Some of the best things I own weren’t bought because of reviews or marketing hype. They weren’t the “most advanced” or “most efficient.” They were things that simply made sense—visually, functionally, emotionally. They were made with intention. You could feel it in the weight, the texture, the way they faded into the background until they quietly became essential.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about the value of that kind of intention—not just in what we use, but in what we make.

We’re in an era where everything pushes us to move faster. Launch now. Automate later. Outsource the thinking. It’s tempting. But the most satisfying creative work, the kind that endures, rarely comes from speed. It comes from sitting with an idea longer than is comfortable. From wrestling with small decisions that no one will ever notice—except they will, in the feeling the final thing gives them.

There’s a particular kind of longevity that only comes from slowness. It’s the slowness of iteration, of not rushing the sketch into production, of asking whether something needs to exist at all. It’s the opposite of growth-hacking. It’s care.

And in a landscape where speed is a virtue and shipping is a sport, there’s something quietly rebellious about making fewer things, better.

So this week, I’ve been asking myself: what if slower is actually the fastest way to build something that lasts? Today, we explore that question with my friend, Jeff Sheldon, Founder of Ugmonk.

This is the first episode for our new, weekly series, exploring where design, craft, and technology meet to create wonderful design-driven businesses. Subscribe to the YouTube channel here.

Lastly, as we embark on this journey to rethink Today in Design, please don’t hesitate to share feedback. Simply reply to this email - we want to know what you think!

Great designs aren't complicated.

They’re thoughtful. Stripped down. Considered.

Like Ugmonk’s Gather organizer. Jeff Sheldon didn’t just design another desk accessory - he painstakingly crafted every magnet, every texture, every detail. The end result isn’t flashy. It just works. Effortlessly.

“Minimalism isn’t simplicity for its own sake,” Jeff told me. It’s clarity. It’s function. It’s about knowing when to stop.

When you use Gather, you don’t notice the iterations. You notice how calm your workspace feels. How frictionless the interaction is. That’s the design doing its job - quietly, completely.

It reminds me that reduction isn't a loss - it's a sharpening. A focusing.

And in that clarity, the essentials come into view.

What can I remove, not just from my design, but from my process?

What, if anything, is truly non-essential?

We celebrate speed. Rapid growth, overnight success - fast means you’re winning, slow means you’re failing. But that’s wrong.

Jeff described Ugmonk as a "17-year overnight success," and that stuck with me. It’s counterintuitive but powerful.

Jeff doesn’t chase quick wins or aggressive scale. He lets ideas breathe, mature, grow.

He told me, "Meaningful things need time."

It’s a perspective we rarely hear. And it makes me wonder:

Am I giving ideas enough space?

How could I turn slowing down into an advantage?

It’s ironic that one of the most beloved productivity tools of the past few years is made of wood and paper.

Not an app. Not a second-brain system. Just cards. Three stacks: Today, Next, Someday.

I asked Jeff why he thought people resonated so deeply with something so basic. He said it wasn’t about the tool - it was about the ritual. The intentionality of writing something down. The friction that forces clarity. The paper that doesn’t buzz or ping or suggest an AI-generated goal based on your calendar history.

There’s a purity to analog that doesn’t fight for your attention. It just waits. And sometimes, that’s exactly what we need

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Jeff said something else I’ve been turning over: that his favorite part of the process is “zooming in and zooming out.” Refining the most granular product details, then pulling back to ask how it all fits the business. And then doing it again. Over and over.

That rhythm - of focus and perspective - is rare. Most people stay stuck in one view: the perfectionist who never ships, or the visionary who forgets the bolts that hold the product together.

But in the best studios and the best companies there’s a constant dance between craft and context. Between detail and direction.

It’s a reminder that we don’t have to choose. We just have to move between them with intention.

Most businesses dictate our lives. Jeff chose differently.

Ugmonk wasn’t built for explosive growth. Jeff intentionally shaped it around his life—family, creativity, freedom.

Rejecting external funding and rapid scaling meant he could prioritize what truly mattered. He could spend mornings walking his kids to the studio, afternoons prototyping new ideas, evenings reflecting.

It’s inspiring, and honestly, challenging.

Do we have the courage to design our work around our lives?

Or do we let external definitions of success define us?

A 17-year journey will always look slow from the inside—but that’s often the pace required to build something meaningful and resilient.

When you remove features, what’s left is focus—and sometimes that’s exactly what people need most.

In a world chasing efficiency, care stands out. Details still matter—even (and especially) when no one notices them at first.

Slowing down forces you to prioritize. To choose. To make fewer, better decisions that actually hold up over time.

PRODUCT NEWS

Figma launches Sites, Make, Draw, and Buzz.
Meet the new Adobe Figma Suite.

Some announcements feel inevitable—products and updates that align seamlessly with a company's core purpose. Others feel more complicated. Figma's recent reveals at Config made me wonder which camp they belong in.

Figma grew by doing a few things exceptionally well. It was effortless, intuitive, focused. It quietly reshaped how we design by being simpler and clearer than everything before. But as their product line expands, introducing new ways to code and manage complex workflows, I find myself asking: is Figma enhancing what makes them special, or are they complicating it?

This isn't a critique about innovation—of course companies should evolve. But there's a delicate balance. Are new features driven by genuine need, or just keeping pace with competitors like Framer, Webflow, Bolt, and Lovable? Will adding complexity dilute Figma’s core strength of simplicity and speed?

It's worth considering the lessons of Adobe during the acquisition talks—complexity for its own sake can erode user trust. Security, ownership, accessibility (WCAG), and clarity: these are quiet but crucial areas where meaningful innovation could emerge.

Will Figma’s future be defined by thoughtful, intentional growth? Or will rapid expansion mean losing sight of the simplicity that made it essential? I’m eager to see which direction they head.

PRODUCT NEWS

Jony Ive dropped by Stripe Sessions to remind us why we miss his influence at Apple

Some products fade quietly into the background of our lives—not because they’re dull, but because they’re quietly perfect. They feel inevitable. Effortless. Yet behind that ease is a profound level of intention, something that rarely happens by accident.

Lately, I’ve been missing that kind of intention at Apple.

Jony Ive once described spending a Sunday afternoon obsessing over the experience of unwrapping a cable. Not because it saved a few seconds, not because it would boost sales, but because he believed people would feel, in that tiny detail, that someone cared deeply about them. He called it a spiritual moment—a silent gesture of gratitude to the user.

Apple still makes great products, of course. But without Jony, it feels as though something subtle yet essential has been lost. That unquantifiable, human-focused obsession with details seems harder to find. Today’s devices might be faster, more powerful, more capable—but are they crafted with that same quiet care?

In our world of constant iteration, fast launches, and endless noise, Jony’s legacy reminds us of the value in moving slower. In caring about small moments no one explicitly notices, yet everyone feels.