Why Is Complexity Such a Dirty Word?

We’ve all heard it a thousand times: “Make it simple.”
It’s the golden rule in design.

Clean interfaces.
Fewer clicks.
Less friction.

But what if, in our relentless pursuit of simplicity, we’re missing something far more profound?

Because the world isn’t simple.
People aren’t simple.

And that’s not a problem to be fixed — it’s something to be celebrated.

I keep coming back to a line from Donald Norman’s book, Living with Complexity:

“Complexity is the nature of the world. Complicated is the experience of not understanding it.”

Read that again.

Complexity isn’t the enemy. Confusion is.

In design—especially in messy, meaningful domains like healthcare, education, or enterprise systems — we’re not just shaping interactions. We’re shaping the way people make sense of their lives, their work, their care. And lives are inherently complex.

We humans are not tidy algorithms.

We are layered.
Emotional.
Contradictory.
Evolving.

Our complexity is what makes us beautiful. It's the texture of love, grief, discovery, growth. It’s what gives our stories depth and our choices meaning.

Good design doesn’t reduce this richness. It rises to meet it.

It guides without flattening.
It clarifies without erasing.
It honors the fullness of who we are.

So yes, make things usable. Make them clear.

But don’t be afraid of complexity.

Embrace it.
Learn from it.
Design with it.

Because within that complexity lies the humanity we’re all here to serve.

Complexity is a sign that it matters

Think about a nurse in a busy hospital—managing patient care, documentation, and team coordination—in real time.

Or a product manager balancing shifting priorities, changing timelines, multiple tools, and a diverse set of stakeholder requirements. 

Their worlds are complex because they have to be.
The work is nuanced, interconnected, and consequential.

That’s not something to flatten—it’s something to respect.

Design has a responsibility to handle that complexity with care.
Yes, simplifying interfaces can reduce friction—but oversimplifying can disconnect people from what they need.

People can handle complexity—especially in specialized roles.
What they can’t handle is poor structure, broken logic, or tools that don’t match how they think and operate.

Lessons from the cockpit

In Living with Complexity, Don Norman points to the airplane cockpit as one of the most complex interfaces ever built. And yet, for pilots, it works. Every control is there for a reason, every element grounded in training. The layout mirrors how pilots think and respond under pressure.

It has to—because the cost of error is high.

The same is true in healthcare, finance, operations, and enterprise environments.
Nurses triage patients under pressure.
Analysts shape decisions that impact entire organizations.
Accuracy, clarity, and trust matter.

But unlike the cockpit, which must expose all controls at once, software can adapt.

Digital tools don’t have to show everything to everyone, all the time. They can surface what’s relevant in the moment—based on role, task, or context—while still supporting the depth and complexity of the work.

That’s the power of designing for both robustness and restraint.

Clarity over reduction

We don’t need to erase complexity—we need to frame it.

Minimalism, when applied with intention, doesn’t flatten complexity—it helps reveal it.
It reduces noise so the signal of what matters can shine through, without reducing power or depth.

Don’t design three ways to do the same thing.
Design one way to do it—and make it great.

Minimalism isn’t about doing less. It’s about doing only what matters—and doing it with precision and purpose.

This isn’t a call to ignore simplicity. It’s a call to redefine it.

Not as the absence of complexity—but the thoughtful organization of it.
Not fewer options—but smarter timing.
Not hiding depth—but surfacing it meaningfully.
Not flattening the experience—but guiding users through it with confidence and care.

True simplicity isn’t the absence of complexity—it’s the thoughtful design of its presentation.

Making sense of complexity

The true power of design is in transforming complexity into something understandable.

Especially in healthcare and enterprise, where the work is fast, high-stakes, and deeply human, design must go beyond usability.
It must support comprehension.

That begins with mapping to users’ mental models—how they think, decide, and navigate their world.
It means designing for real context—workflows, roles, and decision points.

It also means giving users room to grow—supporting learning, mastery, and trust through consistent, intuitive experiences.

When we design this way, complexity doesn’t disappear.
But it no longer feels like a burden.
It becomes navigable.
Intentional.
Empowering.

Like when a nurse instantly knows which patient needs urgent care.
Or when a project manager quickly unblocks a team without switching tools or second-guessing the data.

It’s not about simplifying the work.
It’s about supporting the people who do it—with tools that think the way they do.

Don’t expect AI to make things easier

Generative tools promise simplicity: ask a question, get an answer.
But beneath the surface, AI introduces new complexity.

Its logic is opaque. Its decisions are probabilistic.
And its outputs often reflect models that don’t match how people think, work, or decide.

This is especially risky in enterprise and healthcare settings, where system logic—built around data structures or org charts—already clashes with how users see their work.

AI can widen that gap if we’re not intentional.

An AI tool that hides the wrong option or confidently surfaces the wrong answer doesn’t simplify anything. It breaks trust and adds friction.

That’s why design matters more than ever.
We can’t just make AI available—we have to make it understandable.

Revealing context, explaining reasoning, and aligning AI behavior with human mental models. It means guiding people with feedback, clarity, and control—not vague “magic.”

AI doesn’t eliminate the need for thoughtful design.
It raises the bar.

If AI is doing work on behalf of the user, understanding why it did what it did becomes just as important as the outcome itself.

Enabling confidence and flow

Here’s what I’ve learned: people don’t necessarily want things to be simpler.
They want to feel capable. Confident. In control.

They want to get through something difficult and think, “I nailed that.”

Great design doesn’t flatten the world to achieve that feeling. It reveals just enough, at just the right time, to help people make sense of it. It turns uncertainty into clarity, and effort into flow.

That’s where the magic happens.

“Good design can provide a desirable, pleasurable sense of empowerment,” as Don Norman says.

That’s what we should be designing for—not simplicity for its own sake, but clarity that helps people feel strong, smart, and fully in command of their tools.

Designing for what matters

When you’re building for healthcare, enterprise, or any high-stakes domain, you’re not just designing screens.

You’re designing for people doing complex, meaningful work.

That complexity isn’t a flaw to erase.
It’s a signal that the work matters.

The opportunity is to help people navigate that complexity—clearly, confidently, and with tools that meet them where they are.

Good design doesn’t eliminate the maze.
It shows the way through.

And when we do it well, we don’t just help people get things done—we help them feel capable, empowered, and proud of how they did it.

That feeling is the true measure of great design.