If there's been one through line in changes to Buttondown's architecture over the past six months or so, it's been the removal and consolidation of dependencies: on the front-end, back-end, and in paid services. I built our own very spartan version of Metabase, Notion, and Storybook; we vended a half-dozen or so Django packages that were not worth the overhead of pulling from PyPI (and rewrote another half-dozen or so, which we will open-source in due time); we ripped out c3, our visualization library, and built our own; we ripped out vuedraggable and a headlessui and a slew more of otherwise-underwhelming frontend packages in favor of purpose-built (faster, smaller, less-flexible) versions. [1] There are a few reasons for this: Both Buttondown as an application and I as a developer have now been around long enough to be scarred by big ecosystem changes. Python has gone through both the 2.x to 3.x transition and, more recently, the untyped to typed transition; Vue has gone from 2.x to 3.x. The academic problem of "what happens if this language completely changes?" is no longer academic, and packages that we installed back in 2018 slowly succumbed to bitrot. It's more obvious to me now than a few years ago that pulling in dependencies incurs a non-trivial learning cost for folks paratrooping into the codebase. A wrapper library around fetch might be marginally easier to invoke once you get used to it, but it's a meaningful bump in the learning curve to adapt to it for the first time. It is easier than ever to build 60% of a tool, which is problematic in many respects but useful if you know exactly which 60% you care about. (Internal tools like Storybook or Metabase are great examples of this. It was a fun and trivial exercise to get Claude to build a tool that did everything I wanted Metabase to do, and save me $120/mo in the process.) We still use a lot of very heavy, very complex stuff that we're very happy with. Our editor sits on top of tiptap (and therefore ProseMirror); we use marked and turndown liberally, because they're fast and robust. On the Python side, our number of non-infrastructural packages is smaller but still meaningful (beautifulsoup, for instance, and django-allauth / django-anymail which are both worth their weight in gold). But the bar for pulling in a small dependency is much higher than it was, say, twelve months ago. My current white whale is to finally get rid of axios. 39 call sites to go! ↩︎

After many wonderful years of working out of my home office (see Workspaces), I've now "expanded" [1] into an office of my own. 406 W Franklin St #201 is now the Richmond-area headquarters of Buttondown. Send me gifts! The move is a bittersweet one; it was a great joy to be so close to Haley and Lucy (and, of course, Telly), and the flexibility of being able to hop off a call and then take the dog for a walk or hold Lucy for a while was very, very nice. At the same time, for the first time in my life that flexibility has become a little bit of a burden! It turns out it is very hard to concentrate on responding to emails when your alternative is to play with your daughter giggling in the adjoining room; similarly, as Buttondown grows and as more and more of my time is spent on calls, it turns out long-winded demos and onboarding calls are logistically trickier when it is Nap Time a scant six feet away. And, beyond that, it's felt harder and harder to turn my brain off for the day: when there is always more work to be done, it's hard not to poke away at a stubborn pull request or jot down some strategy notes instead of being more present for my family (or even for myself, in a non-work capacity.) So, I leased an office. The space is pretty cool: it's downtown in the sweet spot of a little more than a mile away from the house: trivially walkable (or bikeable, as the above photo suggests) but far enough away to give me a good bit of mental space. The building is an old manor (turned dormitory, turned office building). I've got a bay window with plenty of light but no views; I've got a nice ethernet connection and a Mac Mini with very few things installed; I've got a big Ikea desk and a printer; I've got an alarm on my phone for 4:50pm, informing me that it's time to go home, where my world becomes once again lively and lovely, full of noise and joy and laughter. Air quote because I'm fairly confident this office is actually smaller than the home office. ↩︎

I love this bit from Paul Graham on pattern-matching founders: Though the most successful founders are usually good people, they tend to have a piratical gleam in their eye. They're not Goody Two-Shoes type good. Morally, they care about getting the big questions right, but not about observing proprieties. That's why I'd use the word naughty rather than evil. They delight in breaking rules, but not rules that matter. This quality may be redundant though; it may be implied by imagination. I love this not because I agree with the sentiment, and in fact I think you can point to a lot of Icarian tendencies (and perhaps pervasive industry-wide rot) as germinating in this naughtiness, but because it is a specific and opinionated characteristic — as opposed to, like, "determined!" and "smart!" and "driven!" It's novel, it's a characteristic with a viewpoint around which reasonable people can agree/disagree. Antimetal is not a YC company, but it certainly embodies naughtiness. Its founder made a large hullabaloo about trying to commission "the highest quality publicly available version" of the Facebook Red Book, but of course couldn't resist a tiny act of digital vandalism by inserting its own branding into the scan. Does this matter, on a grand scale? Is this an evil act? Probably not, but certainly a naughty one. Buttondown in 2025 has reached a sort of escape velocity, less in terms of growth per ce (though also that!) and more in terms of the median user being very far way from my orbit: these users are less technical and more wary than the ones I am used to onboarding. Users of new tools — especially tools that must be entrusted with important data — are wary these days. They're wary of pivots to video, of shifting business models and sudden price hikes and emails announcing that the curtain is coming down this time next week. It is unfortunate that this wariness — a kind of cynicism — is not only pervasive but entirely rational. Anyone who has used anything new over the past few years has a high number of since-shuttered apps that they trusted with their time and money and data and energy, only to be rewarded with an "Our Incredible Journey" email. At a high level, I think this stems from the same vein as naughtiness: a tendency to think of systems and expectations as something to be overcome, as social contracts as a thing to be voided or ignored rather than bolstered. We get a lot of questions that boil down to "why should I trust [Buttondown]?" The blithe answer — the one that I generally try not to give, even though I think it's the most rigorous and correct one — is that, well, you shouldn't — insofaras you should only trust any company as much as you can exfiltrate your data. We've made a lot of decisions in service of decades-long continuity; we're cash-flow positive, we're stable and robust; our incentives are aligned with yours. But, more than that, the email space is novel in that you can always pack up your entire dataset — archives, addresses, et al — and ship them off to a competitor. You shouldn't need to trust us; you should find us valuable enough to be worth keeping around. Email is also unique in that it's, by software standards, a very mature industry — one with a long history already. Many of my customers come with data exports from tools that they started using fifteen years ago; prospects who I reached out to in 2019 follow up in 2025. After twelve months of active usage, we ask every paying customer a single question: "why are you still using Buttondown?" [1] There are two answers whose volume dwarf the rest: Because the customer support is really good. Because I haven't had an experience that has prompted me to look elsewhere. Customer goodwill is a real asset; it is one that will probably become more valuable over the next decade, as other software-shaped assets start to become devalued. It feels almost anodyne to say "it is in a company's best interest to do right by their customers", but our low churn and high unpaid growth in a space uniquely defined by lack of vendor lock-in is perhaps a sign that being nice is an undervalued strategy. And "being nice" in a meaningful sense is, like "being naughty", something that gets baked into an organization's culture very early and very deeply. The implicit subtext being "...given that you can, in an afternoon's work, migrate to a competitor, most of whom are substantially less expensive." ↩︎

Buttondown's core application is a Django app, and a fairly long-lived one at that — it was, until recently, sporting around seven hundred migration files (five hundred of which were in emails, the "main" module of the app). An engineer pointed out that the majority of our five minute backend test suite was spent not even running the tests but just setting up the database and running all of these migrations in parallel. I had been procrastinating squashing migrations for a while; the last time I did so was around two years ago, when I was being careful to the point of agony by using the official squash tooling offered by Django. Django's official squashing mechanism is clever, but tends to fall down when you have cross-module dependencies, and I lost an entire afternoon to trying to massage things into a workable state. This time, I went with a different tactic: just delete the damn things and start over. (This is something that is inconsiderate if you have lots of folks working on the codebase or you're letting folks self-host the codebase; neither of these apply to us.) rm rf **/migrations/* worked well for speeding up the test suite, but it was insufficient for actually handling things in production. For this, I borrowed a snippet from django-zero-migrations (a library around essentially the same concept): from django.core.management import call_command from django.db.migrations.recorder import MigrationRecorder MigrationRecorder.Migration.objects.all().delete() call_command("migrate", fake=True) And voila. No fuss, no downtime. Deployments are faster; CI is much faster; the codebase is 24K lines lighter. There was no second shoe. If you were like me 24 hours ago, trying to find some vague permission from a stranger to do this the janky way: consider the permission granted. Just take a snapshot of your database beforehand just in case, and rimraf away.

Humane Inc. started in 2018; it raised around $250M over five years before coming out of stealth mode with an AI pin that people did not like very much, and today they announced their sale (or, to be specific, the sale of their patent library) to HP for $116M. Here is a hype video from July 2022, over a year before they ever announced — let alone released! — a product. I don't think we draw many interesting lessons from Humane. They feel like a relic from a younger, more Juicero-drenched era: even while they were in stealth mode there was an obvious perfume of vaporwave about them, and I think there's nothing inherently wrong with taking big, ambitious, VC-subsidized swings at gnarly problems that don't quite pan out. The two relatively novel things that come to mind are: "Huge amounts of capital" is a good way to finance infrastructure, and a poor way to finance design. [1] Any company that releases a $700 product for consumers and then neuters it with two-weeks' notice for non-existential reasons is, in a meaningful way, evil. At risk of veering into ad hominem, I think any company that releases a music video before it releases a product is obviously doomed — and one thing that a nigh-infinite runway tends to do is justify poor decisions under the auspices of long-termism. ↩︎