I still vividly remember the day I created the app icon. For the months leading up to that, I had been writing code little by little every night. It would start up and work properly. Data could be saved. I had assembled most of the features I wanted. But something always felt vague and uncertain. There was always this nagging sense: "Is this really an app?" That changed the moment I created an icon and placed it on my home screen. As I gazed at that small square, I thought for the first time: "Oh, I actually made something." In that moment, a jumble of code transformed into "my own product." This article is about that experience.
When I first started developing, I didn't think about icons at all.
When you create a new project in Xcode, it sets a white icon by default. A plain white square with a thin gray border—nothing else. This was my app's "face" for months. Whether I was running it in the simulator or testing on a real device, that white icon was always there.
Features kept increasing. The design gradually improved. But every time I looked at the home screen with that white icon, I felt a persistent sense of "this isn't finished yet." I found it strange myself. It was working properly, so why did it feel so unreal?
The misconception that "if the features are complete, it's done"
When you're developing, it's easy to think "if it works, that's good enough." At least, that's what I thought.
Users interact with features, not icons. Content matters more than appearance. That way of thinking had somehow seeped into me. So the icon was way down on my "I'll do this eventually" list.
But looking back now, I think I was a bit wrong. Features might be the "tool" part, but an icon is the "existence" part. No matter how many tools you have, if there's no name, you can't call it anything. Without a face, you don't know "who" it is. The app with the white icon had features, but it hadn't yet "become someone."
One day, I finally got around to trying to make an icon.
I searched online for how to do it. I opened a design tool and created a canvas with the specified dimensions. From there, I couldn't move forward at all.
I didn't know what to draw
I moved my cursor around the screen aimlessly, and 30 minutes had passed before I knew it.
I'd draw a circle. It didn't feel right. I'd add text. It looked tacky. I'd apply a gradient. It looked somewhat decent, but it lacked "my own touch." I'd delete it. Draw a circle again—the cycle repeated.
An icon is such a small image, yet it felt like I had to pour the entire app into it. The pressure was immense. This would be its face. This would be the first impression. That pressure kept my hand from moving.
Eventually, I closed the tool without finishing anything that day. I felt a bit discouraged, thinking "Maybe I just don't have the design sense for this."
Getting lost by collecting too many references
My next attempt was the "let's gather lots of references" strategy.
I spent time staring at design inspiration sites and App Store icons, collecting ones I liked. But before I knew it, there were too many things I liked, and I'd lost sight of what I actually wanted to create.
I think gathering references is important. But if you gather too many, you start wanting to imitate them. Or you begin to feel that everything looks so good that "I could never do that." In my case, it was the latter.
The situation changed when I stopped thinking about the icon and started thinking about something else.
"What is this app for?"
To begin with, I started making it because I was struggling with something myself. I wanted to record little things every day, but existing apps were all too feature-rich and exhausting. I wanted something simpler, quieter, something I could sustain.
When I remembered that, I felt like I could see a hint for the icon.
Thinking in terms of "what feeling should the user have" rather than "what should it do"
I tried thinking from the angle of "what feeling do I want people to have when they use this app?"
Quiet, calm, something you can do every day. Not cluttered, something that doesn't feel burdensome to pick up. Those kinds of words came to mind.
From there, the image for the icon gradually took shape. Don't use flashy colors. Keep the silhouette simple rather than complex. Use one or two colors. Don't be afraid of white space. These principles naturally emerged.
When I looked back at the reference images I'd collected, I realized that everything I'd found appealing was actually simple with lots of white space. When I noticed that, my hands finally started moving.
Once I had a direction, things moved surprisingly quickly.
A calm blue-gray background with a single small motif. No text. That's it.
I created the shape in the tool, colored it, and exported it. I loaded it into the development environment and transferred it to my device—
My app's icon appeared on the home screen.
My honest feelings in that moment
It's a bit difficult to put into words, but I thought: "Oh, it's real now."
On the iPhone home screen alongside other apps, the same size, placed the same way. My frequently-used app, the weather app, and my app, lined up side by side. That sight somehow touched my heart.
The feeling of "something in development" that I'd had all along transformed into "a product I created" in that moment. I was surprised that a single small image—an icon—could accomplish that.
When I'm writing code, the feeling is more like "solving a problem." Fixing bugs, implementing features, eliminating errors. That certainly gives a sense of accomplishment, but it feels more like solving a puzzle—not quite the same as the feeling of "creating something." But when I made the icon, for the first time, I felt: "I brought something into existence."
After adding the icon, my approach to development shifted slightly.
First, I wanted to take screenshots. I wanted to capture that image of my app on my home screen. Not to show anyone, just as a record. Strangely, that led to the feeling "I want to keep going."
Second, it became easier to talk about it with others. Before, when I said "I'm making an app," I didn't know what to show. But with an icon, I could show my home screen and say "this." That small thing greatly increased its "presence" in my mind.
How to face "it's still not finished"
Of course, adding an icon didn't mean the app was complete.
There were still screens I wanted to fix. Features I wanted to add. Plenty to do before release. That didn't change. But my feelings about that "incompleteness" changed before and after adding the icon.
Before the icon, "still not finished" had a somewhat negative ring to it. "Still not good," "still can't show it," "still not proper." But after adding the icon, "still not finished" felt closer to "still nurturing it." Like I was continuing to polish something that already existed.
The same incompleteness, yet how different the feeling is depending on whether there's already a foundation of "it exists"—I gradually realized this.
When you're doing personal development, it's easy to fall into the mindset of "publish when it's complete," "show it when it's perfect." I was like that for a long time.
But from the experience of making an icon, I think "making it exist" and "completing it" might be different things. Completion can be far away. But giving your product a face, giving it a name, putting it on your home screen—these acts of "making it exist" can happen sooner than you think, and they matter far more than you'd expect.
The app works with a white icon. But something changed the moment I added an icon. At least for me, that small square gave me the real feeling that "I am a creator."
If you're still putting off making an icon, try making one a little bit today. It doesn't have to be perfect. You can change it later. Just put it on your home screen first—I think that alone will change something.
Lily (@bokuwalily) — Individual developer. Making iOS apps and web services in tandem with AI.
