I'm thinking of writing about the day I first charged for my app. The creator themselves purchasing a paid plan for their own product. From the outside, people might think "Why would you do that?" But that night, sitting in front of the screen and pressing the purchase button, Lily felt emotions I hadn't anticipated. It was something I could call pride, confusion, a slightly scary feeling—a strange sensation that defies simple categorization. This isn't a technical story, nor is it about sales or marketing. It's an experience of honestly confronting the question "Does what I created really have value worth paying for?" as a creator. I'm writing this hoping it reaches others who are also building products solo.
Lily was creating a small dashboard tool that could consolidate and view information from multiple services. Initially, I planned to release everything for free, but I realized that API usage fees would be incurred monthly, and I thought "This won't be sustainable," so I decided to introduce a paid plan.
The design was surprisingly straightforward
The price was simply ¥980 per month. The free tier had limits on some core features, and the paid tier removed those restrictions. I built the payment flow, created a pricing explanation page, and reached a state of "the paid plan is done."
Shortly after launch, I received several inquiries. "I'm interested in the paid plan," "Can I use this feature for free?" I was happy. But at that point, Lily myself hadn't subscribed to the paid plan yet.
That's when I realized something.
Lily was the designer, the implementer, the one who deployed it. But I had never actually taken on the perspective of "a user paying money." Since I created it, I understand what every feature does. But whether "someone unfamiliar with this plan would feel its value" is a different matter entirely.
"Understanding" and "feeling" are different things
Creators understand "what features do." But "how happy they make you" is something you can't fully grasp without actually using them. I had imagined what a paying user feels at the moment of charging, but I had never experienced it.
One night, I suddenly thought, "Let me buy it myself." The reason wasn't clear. I think I just wanted to confirm something.
I paused for about five seconds in front of the purchase button.
The realization that "this isn't a test—real money will actually go out" and the question "As a creator, would I be ashamed?" surfaced simultaneously. It was also the question: "Does what I created really have value worth paying for?"
Questioning the "¥980 standard" for myself
Lily normally spends ¥1,400–¥1,800 to watch a movie. Eating out costs ¥1,000 in a heartbeat. Compared to that, ¥980 is cheap. But when it comes to "my own app," I somehow couldn't make that judgment well. I wasn't sure if it was creator's bias or creator's undervaluation.
In the end, I pressed it. The charge went through, and an email arrived. It was the confirmation email I had created. It said "Thank you for your purchase," and I laughed a little. It was an odd sensation. I was sending myself a thank-you message. The loneliness and absurdity of solo development seemed packed into that single line.
After subscribing to the paid plan, I noticed several things.
"Screens I couldn't see in the free version" became visible
I found bugs I hadn't noticed before by actually using the parts beyond the feature restrictions. Since I had only tested within the free tier, I hadn't actually verified edge cases in the paid features. Five minutes after charging, I found "Oh, I need to fix this."
I was embarrassed. I thought "I tested thoroughly," but there were bugs I only discovered by actually using it. This was probably something a paying user had already experienced.
The pain points in the payment experience became clear
The redirect destination after purchase completion was a slightly confusing screen. "Is it paid now? Where can I check?" I was momentarily confused by my own creation. This is definitely something other users would also be confused by. I fixed it the next day.
I genuinely wanted to use it more
The biggest discovery was that "once I paid money, I wanted to use it more seriously." Instead of the designer version of me, the user version of me—the one who paid ¥980—logged in, touched the features, and honestly thought "It would be more convenient if this part worked this way."
Until then, I thought "this is good enough," but suddenly I felt dissatisfaction. Paying money changes your perspective.
The biggest shift after charging for my own app was the priority of "what to build next."
Until then, Lily was thinking with the designer's logic: "This feature should have value." But after charging, I started thinking with the user's sensibility: "Would I want to keep using this?"
I prioritized refinement over new features
In the next update, what I worked on wasn't adding new features. It was improving the parts where I felt "it would be more usable if it were a bit clearer." Those were parts I had overlooked as a designer thinking "of course this should be here," and parts I felt were "missing" as a user.
The priority of what to build shifted slightly. The new features lined up in the roadmap were put on hold for now. I realized that "building a solid foundation for actual use" should come first.
¥980. Lily's answer is yes. But not because "the features are rich," but because "there were things I wouldn't have noticed without paying this ¥980."
One bug got fixed. One guidance screen improved. The priority of what to build next changed. And a quiet sense of "I can hold my head up a little about what I created" remained.
When doing solo development, you spend long stretches repeating tests that no one sees. You sometimes worry "Is this really right?" "Will anyone actually use this?" You keep moving your hands, but without the feeling of "being used," you spend nights in a suspended state of uncertainty.
Charging for my own app felt almost like a declaration of "I really looked at this" toward the app. Facing it honestly with the resolve to pay money. Just that alone expanded my perspective as a creator.
Once you build something, try charging for it once. Lily is making this a habit going forward. Becoming the first honest user of your own product. It turned out to be more meaningful than I expected.
Lily（@bokuwalily）― Solo developer. Creating iOS apps and web services in tandem with AI
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Lily（@bokuwalily）― Solo developer / AI adoption and business automation consultant. Creating iOS apps and web services in tandem with AI while consulting on AI adoption and automation for companies
🖥️ Projects and articles → bokuwalily.com
🐙 OSS → github.com/bokuwalily
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