Explainer Technical

All software is a service (or: Adobe was right all along)

Today, Photoshop is a utility that comes out of a digital tap. Pay Adobe a few bucks a month, you can edit your photos as much as you want. In truth, it always worked this way. Yes, the payment implementation has changed and the charges are more granular.

But Adobe anticipated SaaS long before products like Basecamp or Mailchimp hit the scene. Every few years, they’d tack on a few features you didn’t need or ask for, and charge you a few hundred dollars for the latest version. That’s how an app called “Photoshop” has everything from video editing to 3D transforms tucked away in a corner.

While a lot of us rolled our eyes at this and called it “bloatware,” Adobe had a point. Photoshop was used by professionals and professionals are often at the bleeding edge of computing capabilities. Full-featured web export for a variety of image formats, for example, became non-negotiable in the space of just a few years. Adobe had to pay for development of that capability somehow.

Meanwhile, the hardware and operating systems that host applications are continually changing as well. For the Mac, Adobe has had to pay for the transition from Classic Mac OS to Carbon, the transition from PowerPC to x86 processors, the transition to 64 bit architectures, and the annual march of macOS updates as well. There’s enormous variation in the costs involved in these transitions, but what’s constant is that computing devices are moving targets.

Now, instead of epochal versions of Photoshop at several hundred dollars per upgrade, you pay Adobe monthly.

For software that sits on your own hard drive. Run by your own CPU.

But as we can see, keeping that software viable on your fast-evolving computer is a job. A service. While they may not be hosting the software directly, they’re still working behind the scenes to keep it all running.

Even indie developers are coming around to this point of view. Note organizer Agenda, for example, offers a freemium-subscription hybrid. Get the basics for free, then receive any improvements they make to Agenda during the life of your subscription. Once your subscription ends, you keep those improvements, but must subscribe again for any additions.

Sketch, which came out of nowhere to steal the hearts and minds of designers away from Illustrator, ironically mimics the Adobe’s license scheme of yore. Periodically, your license stops being valid for the latest versions of Sketch and you must pay for an upgrade to continue receiving the latest and greatest.

1Password recently joined this train. Cynics may attribute this to their recent venture funding, but even absent that influence, the move was inevitable. For both security and usability, your password manager needs to be right at the edge of the curve with every new OS update.

One interesting exception here is Procreate, the extraordinary, feature-packed painting app for iPad, used with great enthusiasm by professionals and amateurs alike. I’ve paid for Procreate once, just $5, and it continues to get better and better. How is this viable? The answer may lie in the ubiquity of Procreate’s customer base. While not every iPad user is a pro artist, every iPad benefits from the addition of Procreate. Who doesn’t want to doodle from time to time? And at just $5 for way more power than most users will ever need, how can you say no?

It will be interesting to see how long this model can sustain Procreate without the addition of In-App Purchases. They’ve unlocked another wave of customers by porting Procreate to iPhone. Tellingly, it’s not a universal app. The iPad and iPhone versions are separate SKUs. This is entirely reasonable from any customer perspective—reworking the Procreate interface to fit on the iPhone surely took a lot of effort. Still, it’s also a means of extending the value of the core IP, since the underlying graphics rendering, compositing and brush systems can now be monetized for two products instead of one.

So even when you’re not hosting the software, if your customers are subject to regular hardware and OS update cycles, your job is to provide a service. Finding a revenue model that lets you provide that service is essential, otherwise you’ll end up with disappointed customers and a slowly degrading codebase.

I hate to admit it, but Adobe was right all along.


Yes, I’ve had to give this a lot of thought over the last two months. My new app, Tallymander uses a subscription approach for these reasons. With an exception: there’s a premium escape hatch for people who hate subscriptions. For less than the cost of a couple years of service, you can unlock all Tallymander features forever. It’s a deal for early adopters—a kind of venture bootstrapping. Take a chance on a new product by paying up front, enjoy the fruits as ripen.

For all the reasons above, this option won’t be around forever.

Explainer Projects Technical

Using Swift string literals to load bundle resources

My new iOS fiction project relies heavily on text.

That means I want to make it easy to create that content anywhere, and I want it to be frictionless to drop it into the project as needed.

My solution: Markdown files I can load from the bundle using string literals. Look how easy:

let markdown: MarkdownFile = ""

Here’s how to do it.

String literals

In Swift, you use string literals all the time. Usually to initialize strings.

let string: String = "Hello, I am a string."

But Swift includes a protocol called ExpressibleByStringLiteral. Which means if your Swift type adopts it, that type can be initialized with nothing more than a string. While this is immediately convenient, it has real power for assets that need tedious boilerplate. Say, anything that needs to be loaded from a bundle.

Basic example

struct MarkdownFile: ExpressibleByStringLiteral {
    let bundleName: String
    let rawMarkdown: String?
    init(stringLiteral: String) {
        bundleName = stringLiteral
        var loadedMarkdown: String? = nil
        if let filepath = Bundle.main.path(forResource: bundleName, ofType: nil) {
        //By skipping the ofType argument above, we'll match to the first file whose name
        //exactly matches bundleName
            do {
                let loadedString = try String(contentsOfFile: filepath)
                loadedMarkdown = loadedString
            } catch {
                print("Could not load string: \(error)")
        } else {
            print("Could not find file: \(bundleName)")
        rawMarkdown = loadedMarkdown

Here’s a basic example of a MarkdownFile struct. It knows two things about itself: the name of the file used to initialize it, and any string it was able to load from a file in the bundle with that name.

On init it goes looking for a bundle resource matching the name it was provided through the string literal. If it finds one, and it can load its contents as a string, those contents are stored to rawMarkdown. If not, rawMarkdown returns nil.

This is already pretty convenient. Again, to initialize, all you need is:

let markdown: MarkdownFile = ""

But we can take it further.

Adding convenience

The MarkdownFile struct can be responsible for converting its contents into a display representation, as well. Let’s add a computed property to parse the Markdown into HTML. I’ll be using Ink for this, but you could use any project—or convert it into something else, like NSAttributedString.

var htmlRepresentation: String? {
    if let raw = rawMarkdown {
        return MarkdownParser().html(from: raw)
    } else {
        return nil

Putting it all together

With our output property all set up, we have a small, convenient API for handling Markdown files in any way we want. Here’s how we use it:

let markdown: MarkdownFile = ""

if let html = markdown.htmlRepresentation {
    webview.loadHTMLString(html, baseURL: nil)

self.title = markdown.bundleName

Behind the scenes, lots of stuff is happening to load and parse the file. But when you need Markdown across your project, you need only concern yourself with a filename. If you want to change any part of how this works later on, you have a single struct that’s responsible for all the Markdown behavior in your code.

Full example code here.


Picard’s Uneasy Fandom

Captain Picard is back.

You’d think this would be cause for universal celebration. But not all the fans engaging with Michael Chabon’s instagram are thrilled with the new series. Their discontent reveals a science experiment being enacted upon tens of millions of people.

What happens to a piece of culture when its formative economics undergo a seismic shift?

Will its fans still recognize it?

Television economics

We have to start with how money shaped storytelling in the days of broadcast television. Here’s the quick, late 20th century version.


TV was expensive. The more credible your show, the more money you needed. You were shooting with film, editing wasn’t initially digital. This took work.

But! If you succeeded in making something that people fell in love with, you could sell it to them over and over and over again. So that initial, expensive investment? It gets paid back, many, many times over. If a new piece of IP really worked, it could pay you back for decades.

So how do you sell it to people? Back then, there’s no streaming platform to work this out for you. All you’ve got is broadcast television television stations. They’ll sell ads against your content to make money, they’ll use the money to pay you for rights to the content.

The golden ticket for your television IP was simple: reach 100 episodes. If you hit 100 episodes, you can sell the show for stations to air every afternoon. With 100 episodes, you can be on every weekday for five weeks without repeating. This was seen as the threshold for viable re-run revenue.

So that was the entire game.

Make 25 episodes every year. Stay on the air at least four years. Whatever your annual budget, you need to spread it out over a lot of shows.

These fucking people. 236 episodes of this playing multiple times a day in every single US market must have been a cash cow.

Not only that, every episode had to be self-contained. This model evolved at a time without streaming, and where recording shows was cumbersome. It wasn’t a guarantee that any given audience member had seen the episode played a week before. And if they felt lost, they’d tune out, along with your ad revenue.

So the economics conspired to make the average television series highly uniform, episodically self-contained and copious in volume.

Except where it didn’t.


Over at HBO, economics worked differently. As cable and satellite penetration increased, HBO found a niche selling access to content. Pay cable was the original streaming service. Tack a few extra dollars onto your monthly cable bill, you get access to premium movies without leaving your house.

HBO’s The Larry Sanders Show. They said “fuck” a lot.

But you can get movies anywhere. So HBO added something unique: original TV shows. For HBO, money was coming directly from subscribers, rather than ads. They didn’t want to re-distribute to anyone else, either. It was their differentiator. No need to rush to 100 episodes.

So instead, seasons were short. 8-13 episodes. Quality over quantity.

But this was anomalous. An exception to the rule.

Until AMC was on the brink.

The Prestige Explosion

If you’re my age and grew up with cable, you remember flipping past the bizarre edifice of American Movie Classics. They were continually playing black and white movies in weird aspect ratios, completely irrelevant to our cultural frame of reference.

This was a problem because eventually people my age developed favorable advertising demographics. Cable operators didn’t want to continue paying fees to include AMC in the basic cable lineup if a big proportion of their viewers were skipping it. The loss of revenue for AMC in this case would have been lethal. They needed to create immediate relevance.

So they started funding shows on the HBO model. Quality over quantity. Compelling enough that you needed to see what happened next season.

The result: an army of loyal consumers who would arrive at their cable operator’s office with pitchforks if they didn’t get resolution on Don Draper or Walter White. At the same time, the penetration of DVD players made it possible to buy or rent entire seasons of a TV show. You no longer needed to sell 100 episodes to a TV station. You could sell 30 episodes to individuals.

Picard’s transformation

Today, a lot of TV gets made according to this model. Streaming services have proliferated and they have the same sticky subscriber goals of AMC or HBO. Give you something unique, keep you coming back.

While Jean-Luc Picard has changed in the 20 years since we last saw him, television has changed even more. Here is the science experiment:

What happens when a shared narrative framework born to the old economics of television is reanimated, with full continuity, into the modern style of TV production? The change has unnerved some folks who were used to the old way of making these stories.

People can say fuck sometimes

Shit you not, people are complaining that there’s cursing in this series. Star Trek: The Next Generation had to be sold into re-runs to play in the afternoons and evenings when kids were at home. If they’d tried to slip anything racy into the dialogue, the advertising prospects get complicated. Better to keep things clean and presentable for all hours. To say nothing about the prudish FCC.

Of course, when distributed through the internet, anything goes. You need to opt into a specific stream and it’s assumed that parents have some basic control over the situation.

So on Picard, there’s language sometimes. The medium permits it and it’s hard to believe we lost interest in cursing between now and the 24th century. Besides: thousands of gifs don’t lie. The body language of these characters always implied cursing.

Mood, production design and pacing are different

An episode of TNG races through a story. It has to be self-contained. Things happen, characters do things and resolutions are provided.

Picard has no such rush. It’s a single story, told with the understanding that you are fully capable of watching it in order.

With over 20 episodes to get through each season, it saved time and complexity to keep everyone’s clothing consistent. Same goes for lighting.

Meanwhile, because quantity of episodes isn’t paramount, episodes don’t need to be made on an assembly line of identical sets and costumes. The Next Generation often felt like a televised stage play. Compact scenes in familiar settings featuring a handful of actors, as they hashed through an ethical or philosophical conflict.

By contrast, Picard shows tremendous range of mood and setting. We have everything from action scenes to tender conversations to philosophical arguments. We’ve been to France, to Starfleet Headquarters, to space, to the borderlands, to a Borg cube. We see a variety of clothes on our characters. Uniforms exist at the periphery, in a professional world that’s no longer our focus.

Elite crisis

But perhaps most striking, Picard arrives in a cultural context that is exhausted and disappointed.

Star Trek was always a political animal. Gene Roddenberry discovered that science fiction gave him a cloak for discussing political issues that would be too controversial to broadcast in the late 1960’s. TNG continued this tradition, tackling subjects including civil rights, environmental crises, the nature of war, even technology ethics.

Picard knows it is walking into a messy moment in human history. A moment where many of us have lost faith in our leaders and institutions. A moment where we see millions of people fleeing their homes just to stay alive, while those who are safe look the other way. A moment where it feels our technology is out of our control, and perhaps betraying us to shadowy figures we don’t fully see.

So the story reflects this. To meet its duties in the tradition it’s continuing, Picard has no other option.

Star Trek was always an idea about our best selves

There’s plenty you can critique about Star Trek. Its heteronormativity hasn’t aged well. It’s hard to imagine a future that straight in a present that’s so cheerfully queer.

Its erasure of religion ends up an erasure of many cultures, so we lose some richness in the humans it can represent.

And I could go on. But even if it didn’t always meet its own high standards for creativity and diversity, the intention of Star Trek was clear: help us imagine a better version of ourselves. I would argue it was successful in this.

“There’s a black lady on TV and she ain’t no maid!” — A very young Whoopi Goldberg

If Star Trek is to return in a modern form, many things are subject to change in its style and presentation. But its core responsibility is immutable: show us how our best selves respond to difficult situations.

In this, Picard is meeting its obligations to us head-on. We’re only four episodes in. The quality of its final execution is an open question and certainly subject to critique. It is a truth accepted since the first season of TNG that we are not guaranteed good Star Trek.

What is clear is that Picard wants to address the most pressing issues facing us right now. It wants to fulfill its role as a social imagination stimulant. It wants to support us by showing our best selves dusting themselves off and responding to a crisis of confidence in our leadership and institutions. It wants to show us what it’s like to try again after failing to make a better world.

We could certainly use the help.

Read more

Thread: How “The Measure of a Man” offers modern lessons in technology ethics.