiences for rich text editors built on top of contenteditable is quite hard. We had a dream team to help with Lexxy accessibility. Bruno Prieto worked with Michael Berger, our accessibility champion at 37signals, to bring the bar to where we wanted it to be. Bruno is an outstanding programmer who happens to be blind, so he knows one thing or two about accessibility, and he delivered. As a result, in Lexxy everything is reachable with the keyboard. The editor announces itself properly to screen readers, and it gets a thousand details right so that the editing experience using a screen reader is fantastic. You can learn more about accessibility in our docs. Security The latest AI models have resulted in an unprecedented explosion of vulnerabilities found, and we took this thread quite seriously. Lexxy counted with programmers of the caliber of Jeremy Daer and Mike Dalessio helping to make it more secure. We have put a lot of attention to sanitizing the editor contents, validating attachment URLs and making sure that the types of attachments and nodes the editor support are allow-listed. Lexxy also comes with preliminary Trusted Types support, to offer CSP-level control over certain DOM manipulation APIs. The trusted types policy is there, but we are not enforcing it everywhere yet. Agents We started Lexxy using Claude since day one. A main lesson was that an agent needs to drive the editor like a user does. The best decision we made in this project was moving the system tests from Capybara to Playwright: three browsers instead of one, a suite that runs in seconds, and a much more faithful clipboard, keyboard and focus. This represented a tremendous improvement in how agents could close the loop by themselves. Write a test, see it fail, fix it, see it pass. We have more than six hundred browser tests today. Moving the suite to Playwright changed how fast we could write tests With a solid testing foundation in place, we could start fixing bugs in large batches. As mentioned, getting a text editor right implies a ton of work, and the kind of backlog we got at some point would have have buried us in pre-agent times. We also used agents to validate the fixes: an agent reproduces the bug in the public Lexxy sandbox, checks that it’s gone with the branch applied, and labels the pull request. Agents were essential to get Lexxy done with the people and the deadlines we had: we are a small company, and the same people were shipping two products in parallel. 275 cards closed The new Rails default We believe Lexxy is the best rich text editor out there right now, and we are going to make it the default editor in Rails next. If you’re starting a Rails application today, use Lexxy. If you’re using Action Text with a standard configuration, switch. It’s one line, and we’ve worked hard to make it seamless.
Reading my recent computing retrospective, I realised there was a big section missing: the people in my life that made an impact and helped shape my career. Outside my immediate family, one person made an outsized contribution, and I’m fairly certain that without his influence my life would have taken a very different path. The fact that I’m still here in 2026, still writing code and being fortunate enough to have a career in something I love is testament to him. So I’d like to take a few moments to talk about my old secondary school teacher, George Dryden. Denied Back in 1995, I had a problem. I knew I wanted to study computing at university and build a career out of my passion, but there was a snag. For those unfamiliar with the UK schooling system, when you’re 15-16 you take a set of GCSE exams in a broad range of subjects. After that, you pick around 3 subjects to really focus on over a period of 2 years. These are called A Levels, and they are a big step up and are meant to prepare you for a degree-level course at university. Admission to university is also governed by these results - if you want to study computing, you’re going to need a computing A-Level, and most universities will only accept you (or “make an offer”) if you achieve a certain grade. And whilst I had taken computing at a GCSE level, my school did not offer a computing A-Level course. I instead had to settle on “Design & Technology”, which just didn’t inspire me. Instead of working on my portfolio and projects, I spent most of my time daydreaming and writing code on the Acorn Archimedes computers that were the staple of every 90s UK school. No disrespect to the teachers - they were all awesome - but it just wasn’t for me. I was miserable, and by the end of my first year, I was well on my way to failing outright with my entire future plans seemingly going up in smoke. Someone noticed That’s when George stepped in. He’d taught me computing right the way through my GCSEs, and with no A-Level course on offer, that was officially where his involvement was supposed to have ended. It didn’t. He had noticed my constant presence in the computing labs - before and after school, during lunch breaks, free “study” periods - working on some little pet project or digging into RISC OS internals. I remember him as warm, with a wicked, dry sense of humour, and a refreshingly spiky attitude to authority - I always got the sense he’d worked out for himself which rules were worth taking seriously and which ones weren’t. And he always had time for me. I spent years pestering him with questions that had nothing to do with anything on the syllabus, and he’d always find a way to answer them that actually made sense. He was just as supportive of my odd little obsessions. At one point I’d got deep into the BBS scene, which I thought was the coolest thing ever, and decided what the school really needed was an internal BBS running on its own network. So I wrote one. It was deeply cringeworthy, obviously - but George helped me put posters up around the school advertising it, and even gave it a mention in assembly one morning. I think about five people in total ever checked it out. It didn’t matter: a teacher had stood up in front of the entire school and treated my weird little project like it was worth something, and that was a hugely validating moment for me. Off the books He recognised the passion, and eventually he made a suggestion: What if I quit the Design and Technology course, and instead attempt the A-level course myself? Personally, I also suspect he was enjoying himself. There was some internal school politics behind why computing wasn’t offered at A-Level in the first place - I never knew the details - and I think the prospect of one of his students simply going out and getting the qualification anyway appealed to him on two separate levels. It would get me where I wanted to go, and it would wind up exactly the right people. It wouldn’t be easy, he warned. The school would be against it, plus it was a two-year course which I’d have to cram into one year. I’d have to do it all myself - studying, lesson planning, coursework - he couldn’t help me in an official capacity, but he said he’d advocate for me and help where he could. If I had assignments, he’d send them off to be graded and would give feedback in his own time. He’d enter me in for the exams and also gave me a set of keys to the computer lab so I could use it whenever I needed. It was the first time anybody outside my own family had really shown faith in my abilities and encouraged me to take a stand. It was a pivotal moment for me - I realised if I wanted something badly enough I would have to fight for it, but I could still make it happen. I didn’t have to take “NO” for an answer - a lesson I think I picked up from watching him as much as from anything he ever actually said to me. After a few weeks of dithering, I took the jump. I remember a few awkward meetings with the school administration but thanks to his behind-the-scenes work, I was soon following my dream. An intense year And yes, it was bloody hard work. I had to condense an entire two year course into under a year, be disciplined enough to produce my own study plan, and be critical enough of my own shortcomings that I could focus my study where it was needed. I pretty much lived and breathed it for months straight and was more-or-less a permanent fixture in the labs or school library poring over my course books. I’d make lists of questions and chat to George over lunch, and he’d provide guidance and encouragement. It was a lonely way to learn with no classmates to compare notes with, no lessons to turn up to, and right up until the end I had no real idea whether any of it was good enough - but bit by bit, it started to feel like something I could actually pull off. And sure enough, in the late spring of 1996, I sat down in an exam hall with my fellow students, the only one with an A-Level computing question paper in front of me. The final exam went by in a blur - I can only remember a few of the questions now (and a peculiar obsession with the Pascal language) - but I do remember the euphoria as the invigilator called “time’s up, pens down, close your papers NOW”. I had done it. A few nerve-wracking months later, my Mum drove me into school to pick up my results. I ripped open the envelope and saw it - I’d passed with an A grade! I literally ran up the stairs to George’s office next to the computing labs to thank him personally. I’d taken my camera into school to take a few last photos for memory’s sake and snapped this photo of him before I walked out the school gates for the last time: A different path Because of him, I managed to get into my university of choice, studying computing with a focus on networks. Because of that, I landed my first job working as a “webmaster”, and my career since has been one of the highlights of my life. All these years later, it’s a real privilege to be able to get up each morning and actively look forward to working in an industry I love. Without George stepping up for me and encouraging me to believe in myself, none of that would have happened. I wouldn’t have had the career I have, and I wouldn’t be where I am now. I met my wife when we both worked at a software company - she sat at the desk behind me - so even my home and family life can be traced back to that spring of 1996. And the A-Level itself was only half of what I took away from that year. The qualification opened the door to university, but the lesson that came with it was every bit as important: that a “no” isn’t always the end of it, and that sometimes the answer can be argued with. I’m so proud of what I managed to achieve all those years ago, and even more thankful to have had someone like George in my life to put me on the right track. Mr. Dryden I did see him again after I left. He drank in one of my local pubs - a pub I’d been going to for a good while before I was technically old enough to be in it - and I’d say hello if I spotted him in there, mostly in the months before I moved away to university. After that it was only a handful of times. For years I’d find myself scanning the room whenever I was back home and in for a pint, half expecting him to be at the bar. At some point I stopped seeing him altogether and eventually moved across the country. The trouble was I never really knew how to talk to him outside of school. He was always Mr. Dryden, or just “Sir”, I don’t think I ever once called him George to his face! I was (and still am if I’m honest) fairly socially awkward, and I never worked out how to phrase the thing I actually wanted to say: that he had changed the entire direction of my life, and I wasn’t sure he knew it. So instead I’d say hello, and ask how he was, talk about nothing much, and go back to my friends. Epilogue Sadly, 3 years ago now, I opened the latest issue of my old school alumni newsletter to read that he’d passed away. The photo at the start of this article was taken from his obituary article and I read that he’d had a long illness and had suffered from dementia at the end. I did write to him years ago by email - I don’t know if he ever got it, or was in any capacity to understand what he’d done for me, but I hope so. There’s an old saying by one of my favourite authors (Terry Pratchett) that “no one is finally dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away”. In one of his books, a character keeps the memory of his son alive by passing his name along a series of telegraph towers. It’s in that spirit that I’m writing this post - I debated it for many years as it’s very personal to me and I also have no contact with any of George’s family so I have no idea what they would make of it all. But even though it’s 30+ years ago now, I will never forget him or what he did for me - and at least now, if someone searches his name it’ll be recorded here for as long as I’m alive and running this site. Thank you, Sir. George Dryden 1942-2023
Let’s step inside the kernel and understand how it implements copy-on-write and what are its implications for the performance of user-space systems
Yesterday, I received this email as a response to You Can't Vibe Code Love. It's such a remarkable and powerful statement that I asked permission to share it here, in its entirety, with personal information redacted: Hey Jeff, Hope you and your family are doing well.