7 Reasons To Hate Your Code
Incompetence is the cause of many ills in the software world, but increasingly I’m seeing a certain kind of competence as being just as destructive. You see, there are a lot of programmers who care deeply about their code. I did, but it turns out there are good reasons we shouldn’t do that; reasons why we should hate our code…
Reason 1: It keeps you open to change
The most productive way to write software is to release early and iterate quickly with feedback from real users, right? It saves us from implementing the wrong features, that it helps build a community and so on. What’s people don’t talk about as often is the impact it has on our relationship with the code. Putting a program in front of users is terrifying because they might not like it. The more lovingly we craft and polish every class before release, the more carefully we plan our abstractions and structures, the more emotionally attached we are to the way we have made it.
The result is that we instinctively resist making significant changes to the code based on early feedback, even though this was the whole point. It’s an unconscious, emotional reaction that we rationalize away to ourselves by claiming the users just don’t understand the feature, or that it just needs a bit more polish when, seen objectively, the best thing to do might be to restructure it completely do do something rather different.
In fact, the best way to remain responsive to your users is to hate your code.
Reason 2: Jeff Atwood says that you should
You can tell a competent software developer from an incompetent one with a single interview question: “What’s the worst code you’ve seen recently?”
If their answer isn’t immediately and without any hesitation these two words: “My own,” then you should end the interview.
— Jeff Atwood
Every now and again people attack Jeff for his assertion that we write bad code, for his arms-wide-open group humility. I think people misunderstand him. The message is not you are a bad programmer, it’s that part of being – of becoming – a great programmer is writing code that you’re ashamed of. If you think all the code you write is wonderful, you’re probably not learning anything.
Reason 3: If you don’t hate your code, you’re wasting too much time on it
Andy Brice famously wrote that if you aren’t embarrassed by v1.0 you didn’t release it early enough – you spent too much time polishing it to meet your expectations instead of giving it to the user and finding out what they think of it. A corollary of this is that if you aren’t embarrassed by your own code then you spent time crafting and reworking it until you loved it. This is time that you should have spent trying to make a product the user will love.
Nobody cares if you refactor to use the Chain of Responsibility pattern or not; they want simple, elegant features that work first time. We should spend our time delivering that, instead.
Reason 4: It’s what Jesus would do
No one can serve two masters. For you will hate one and love the other; you will be devoted to one and despise the other. You cannot love both your code and your users.
— Matthew 6:24 (lightly paraphrased)
Reason 5: Loving your code for its own sake will make your product suck
Loving your own code is a kind of hubris. It presumes that you’re writing the code so that you can work on it in the future, or can show off a neat trick to your colleagues.
This love is misplaced; your code isn’t going to be judged on its internal beauty and consistency. It’s going to be judged by people who just want to get their work done. They’ll love it if it makes that easier and they’ll hate it if it distracts them from that task, if it makes their lives harder.
Creator: I love the power of Unix/AJAX/C#/whatever.
Customer: I want to finish my work and go play outside.
— Scott Belkun
I once spent six months crafting a beautifully-constructed version 2.0 of our company’s product. We’d started again so we could use unit tests throughout, the code was completely modular and pleasant to work on. There was none of the spaghetti-code complexity that dogged the first version.
We demoed an early prototype to management and marketing who said:
Great, so it’ll be ready next month?
Aghast I pointed out we still had to add a whole bunch of features and do a ton of testing. Their faces fell, and at that point I realized that it didn’t matter how beautiful the new codebase was. It would cost too much to bring it up to the feature level of the old one.
Its intrinsic beauty wasn’t worth anything; only user-visible features weighed in the balance. The project was cancelled, and rightly so.
To worry about code aesthetics more than the aesthetics of the product itself… is akin to a song writer worrying about the aesthetics of the sheet music instead of the quality of sounds people hear when the band actually plays
— Scott Belkun
Reason 6: Gandhi would want you to
Hate the User class, love the user.
— Mahatma Gandhi (lightly paraphrased)
Reason 7: It will make you a better developer
Like most people, I got into programming because I wanted to write things for myself and for my friends. During this enthusiastic newbie phase I was a happy user and a happy developer. My code sucked but I didn’t know that yet.
Later on I got into programming for its own sake, I ended up caring deeply about the kind of design patterns I was applying and whether this for loop could be refactored a third time. Eventually this abstraction freak phase left me almost incapable of creating any real value because I invariably got lost in the upper echelons of the software design and never finished any useful features.
Of course, when I started writing professionally I had to care about the features, and had to see my beautiful code mutilated again and again in the name of profit, of getting this feature out in time for the next release. This is enough to make anyone into a bitter veteran.
Eventually I started discovering the joy of programming again, via dynamic languages and web frameworks that made it possible to get useful programs out of the door on day one. I started writing side projects I actually wanted to use. I became free to write the minimum necessary to make something useful. I’d become the ‘guru’, who mistakenly believes he’s better than everyone else because he’s finally become productive again.
But I haven’t become great yet. What might the next step be? I don’t know. Reading more code? Writing less code? Perhaps. But at the moment I have a feeling that to grow in another dimension – creating awesome software – I need to sacrifice the pride I’ve built up in my art:
The seventh step of humility is that a monk not only admits with his tongue but is also convinced in his heart that he is inferior to all and of less value, humbling himself and saying with the Prophet: I was exalted, then I was humbled and overwhelmed with confusion and again, It is a blessing that you have humbled me so that I can learn your commandments.
— The Rule of St Benedict 7.51-54
Until today I found this quote somehow ridiculous or inhuman, yet now I’m beginning to believe that overcoming our egos and admitting that we are writing unworthy code but writing it anyway is a vital step in becoming truly great programmers. Perhaps we can let go and accept that, ultimately, the code never really mattered at all.
Postscript: I’m not saying we should set out to write bad code. It’s vitally important to have an idea of how the code should end up, but instead of working and working until we achieve that and then shipping the product we must write the least we can get away with while gradually approaching the ideal. Understanding this distinction is crucial.
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