Book Notes #127: The Laws of Simplicity by John Maeda

Title: The Laws of Simplicity
Author: John Maeda
Year: 2006
Pages: 128

Have you ever found yourself overwhelmed by life’s constant complexity—too many choices, gadgets, or tasks piling up every day?

John Maeda’s The Laws of Simplicity arrives like a refreshing breeze, helping you clear away the clutter and bring focus to what genuinely matters.

This isn’t just about minimalism; it’s about understanding how to thoughtfully simplify every aspect of your life, work, and even your mindset.

As a result, I gave this book a rating of 8.0/10.

For me, a book with a note 10 is one I consider reading again every year. Among the books I rank with 10, for example, are How to Win Friends and Influence People and Factfulness.

3 Reasons to Read The Laws of Simplicity

Book Overview

Have you ever felt completely overwhelmed by gadgets, apps, or even life’s endless complexities?

In a world that’s moving faster every day, simplicity often seems out of reach.

John Maeda’s book, The Laws of Simplicity, steps into this chaos like a calm, reassuring friend, showing us how simplicity can help us navigate through the clutter—and why achieving simplicity is more nuanced than just cutting back.

At the heart of the book is the idea that true simplicity isn’t merely about minimalism or removing things indiscriminately.

It’s about carefully deciding what to remove and what to keep.

Think of it like cleaning your closet.

You don’t just throw away everything you haven’t worn in a week; instead, you thoughtfully choose items that no longer serve you, creating space for the clothes you truly value.

Maeda calls this process “thoughtful reduction,” and it’s the foundational insight that runs throughout his book.

But what happens when you’ve reduced as much as you can and things still feel complicated?

Maeda introduces three simple yet powerful tools: shrinking, hiding, and embodying.

Shrinking involves making things smaller—like the magic of fitting an entire music library into your tiny pocket.

Hiding is about strategically keeping complexity out of sight until you actually need it, much like how your smartphone menu shows only a few apps at first glance.

Embodying focuses on quality, ensuring that what remains feels valuable. A sleek gadget feels special, not because it does more, but because of how well it’s crafted.

Maeda doesn’t stop there.

He reminds us that simplicity isn’t just about what we see, but also how we feel.

Time, he argues, is essential to simplicity. Saving time feels simple and intuitive, like fast food or express shipping.

Yet there’s also beauty in slowing down, in hiding the pressures of the ticking clock, making the wait more tolerable—like a thoughtful waiting room designed to ease anxiety.

One particularly interesting insight is about how we learn. Simplicity often requires us to slow down and understand something deeply first, investing time in the basics so we can handle complexity easily later.

Remember when you tried assembling furniture without reading instructions and ended up more frustrated and confused?

Maeda suggests starting with fundamentals, repeating them, and allowing yourself the patience to truly grasp concepts.

This approach doesn’t just simplify learning—it transforms it into something enjoyable.

Throughout the book, Maeda gently nudges us to appreciate the dance between simplicity and complexity.

One can’t exist without the other, much like silence enhances music. This interplay is beautifully captured in his reflections on design.

A business card might be memorable precisely because it breaks away from standard simplicity, daring to be unique or even complex.

Trust is another cornerstone Maeda explores deeply.

We crave simplicity because it allows us to trust effortlessly—like a single button that reliably accomplishes exactly what we expect.

Yet, trusting too much, especially in technology, can lead to privacy risks or unexpected outcomes.

He illustrates trust vividly with the Japanese practice of omakase, where diners leave their entire meal choice up to a skilled sushi chef.

It’s simplicity born out of absolute trust and mastery, showing how letting go can sometimes be the simplest—and most rewarding—experience.

Yet, Maeda wisely acknowledges that some things will always resist simplicity, and that’s okay.

Relationships, art, or certain life experiences benefit from their complexity.

He openly discusses his own failures and the inherent flaws in any pursuit of pure simplicity.

Accepting that some complexity must remain helps us avoid frustration and redirects our focus to areas where simplification genuinely adds value.

The 10 Laws of Simplicity:

1. Reduce: The simplest way to create simplicity is to take things away. But not randomly—thoughtfully. It’s about keeping what really matters and letting go of the extras. Like cleaning out your closet and finally being able to find your favorite shirt again.

2. Organize: When you can’t remove something, organize it. Group things in a way that makes sense so they feel less overwhelming. Think of it like putting messy cables into labeled drawers—it’s still all there, but now it’s easy to manage.

3. Time: Saving people time feels like a gift. Whether it’s a faster checkout, a clearer email, or a product that just works, simplicity often shows up when something saves you time—or at least makes waiting less painful.

4. Learn: Simplicity comes easier once you’ve learned how something works. That’s why good instructions, helpful guides, and mastering the basics matter. Once you understand something, even the complex stuff starts to feel simple.

5. Differences: Simplicity and complexity need each other. If everything were simple, we’d stop noticing it. The contrast helps us appreciate both. It’s like enjoying a quiet moment after a loud party—you only feel the calm because of the chaos that came before.

6. Context: What surrounds something changes how we experience it. Simplicity isn’t just about the thing itself—it’s also about the environment. A clean design or clear message only shines when it sits in the right space, with nothing distracting in the background.

7. Emotion: Simplicity works best when it makes us feel something. It’s not about being cold or sterile—emotion adds warmth and connection. A beautiful product, a handwritten note, or a joyful interaction—all of these feel simple because they feel human.

8. Trust: The simpler something is, the more we need to trust it. We press a button expecting it to work. We follow a recipe because we believe it’ll turn out right. Simplicity relies on trust—and the more we have it, the less we need to overthink.

9. Failure: Not everything can be simplified, and that’s okay. Sometimes we fail at making things simple, but even in that failure, there’s learning. In fact, what feels like a failed simplification might become someone else’s brilliant complexity.

10. The One: This final law ties it all together: simplicity is about subtracting the obvious and adding the meaningful. It’s not just about having less—it’s about making space for what truly matters.

Ultimately, Maeda distills the entire book into a beautifully simple principle: “Simplicity is about subtracting the obvious and adding the meaningful.”

It’s about identifying what truly matters and letting everything else fade into the background.

This principle can guide product designers, business leaders, and even each of us in our personal lives.

He also offers practical thoughts about the future—ideas like cloud computing (“away”), embracing openness, and using power wisely.

These aren’t just futuristic notions; they’re already shaping how we live and interact, nudging us toward a more streamlined, meaningful existence.

The beauty of Maeda’s The Laws of Simplicity isn’t just in its clear explanations or insightful examples.

It’s in the reassuring idea that simplicity, though challenging, is achievable and deeply rewarding.

The key isn’t rigid minimalism or ruthless elimination but thoughtful intention: removing what’s unnecessary to let what’s truly valuable shine through.

Chapter by Chapter

The Laws of Simplicity #1 – Reduce

John Maeda opens with a powerful statement: the simplest way to achieve simplicity is through thoughtful reduction. In a world where devices are overloaded with features, simplicity often feels out of reach.

He uses the example of a DVD player packed with buttons—Rewind, Forward, Eject—when sometimes all you really want is to press Play.

But remove too many functions, and you lose usability. So the challenge becomes finding the right balance: how much can you take away without making things worse?

How simple can you make it? How complex does it need to be? This tension sits at the heart of design decisions in technology, art, and life. We naturally want to keep everything, but simplicity asks us to make the hard choices—to decide what stays and what goes.

SHE: Shrink, Hide, Embody

When we’ve removed everything we can, Maeda introduces a second strategy to help maintain simplicity without sacrificing function.

He calls it “SHE”: Shrink, Hide, Embody.

Shrink

Shrink is about making things physically smaller. We’re often charmed by tiny tools that exceed expectations. That little thing did all that? Shrinking objects can make them seem more approachable, even when they’re complex.

He jokes that a spoon falling on you won’t do much damage, while a bulldozer certainly will—size influences how we perceive risk and usefulness. But looks can be deceiving. Modern technology, powered by integrated circuits, allows massive complexity to be packed into tiny devices. A smartphone might be the same size as a spoon but contains far more power than machines that once filled entire rooms.

The takeaway here is that small things get away with more. They can be complex without intimidating us, and even when they misbehave, we forgive them more easily. That’s why making something smaller can be a powerful tool in achieving perceived simplicity.

Hide

Hide is the next technique. Once you’ve shrunk an object, you can also hide complexity. Think of the Swiss Army knife—only one tool is visible at a time, while the rest stay tucked away.

Maeda gives examples from remote controls and mobile phones, where less-used buttons are hidden behind doors or within sliding mechanisms. In software, hiding happens in interface design. Menus, dropdowns, and tabs let users reveal complexity only when they need it.

Hiding can feel like a trick, but when done right, it feels like magic. A well-designed phone click or a beautiful animation on a screen can make complexity feel like something you control, not something that controls you.

Embody

Embody is about restoring a sense of quality and value once you’ve hidden or shrunk everything. If a device has fewer features or is physically smaller, we need to believe it’s still worth having.

That’s where quality—real or perceived—comes in. This might mean using premium materials, sleek design, or simply great marketing.

Maeda shares that people will choose the smaller, less functional product if it feels better. A luxury car, a titanium laptop, or a Bang & Olufsen remote—they might not do more, but they embody excellence.

Sometimes it’s about how a thing looks or feels, other times it’s about what we’re told it can do. Even subtle cues, like weight or labels, influence our sense of value.

That’s Maeda’s closing line—playful but full of meaning. Thoughtful reduction doesn’t mean stripping things bare. It means using design, technology, and business decisions together to reduce thoughtfully, hide strategically, and embody meaningfully.

Simplicity, when done right, is about making things easier to use without making them feel like less.

The Laws of Simplicity #2 – Organize

In this chapter, Maeda explores how organizing things can reduce their perceived complexity. He begins with the example of managing clutter at home. The typical solutions—buying a bigger house, storing everything away, or simply organizing—each have their own drawbacks.

A bigger home only leads to more space for more clutter. Storage helps, but it doesn’t solve the problem long-term. Organizing things in a structured way, however, can make a big difference. When done right, it makes things easier to manage and reduces chaos.

The trick is to create an organizational system that works for you. It’s not enough to just move things around or hide them out of sight. You need to group things in a way that makes sense.

For example, in a closet, organizing clothes by categories—like shirts, pants, socks—makes the whole wardrobe feel more manageable. When you organize by groups, you turn many items into fewer categories, making it easier to deal with.

The challenge: What goes with what?

Maeda introduces a method called SLIP, which stands for Sort, Label, Integrate, Prioritize.

This approach helps organize and simplify complex things. Here’s how it works:

• Sort: Write down all the tasks or items you need to deal with. Arrange them into groups based on similarities. It’s like looking at a pile of tasks and organizing them into neat, manageable chunks.
• Label: Each group gets a relevant label to make it easier to recognize and understand.
• Integrate: Combine related groups into one larger category when possible. Fewer groups make life simpler.
• Prioritize: Focus on the most important groups first. This follows the Pareto Principle, which suggests that 80% of your results come from just 20% of your efforts. So, get clear on what needs your attention the most.

The beauty of SLIP is its flexibility. There’s no right or wrong way to do it—it’s all about finding a system that works best for you. It’s a simple method that you can adapt depending on the complexity of what you’re organizing.

The chapter also discusses how simple tools, like the Tab key, can help bring order to information. When you’re looking at a messy list or a chaotic system, the Tab key (or the concept of tabbing in design) can create structure and make everything easier to read.

Maeda highlights how a simple tool, like the tab key, can organize a chaotic list into something more digestible, making the complex appear simple.

Gestalt: Seeing the big picture

Maeda introduces Gestalt psychology to explain how humans naturally organize and simplify what they see. For example, we can quickly group dots or shapes together into a meaningful pattern, even when it’s not immediately obvious.

This ability to see the bigger picture is a critical part of design. Good designers understand how to organize things in a way that feels natural and intuitive.

He uses the evolution of the iPod controls as an example. Early iPods had buttons laid out in a complex, non-intuitive way. Over time, Apple simplified the design, integrating the buttons into a seamless, minimalist control.

The final design was simple, intuitive, and easy to use, even though the process of simplifying involved several design changes.

The chapter ends with a powerful piece of advice: to become a great designer, you need to “squint” at things. By squinting, you can see the forest for the trees—focusing on the big picture rather than getting bogged down in the details.

This act of simplifying your vision helps you find the balance between too much and too little, leading to a clearer, simpler design.

The Laws of Simplicity #3 – Time

Time is one of the most precious resources we have, and yet, it often feels like we’re always running out of it. Maeda starts this chapter by reminding us how much of our lives are spent waiting.

Whether it’s for a webpage to load, waiting in line, or the more subtle waiting like watching water boil, waiting often feels like wasted time. The frustration we feel when time is wasted can make life feel unnecessarily complex.

The main idea here is that when time is saved or spent more efficiently, it feels like simplicity. People tend to value efficiency because it gives us the illusion of gaining more control over our time.

When any interaction or process happens quickly, we tend to see it as simpler, even if it’s complex underneath. For example, quick delivery services like FedEx or a fast-food order at McDonald’s are seen as simpler because they save us time.

The power of shrinking time

Maeda reflects on his personal experience of trying to shrink time, like rushing through airport security or avoiding traffic. On a larger scale, businesses do this too, using operations management to streamline processes and save time.

A good example is the impact of efficient systems at companies like Toyota, which helped them outpace competitors like GM.

He also mentions Apple’s iPod Shuffle as an example of how shrinking time can work in design.

By removing the need for a display and simplifying the user interface, the iPod Shuffle reduced the time it took to operate—users didn’t have to spend time choosing songs. Instead, the Shuffle played music randomly, simplifying the experience by making a choice for you.

This could be a glimpse into the future where technology predicts our preferences and reduces the choices we have to make, saving us even more time.

Hiding time and embodying it

When it’s not possible to shrink time, the next step is to hide or embody it. Hiding time is about removing time displays from our environment. For example, Maeda stopped wearing a wristwatch because it made him constantly aware of time.

Many casinos use this trick—there are no clocks or windows, so guests lose track of time, spending more time gambling.

In other areas, like technology, hiding time can be an illusion that makes waiting more tolerable. A good example is the progress bar in computers.

Research by Apple showed that people perceive a task to take less time when they see a progress bar, even if the task takes the same amount of time. By showing progress, we feel more in control and less anxious.

Maeda also talks about streamlining, a design concept from the 1930s credited to Raymond Loewy. Streamlining uses design cues, like curves and aerodynamics, to make objects look faster and more efficient, even if they aren’t.

This technique is still used today in tech products like computers and cars to convey speed and efficiency—appealing to consumers’ desire for motion and speed.

The tradeoff between speed and cost

While speeding things up is great, it often comes at a cost. Faster services, like overnight shipping or direct flights, are far more expensive than slower alternatives. But, as Maeda points out, when the web lets us experience real-time information or live broadcasts, our expectations shift—we expect things to be fast and always available.

When speeding up a process isn’t an option, making the experience of waiting more pleasant becomes essential. A good example is the free samples or cookies provided while waiting in line at stores. It’s a small effort to improve the experience of waiting, making it feel less like a waste of time.

In conclusion, time is at the heart of simplicity. When we can save time, life feels simpler, and when we can’t, hiding or embodying the passage of time can make waiting feel less frustrating. Maeda’s key message is that the more we manage time efficiently, the simpler life feels. This is a critical step in making complex systems easier to deal with.

The Laws of Simplicity #4 – Learn

In this chapter, Maeda takes us through the idea that learning actually simplifies complex tasks. He starts by discussing the simple task of operating a screw. At first glance, it seems easy—just twist it in the right direction.

But the simple task of knowing which way to turn the screwdriver involves a bit of knowledge. “Righty tighty, lefty loosy” or the analogy of a clock’s movement might make it easier, but the underlying knowledge of directions is key. Even simple tasks can become more manageable with the right knowledge.

Maeda then expands on this idea by noting how learning is the key to simplifying everything, no matter how difficult the task. However, the problem many of us face is that learning something new often feels like a waste of time.

We have a tendency to dive right in without instructions, thinking we’ll figure it out faster, but often, this method takes longer than simply following the directions.

Good learning starts with understanding basics

As an educator at MIT, Maeda reflects on his experience learning as a student again, which helped him see how challenging it can be to grasp new concepts. One of the most valuable lessons he learned was that the best way to teach is by focusing on the basics. Teaching isn’t just about delivering complex knowledge—it’s about making the basic concepts clear first.

This is critical, because without mastering the basics, the rest of the learning process can become overwhelming. His mantra for good learning is brain: Basics, Repeat, Avoid Desperation, Inspire, Never Forget to Repeat.

The process of learning often involves repetition. It may feel awkward at first, but repetition works. Even important figures, like President George W. Bush, used repetition to simplify their message to the public. Whether through a campaign or teaching, repeating key concepts ensures they stick.

Maeda shares his experiences as both a student and professor. Sometimes learning is overwhelming, especially when too much new information is introduced at once. Instead of shocking people with an overload of information, Maeda suggests that gentle inspiration and gradual learning are more effective.

He contrasts this with the overwhelming nature of some technology upgrades, where new features feel more like obstacles than improvements.

Maeda emphasizes that internal motivation is the true driver of learning. Inspired by an encounter with legendary designer Paul Rand, he reflects on how a moment of inspiration can fuel learning. Learning should be an exciting, fulfilling process, not one driven by external rewards.

The most successful products and designs tap into this human desire for deeper meaning and personal growth.

Relate, Translate, Surprise

Finally, Maeda introduces a process he calls “relate-translate-surprise.” Good design, he says, is all about connecting new knowledge to something familiar, making it easy to understand.

A well-designed object or system should first relate to something people already know, then translate that concept into something useful, and finally, surprise them with something unexpected or delightful.

The desktop metaphor used in early personal computers is a perfect example—translating the familiar office workspace onto a digital screen helped users relate to the technology, making it easier to use.

This approach is effective in design and education alike. Maeda explains that the best learning comes when we can understand the new by connecting it to something we already know, with a little surprise to keep us engaged.

The Laws of Simplicity #5 – Differences

Maeda introduces the concept that simplicity and complexity are interdependent. He begins by using a simple analogy: nobody wants to eat only dessert.

Even a child with unlimited ice cream eventually craves something else. In the same way, simplicity needs complexity to be recognized. We appreciate simplicity because it stands in contrast to complexity.

Maeda gives an example from design: he might not prefer the color pink, but in the right context—a bright pink accent against a dull green background—it can be striking.

Contrast makes certain elements stand out. This idea is central to understanding how simplicity works—it’s only noticeable when it contrasts with something more complex.

Simplicity and complexity as a rhythm

The challenge lies in finding the right balance between the two. Achieving this balance is like a rhythm, where simplicity and complexity rise and fall, creating a flow. Maeda explains it as a dynamic process, either over time (like in music) or across space (like in visual art).

The rhythm of simplicity and complexity is key to creating an engaging and meaningful experience.

Maeda likens this relationship to a musical composition—where long notes and short notes create a pattern that holds the listener’s attention. Similarly, in design and life, a mix of complexity and simplicity keeps things interesting.

The evolution of business card design

Maeda reflects on the practice of exchanging business cards, especially in Japan, where it is a formal and respectful act.

Over time, as the practice has become less important in the digital age, the value of a business card has declined, and its design has become more generic. However, one business card remains on Maeda’s desk—an odd, thin card featuring a mystical sheep illustration.

This card stands out because of its uniqueness, a reminder that sometimes, it’s the differences that make something memorable.

The tea party with Ikko Tanaka

Maeda shares a personal story of attending a tea party with Ikko Tanaka, a master of Japanese graphic design. The experience involved observing the beauty in imperfections, symbolized by a non-traditional tea cup. The contrast between the imperfect cup and the perfectly crafted tools around it gave Maeda a deeper appreciation for complexity.

The complexity of the cup made the surrounding simplicity even more striking. This concept of appreciating differences is key to understanding how simplicity and complexity work together.

Maeda concludes the chapter by discussing the rhythm of life—the shifts between simplicity and complexity that we experience daily. He reflects on moments like walking through the snow in the quiet of night, where the simplicity of the scene contrasts with the complexity of his thoughts.

These rhythms are a part of everything we do, and by appreciating the ebb and flow of simplicity and complexity, we can better engage with the world around us.

In essence, simplicity becomes meaningful because of its contrast with complexity, and the rhythm of these two elements is what gives life, design, and experiences their richness.

The Laws of Simplicity #6 – Context

Maeda begins this chapter with the observation that what surrounds simplicity—its context—is crucial. To illustrate this, he describes the experience of focusing on something important, like working at a pottery wheel.

When you’re deeply immersed, everything outside your immediate task seems peripheral, almost irrelevant. But the moment something in the background—like a phone ringing—captures your attention, the whole situation shifts, reminding us that everything around us matters.

Maeda then contrasts the words “narrow” and “focused.” While being “focused” is generally seen as a positive trait, “narrow” often carries a negative connotation.

He shares advice from Nicholas Negroponte, who suggested that instead of being laser-focused, one should be like a lightbulb—illuminating everything around you. By expanding your view beyond just the immediate, you gain more understanding of the bigger picture.

Nothing is something

Maeda moves on to discuss the concept of “nothing.” He uses the example of a child holding a crayon and instinctively filling empty space in a book. This inclination to fill empty space is a natural human behavior.

In design, Maeda refers to this as “white space”—the blank areas surrounding text or objects. While white space often seems like “nothing,” it plays a critical role in design by giving the rest of the content room to breathe. Empty space is just as important as filled space.

The significance of emptiness

Maeda shares a story from his time in Japan, where he observed an empty space marked off by a rope at a shrine. What seemed like nothing at first had a certain sense of nobility because of its context near a temple.

This empty space, rather than being a lost opportunity, was integral to the experience, highlighting that sometimes, emptiness itself is meaningful.

He continues with the idea that technologists and businesspeople often feel compelled to fill every available space. In contrast, designers recognize the value of preserving emptiness, allowing focus to remain on the important elements. Empty space directs attention to what is left, making us appreciate it more.

The importance of ambience

Maeda talks about the concept of ambience—the environment that surrounds us and how it affects our experience. He gives an example of a flight where everything around him—like the noise, cramped space, and discomfort—makes even the smallest sensations feel more prominent.

When there’s nothing significant to focus on, the smallest details matter more.

Similarly, he recalls a time when he had sushi in a minimalist, white space. The aesthetic of the environment enhanced the taste of the food, making him realize how ambient context can influence perception.

This idea of white space or clean space allows the foreground to stand out and provides a more focused experience.

Maeda wraps up the chapter with a reflection on finding balance between being lost and being found. He shares a story about hiking in Maine, where the trail markers were sparse enough to make him feel a bit lost but not overwhelmed.

Too much clarity—like overly detailed directions—can take away from the experience, while too little can make it frustrating. The balance of simplicity and complexity in our surroundings is what makes the experience meaningful.

In conclusion, Maeda emphasizes that simplicity and complexity are intertwined through their context. What surrounds us—whether it’s white space or ambient noise—helps shape how we experience and appreciate what’s in the foreground.

The Laws of Simplicity #7 – Emotion

In this chapter, Maeda delves into the emotional side of simplicity. He begins by contrasting the appeal of simple design—which, from a rational standpoint, is often seen as affordable and efficient—with the emotional needs of people.

For example, his mother, who loves extravagant, embellished designs, sees simplicity as cold and uninviting. This highlights that simplicity, while economically beneficial, doesn’t always resonate emotionally with everyone.

Maeda argues that emotion is a crucial part of design, and that more emotion can enhance simplicity, not detract from it. This may sound contradictory to the first law of “reduce,” but he introduces the principle of “feel, and feel for.”

Designers should start with their own feelings—do they connect with the design?

Then, they should empathize with others’ emotions, making design an emotional experience as well as a functional one. In this way, design becomes more than just a form—it becomes a feeling.

Feel, and feel for: E-Tiquette

Maeda reflects on the evolution of emotions in digital communication. The simple smiley face emoticon, for example, was created to convey emotions that text alone couldn’t express.

This is a perfect example of how even minimalist forms, like the smiley, serve an emotional purpose. They soften the tone of messages that might otherwise seem harsh or too formal.

Even though they might seem frivolous, these small emotional expressions play a significant role in making online interactions feel human.

Nude electronics: The need for emotional warmth

Maeda continues by talking about the trend of “nude electronics”, where products like the iPod are designed to be sleek and simple, almost to the point of being cold and impersonal. However, accessorizing these devices reveals a deeper need for emotional expression.

When people rush to buy cases or covers for their devices, they are adding a layer of emotional warmth to the cold simplicity of the object itself. This need to “dress” the object shows the human desire for self-expression and emotional connection to even the simplest products.

Aichaku: Emotional attachment to objects

Maeda also introduces the Japanese concept of Aichaku, which refers to the emotional attachment one can feel for an object. Growing up, Maeda was taught that everything, even inanimate objects like a cup, had a spirit that deserved respect.

This idea stems from Shintoism, and Maeda later realized that this belief shaped how people connect emotionally with their surroundings. He mentions how people can form deep emotional bonds with objects, like Sony’s AIBO robotic dog or the Tamagotchi—items that are not alive but still evoke care and affection.

In the final part of the chapter, Maeda shares a poignant story about a woman diagnosed with cancer who, rather than just focusing on medical treatment, created artfully designed spaces for those facing death.

Art and design together can help manage emotional complexity, providing comfort in an otherwise difficult situation. Clarity in design is important, but it’s the emotional connection that truly makes an experience meaningful.

Maeda concludes by suggesting that emotion should not be seen as a weakness but a strength. Designers and leaders should embrace emotions in their work, as it fosters deeper connections and greater meaning. More emotions, more care, and more love can turn simple designs into deeply fulfilling experiences.

The Laws of Simplicity #8 – Trust

Maeda opens the chapter with a simple yet powerful thought: simplicity can only work when we trust it. He presents an example of an electronic device with just one button—no labels, no instructions.

Press it, and the task is done. You don’t need to think about it, because you trust that it will work. That’s the essence of simplicity: when things are simple, we trust them to do what we need without question.

As computers and technology become more intuitive, they start to learn about us, our preferences, and our habits. But with this increase in simplicity comes the issue of trust: we’re giving up pieces of our private lives for the sake of convenience.

The question becomes, how much trust are we willing to place in technology, knowing it can make mistakes? While people are often happy to sacrifice some privacy for the sake of simpler living, this trust also has risks.

Relax and lean back

Maeda reflects on the personal experience of learning to swim at MIT, where the instructor’s focus wasn’t on perfecting strokes but teaching students how to “lean back” and trust the water.

This act of relaxing and allowing the water to support you is a lesson in trusting the environment—whether it’s the water, a product, or a system. This trust allows for a relaxing, seamless experience where the complexity of swimming becomes invisible.

The design philosophy of companies like Bang & Olufsen (B&O) embodies this principle. B&O creates consumer electronics that are not just about sound quality but about the experience of relaxing and trusting the product to work beautifully.

Their design invites you to lean back, trust the system, and simply enjoy the experience without thinking about how the technology works.

Trust the master

Maeda introduces the idea of trusting the “master” in another context—this time with sushi. The concept of omakase (leaving the choice to the sushi chef) symbolizes trust at its highest form.

When you sit at the sushi bar and leave the decisions to the chef, you’re not just choosing food—you’re entrusting the chef with your experience.

This is a higher-risk approach, as the chef holds all the responsibility for your meal, but it’s also a deeply satisfying form of simplicity because you trust the chef’s expertise to provide you with exactly what you need.

In contrast, the chef’s menu—where you make the choices—is a safer, lower-risk option. While it offers some flexibility, it doesn’t carry the same level of trust.

Maeda emphasizes that true mastery in design and life comes from trusting someone or something that has proven its skill and reliability.

Just undo it

Maeda explores the concept of undo—a feature common in digital tools like word processors, where you can erase or reverse actions at any time. Undo simplifies decisions by allowing you to correct mistakes without consequence.

It’s an essential feature that gives us a sense of security. However, there’s a tradeoff: while undo provides convenience and comfort, it can also diminish the sense of commitment.

When you know you can undo something, you may not put as much thought into your actions.

The power of undo lies in its ability to make things less risky, but Maeda suggests that in life, especially when dealing with people, we need to commit more deeply—trusting that our decisions matter and that they can’t be easily erased.

This lesson is especially relevant in human relationships, where the ability to trust without the safety net of undo is what truly strengthens connections.

Finally, Maeda touches on the complexity of trust in our everyday interactions. Trust is something that’s built over time, through consistency and experience. In today’s world, where systems know more about us than ever before, the balance of trust is delicate.

The more a system knows about you, the less you have to think. But how much should we allow systems to know in order to gain simplicity? The question is about finding the right balance between trust and control.

Maeda concludes with a reflection on the importance of trust in creating simplicity. Without trust, nothing works seamlessly. Trust is what makes simplicity possible, whether in technology, relationships, or life in general.

And while undo gives us a way out when things go wrong, true trust is about moving forward with confidence in our decisions.

The Laws of Simplicity #9 – Failure

Maeda begins this chapter with a hard truth: not everything can be simplified. There are times when simplicity is elusive—and realizing this can actually be an opportunity to make better use of our time.

Instead of chasing after an impossible goal of simplicity, we can learn from the failures that come from trying to simplify the complex. Failure isn’t just a setback; it’s a chance to gain insight.

He introduces the idea of Return on Failure (ROF), meaning that we can learn and grow from our mistakes. The complexity we encounter when attempting simplicity may lead us to a deeper understanding of the problem or idea, offering a new perspective.

In other words, a failed attempt at simplicity may give birth to something beautifully complex.

Simplicity and complexity are two sides of the same coin

Maeda explains that simplicity and complexity are symbiotic—each defines the other. He uses the example of a flower: it looks simple from a distance, but upon closer inspection, you see the delicate details and complex structure of its petals.

Complexity can be beautiful, and simplicity often has a beginning rooted in complexity, like the process of planting a seed.

He also mentions how simplicity and complexity shift depending on the point of view. A small piece of computer code can produce something complex, like digital art, while the complex algorithms behind Google’s search engine produce a simple search experience.

What we consider simple or complex depends on how we view it.

Failure in the search for simplicity

There are things Maeda would never want to make simple, such as his close relationships and his collection of art. These are areas where complexity enriches the experience and makes them meaningful.

In striving for simplicity, Maeda suggests that we can sometimes miss the richness that complexity brings to certain aspects of life. Simplicity can’t exist without complexity—they need each other.

He reflects on his journey toward simplicity and admits that he doesn’t have all the answers. Some of his ideas will inevitably be considered flawed, but the drive for simplicity encourages him to continue exploring and sharing his thoughts, even with unresolved issues.

The flaws of simplicity

Maeda shares how the Laws of Simplicity, as they progress, have their own flaws. He gives examples of how his attempts to simplify the concepts—like using acronyms or simplifying language—didn’t always hit the mark.

For example, in his methodology for simplifying the first law, he had to decide between using “she” (shrink, hide, embody) or “her” (hide, embody, remove), and though he played with both, he eventually chose the simpler option.

He humorously reflects on how simplification can create its own complications, sometimes leading to confusion or ambiguity.

Despite the flaws, he sees value in continuing the search for simplicity, even when it feels unattainable. The pursuit of simplicity is as valuable as achieving it, and we should embrace the process, even when it involves trial and error.

Maeda ends with a funny anecdote about how he originally set out to create sixteen laws of simplicity, but over time, he realized that a simpler, more manageable number would be better. He eventually settled on nine.

Yet, he recognizes that even the number nine might still be too much. In fact, he suggests that even one law—the “Law of One”—could suffice for those seeking pure simplicity.

The Laws of Simplicity #10 – The One

This final chapter offers a single, distilled truth—an elegant summary of everything the book stands for. Maeda shares how this phrase came to life from observing a rugby coach’s approach to rebuilding Japan’s national team.

The coach encouraged players to stop being predictable and start moving like bubbles in champagne—unpredictable, fluid, and full of life. This metaphor captures the essence of simplicity: not rigid or mechanical, but intuitive and meaningful.

Simplicity, Maeda says, is subtle. It hides in plain sight. But when you focus on removing what’s obvious and adding what truly matters, things become both simpler and more powerful. That’s the heart of this tenth law—the one law that rules them all.

After working through all the previous nine laws, Maeda arrives here with a realization: complexity isn’t always bad, but clarity comes when you focus only on what counts. Not everything needs to be said. Not everything needs to be shown. The art lies in choosing what stays.

Along with this ultimate law, Maeda introduces three keys—emerging ideas that didn’t quite fit into the original laws but still matter deeply for understanding simplicity in our world.

Away – More appears like less by simply moving it far away.

Maeda recalls a moment in 1984, watching a friend remotely access a computer at another university. This memory captures the idea that things can feel simpler when their complexity is hidden elsewhere.

In today’s world, we see this in cloud computing—software doesn’t need to live on your machine. Google, Salesforce, and other tools work behind the scenes, leaving you with a clean, simple experience.

You see less, but get more—and that’s the magic of “away.”

Open – Openness simplifies complexity.

Being open, whether in relationships or in business, brings risk—but it also creates trust and clarity. Maeda draws on the example of open-source software, where access to source code invites collaboration, improvement, and innovation.

While not everyone can fix complex code, many minds working together often solve problems faster than closed, top-down systems. APIs like those from Amazon or Google Maps let others build on existing tools, spreading simplicity through shared power.

But openness depends on trust—and companies must decide how much they’re willing to give in order to gain.

Power – Use less, gain more.

Technology often depends on batteries—devices that need constant feeding. Maeda humorously compares them to needy pets. But he argues that simplicity can’t truly be achieved until we reduce our dependency on power.

He shares innovations like a wireless switch that runs on the energy from your finger press—no batteries needed. Using less power, setting limits, and designing with energy in mind can lead to stronger, simpler outcomes. Constraints drive creativity, and simplicity thrives under pressure.

After ten thoughtful chapters, Maeda circles back to what matters most: simplicity isn’t just minimalism.

It’s a thoughtful, layered practice of subtracting what’s expected and adding what matters.

Whether designing a product, planning a life, or solving a problem, the key is to focus on meaning—not just surface-level neatness.

When in doubt, Maeda says, turn to this law.

It’s the anchor for everything else.

4 Key Ideas from The Laws of Simplicity

6 Main Lessons from The Laws of Simplicity

My Book Highlights & Quotes

Simplicity is about subtracting the obvious and adding the meaningful.

In the martial art of Karate, for instance, the symbol of pride for a black belt is to wear it long enough such that the die fades to white as to symbolize returning to the beginner state.

Knowledge is comfort, and comfort lies at the heart of simplicity.

Conclusion

After reading this book, you might just find yourself looking around and asking: What can I thoughtfully remove from my own life to add clarity and meaning?

It’s a simple question—but as Maeda shows us, sometimes the simplest questions have the power to profoundly change everything.

Simplicity isn’t about sacrificing depth—it’s about creating space for meaning.

This book guides you toward clarity in design, work, and life, helping you focus on what’s genuinely valuable.

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• Book Notes #127: The Laws of Simplicity by John Maeda
• Book Notes #126: Inevitable by Mike Colias
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