When software stops listening. Or maybe it’s not even the software—maybe it is the people behind it. The humans hiding behind it. It is.
Because sometimes these folks aren’t solving any problem. Okay, okay, let’s say they are. Let’s say every piece of software, every app on your phone or desktop, is solving at least one problem.
Still—when software stops listening to the people who actually use it, that is the problem they’re not solving but compounding daily. Everyday.
The simple thing no app lets you do
Let me stay with one example here—a payment app.
I look at my phone and I can count, may be fifty apps? May be more.
And not a single one—not one—provides an interface that just lets you send a message. Just send us a message. Let’s know what you’re struggling with, if anything. Just a message.
You could take forever to respond if you want. That’s fine. If you have volume, if you have too many people to deal with, I get it. But at least give people a way to talk to you.
The ones that manage to come close to it—they’ve predefined what they think you’ll need to say. They already assume the kind of problem you’ll have. And it can’t be new. It never refreshes. How can it? How can they ever know?
Grey does this. Cowrywise, too. All of them.
They believe they already know your problem, and they’ve listed the options for you.
So you pick one.
And then you pick again.
And after you’ve exhausted all their “known problems,” maybe you’ll get to type something of your own. Maybe.
Grey, for example—you can’t even leave a note.
Cowrywise—you can, but only after going through every hoop first. And may the app’s integrity be with you!
When all you really wanted was to type, or record your message, and send it. That’s it. Just a message. From a customer. Even a paying customer.
It’s not spam, it’s a customer’s voice
They all know how to filter spam. It’s not that hard.
And let’s be honest—if I’m using your app to save or send money, how exactly do I spam you? What am I spamming you with? My business? My money? That oughtta be some good spam!
And if I ever do it once or twice, fine—block me. Restrict me.
But to not even let me reach you at all? That’s not protection. That’s indifference. That’s being callous.
Because every single person using your app is a customer. Is responsible. And can be known by you—in some way, shape or form.
And when you design in a way that makes it impossible for them to speak (to you)—you’re saying you don’t take them seriously. You don’t care. Do you? Really?
The irony of “user research”
Back to the point.
None of these apps make it easy to reach you. You the Greys of this world.
I should be able to come in, complain, and trust that someone will see it. That someone will respond. And I can be more helpful than needing another “Dear…” Substack essay! But here we are…
You don’t need to be perfect—but you should at least be reachable.
What happens instead?
Because these apps can’t hear directly from their users, they start running “user research studies.”
They start incentivizing. Offering gift cards to fill a survey. Asking for your time so they can “learn” how people use their app.
Two years later, you now wanna be “learning”?
You could’ve been hearing from us every single day. You could be learning every day. Improving. Delighting. Driving organic love. Listen, love not loyalty (but I digress).
You could have been fixing problems as they happened. That very one!
The bug that won’t die
Let me bring it back to this particular payment app.
For the past two, maybe three weeks, it’s been the same issue.
You try to send money—the screen goes blank.
Nothing happens.
I just noticed it again now. The app is trying to activate FaceID on iPhone. Or something.
I can’t test on Android, but maybe it’s the same thing there.
If only I could just send a message to say, “Hey, this is what’s happening.”
If your analytics can’t pick it up, at least hear it directly from me. Really, still hear directly from me, your customer. Where “me” is you, all of us. Or no? Damn, it’s not us!
FaceID tries to open. The screen goes dim—like that little overlay while it’s scanning. But nothing.
It stays there. Frozen.
You tap, nothing.
You close the app, open again—still nothing.
Every time, I have to turn off my phone, wait, turn it back on, then open the app again before it finally works.
And this has been going on for weeks.
It’s a long-standing error, which they probably don’t even know about.
Maybe they’ll fix it accidentally in the next update. Maybe not.
But that’s the thing—they don’t know.
Because they can’t hear me. O, they’re busy licking up the LinkedIns.
The charm of being heard
If they’d given me one way—just one simple way—to reach them, I could’ve told them.
And imagine the charm, the humanity, if they even replied:
“Hey, we fixed that issue you mentioned.”
That one small gesture—that’s how you build trust. Again, love not loyalty. Another day, if you please.
That’s how you prove you actually care about users, not in press statements, on LinkedIn, or marketing blurbs, but in the small, daily interactions that matter.
What changed?
Why can’t software just listen anymore?
Why has it become so impossible to reach the humans behind it?
Even paid apps. You’re literally paying, but you can’t reach them.
No contact form, no inbox, no chat that leads to an actual human being.
And so I’m stuck. We’re all stuck.
Crossing fingers that one day soon, it gets fixed.
Because right now, every day I use this payment app, I have to fight the same glitch. The same blank screen.
Every day, the same frustration.
And still no way to say, “Hey, this is broken.”
What happened?
What changed?
Why has software—the thing built to make our lives easier—supposedly—become the wall between us and the people who make it? Which people?
What changed?
AI? Automation? Or just arrogance?
O, humans! Humans.
The humans that stopped caring to hear.
sometimes leaving a review on app store draws their attention to issues.