Growth & Strategy
Last year, a potential client approached me with an exciting opportunity: build a two-sided marketplace platform with a substantial budget and all the trendy "lovable" design patterns everyone talks about. Beautiful micro-interactions, delightful animations, perfect user journeys—the works.
I said no.
Not because I couldn't build it. Not because the budget wasn't attractive. I turned it down because I've learned something the hard way: a lovable product without users is just expensive digital art.
After working with dozens of SaaS startups and seeing the same pattern repeat—gorgeous interfaces with zero traction—I've developed a contrarian view that challenges everything the design industry preaches about "lovable" products.
Here's what you'll learn from my experience:
This isn't another "build an MVP" lecture. This is about understanding when lovable design actually matters—and when it's just expensive procrastination disguised as user experience.
Walk into any design conference or startup accelerator, and you'll hear the same gospel: "Make your product lovable." The entire industry has built a religion around this concept, and honestly, I bought into it for years.
Here's what the conventional wisdom tells us:
This thinking exists because of survivor bias. We look at successful companies like Airbnb, Stripe, or Linear and see their beautiful interfaces, then assume the design was the key to their success. Design schools, agencies, and even accelerators reinforce this narrative because it's easier to teach design patterns than business fundamentals.
But here's where conventional wisdom falls apart: most "lovable" products never get the chance to be loved because they never find their audience. The industry conflates product-market fit with interface design, treating symptoms instead of causes.
I've seen this pattern so many times that I can predict the outcome: six months of beautiful design work, zero users, and a confused founder wondering why nobody "gets" their lovable product. The problem isn't the execution—it's the entire premise.
Who am I
7 years of freelance experience working with SaaS
and Ecommerce brands.
When this client contacted me about their marketplace project, everything looked perfect on paper. They had conducted user interviews, created detailed personas, and mapped out elaborate user journeys. They wanted beautiful onboarding flows, intuitive navigation, and all the micro-interactions that make products feel "premium."
But as I dug deeper into their business model, I realized they were making the classic mistake: they were designing a solution for a problem they hadn't validated people actually wanted to solve.
The client had:
This reminded me of a previous e-commerce client I'd worked with. They'd spent months perfecting their product pages—beautiful galleries, detailed descriptions, optimized checkout flows. Everything looked amazing. But they had the same fundamental issue: they were optimizing a store that sat in an empty mall.
That's when I realized the pattern. Most founders and businesses get seduced by the idea that if they build something beautiful enough, users will magically appear. It's the "Field of Dreams" fallacy applied to product design: "If you build it (beautifully), they will come."
So I told the marketplace client something that shocked them: "If you're truly testing market demand, your MVP should take one day to build—not three months." Their beautiful platform idea? It could be validated with a simple landing page, some manual matchmaking, and a few phone calls.
The conversation didn't go well. They wanted a technical solution to what was fundamentally a distribution and validation problem. They left to find a designer who would build their beautiful, complex platform. Six months later, I heard through the network that they'd spent their entire budget on development and had fewer than 50 active users.
My experiments
What I ended up doing and the results.
After years of watching "lovable" products fail, I developed what I call the Distribution-First Design Framework. It flips the conventional approach on its head: instead of building lovable products hoping to find users, you find users first and then make the product lovable for them.
Here's exactly how I approach every new project now:
Phase 1: Validate Distribution Before Design (Day 1-7)
Before I touch Figma or write a single line of code, I help clients answer one question: "How will people find out about this?" Not "How will they use it?" but "How will they discover it exists?"
For the marketplace client, this meant:
Phase 2: Manual Validation (Week 2-4)
This is where most people want to jump to building. Instead, I force a manual process that proves the concept works without any "lovable" design:
I told the marketplace client: "Match your first 10 transactions via email and spreadsheets. If you can't make it work manually, software won't magically fix it." This phase reveals the real user behavior, not the idealized user journey you designed.
Phase 3: Build for Proven Demand (Month 2+)
Only after proving that people actively want and will pay for the solution do I start thinking about "lovable" design. But even then, my approach is different:
This framework completely changed how I evaluate design decisions. Instead of asking "Is this delightful?" I ask "Does this help more people discover and successfully complete the core action?"
The result? Every product I've built using this approach has achieved measurable traction before we invested in polish. And when we do add the lovable design elements, they actually drive business results because they're building on a foundation that already works.
The marketplace client who rejected my approach? They spent $40K building a beautiful platform that attracted fewer than 50 users in six months. Meanwhile, a similar client who followed my distribution-first framework had 500 active users within 8 weeks using nothing but a landing page and manual processes.
The difference wasn't the design quality—it was the sequence. One built a beautiful solution searching for a problem. The other proved the problem existed and then built the minimum viable solution.
Here's what I've observed across multiple projects:
The most "lovable" products aren't the most beautiful—they're the ones that solve real problems for people who actively want solutions. Beauty becomes lovable when it serves a purpose users already understand and value.
Learnings
Sharing so you don't make them.
This experience taught me that the entire "lovable product design" movement has the sequence backwards. Here are my key insights:
The hardest part of this approach? Convincing clients to resist the urge to build immediately. Everyone wants to jump to the fun part—the design, the development, the launch. But the unglamorous work of manual validation is what separates successful products from expensive hobbies.
My playbook, condensed for your use case.
For SaaS founders looking to avoid the lovable design trap:
For e-commerce store owners avoiding the beautiful empty store problem:
What I've learned