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Ahhh, Web3: the tech to end all tech. The answers to all our prayers. A perfect solution to our problems with centralized power, state censorship, and monetary access. The vision we’ve conceived after standing on the tallest shoulders of the giantest giants. We’re nearly there, right?
We can perhaps be forgiven, then, for the Dorian-Gray-esque obsession we have with perfection in the crypto space: after all, if done correctly, this technology is supposedly capable of solving all the world’s woes and helping us. But we’ve become so enamored with creating something theoretically flawless that we forget to make it usable.
We’re not the first studious minds to succumb to the allure of building something “perfect.” There are many parallels from which to learn. But the most apt example (and one I hope you won’t soon forget) is a little-known but long-mocked linguistic experiment: Esperanto, the universal language.
In the 1880s, a guy using the pseudonym Doktoro Esperanto published a book espousing a radical concept: What if there was a universal second language that was shared across all cultures and borders?
The book introduced what we now know as Esperanto, a language designed to serve as a Tower of Babel, uniting the world under a shared communication system that transcends any individual parlance.
Esperanto was crafted using a “best of the best” approach to avoid the most headache-inducing parts of speech. It theoretically corrected for all the flaws of the languages that had come before, featuring:
It was politically neutral, easy to learn, and theoretically perfect.
And it failed miserably.
L. L. Zamenhof, the fine young ophthalmologist who penned the book, was no common rube. He had three sensible objectives for the language design: 1) make it easy to learn, 2) make it international and borderless, 3) make it readily adopted en masse. To achieve that last objective, he laid no claim to the ownership of the language: it is in the public domain, free for anyone to use. He even called for a "universal vote," compelling 10 million people to pledge to learn the language and jumpstart its network effect.
As you might imagine, he was not successful in convincing 10 million people to take the leap. A mere thousand got on board. (Though, bewilderingly, the true devotees can still learn Esperanto via this handy Duolingo course!).
Despite its elegance, Esperanto missed the point of why people use language in the first place. By focusing only on structure and function, Zamenhof lost sight of the greater context that compels us each to participate in this shared social compact. We adopt languages for a wide variety of reasons, both emotional and rational.
Languages carry with them the traditions of their people. They’re imperfect and have emotional texture comprised of the idioms, humor, and nuances inherited by living and evolving with those who speak it. Esperanto had none of that. It didn’t reflect anyone’s lived experience. It was sterile — like trying to bond over a spreadsheet.
Without a critical mass of speakers, Esperanto would at best be a niche hobby language. It had no network effects. Language must have practical utility: it’s only useful if it connects you to opportunity, gives you influence, or instills in you a sense of belonging.
Zamenhof was, by and large, a lone wolf in his advocacy of Esperanto. No government or major institution backed it, which is a critical component to achieving critical mass quickly. Loathe as we might be to admit it, governments and centralized bodies can be very effective in creating consensus that either stamps out a language (lookin’ at you, Britain) or gives it life (as the Welsh government has revived its native tongue).
At the end of the day, Esperanto’s failure wasn’t linguistic — it was emotional, cultural, and strategic. It was a solution in search of a problem. Web3 founders can learn from this.
I’ve encountered many a protocol in this space that claims to be (or aspires to be) the “right” approach to decentralized building. They’re always designed to be a little bit better, by engineers who are just a little bit smarter, for an apparent audience that’s absolutely clamoring for this life-changing app/network/you-name-it.
Many, many, many Web3 projects are repeating the same mistakes we’ve just seen play out for Esperanto.
Decentralization, censorship resistance, sovereignty — all noble goals. But they’ve come at the expense of good UX and finding true product-market fit. Marketing can’t make people be interested in what you have to offer: you need to find something that fits into their workflow, lifestyle, or needs, then tell them about it.
I’m not the first to point out that this industry continues to be plagued by atrocious UX. If your dApp requires four hours of setup and an advanced degree in cryptography, it’s not a product — it’s a punishment. Make it easy and convenient to get value from your product, fast.
The intrinsically monetary nature of this technology breeds self-serving incentive systems: it’s hard to not get caught up chasing the next crypto payday. But that’s not how you build open, fair standards that transcend proprietary systems. We need to find a way to strike a balance between building value for the few and building value for many.
Fortunately, all hope is not lost. We can prevail in creating a technology that is both advanced and purpose-driven through a return to fundamentals.
Solve a real problem. Don’t “do stuff” because it’s an interesting thought exercise, or spend time solving a problem that no one asked you to solve. Identify real issues, even if they’re small, and focus on creating value there. That’s what an MVP is: not a demo, but a minimum viable value.
Design for culture, not aspirations. The products you build need to be ingrained in your users’ daily lives, and all that that entails. Build accordingly.
Adoption > Perfection. A messy, imperfect tool that people love beats a flawless one that nobody uses.
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There are many parallels we can draw between decentralized platforms and Esperanto, from their pseudonymous origins and borderless applicability to the natively open, ownerless design. Neither movement lacks merit. But striving for perfection is, in and of itself, an exercise in futility. Without purpose, the work we do is pointless.
Design for people. Design for traction. That’s how you can make a revolution stick.
Tired of building in a vacuum? We help Web3 founders bridge the gap between revolutionary tech and real adoption. Learn more about Distractive.
