On the night I released my nth app, I quietly posted an announcement on social media and then collapsed into bed. It wasn't a sense of accomplishment or exhaustion—just the quiet fact that "I'd released another one" sitting in my chest. The trembling nervousness I'd felt when releasing my first app had disappeared somewhere. At the time, I wasn't sure if that was lonely or growth. But looking back now, I think that quietness was a sign that something inside me had changed.
This essay is an account of my experience mass-producing apps. It's not a technical discussion. I want to write about how my thoughts and emotions changed through the act of continuing to create—something a bit more introspective. I hope it reaches even one person who, like me, keeps moving their hands to create.
When I first made an app individually, I decided to "release it only after making it perfect." I wanted to refine the design more, add a few more features, the wording still bothered me, the screenshots didn't look good—for reasons like these, the release date kept getting pushed back.
When something I'd spent three months making ended up being used by almost no one, I was honestly quite depressed. But thinking about it now, the thing that consumed the most time during those three months wasn't "making it" but "finding the courage to release it." I spent more time worrying "Is this okay?" than actually writing code.
Perfectionism Was Actually Self-Defense
Looking back, beneath the feeling of "I want to make it better" was a strong desire to "not fail." If I don't release it, I won't be criticized. If it stays incomplete, I can make excuses like "my actual ability isn't this limited."
I thought perfectionism was about caring for quality, but I think the reality was that it was a clever excuse to avoid facing my fear. Back then, I had no idea about this at all.
The turning point came when I heard a story from another indie developer in an online community. There was someone who was steadily releasing one app per month, and I was genuinely surprised by that approach.
"I don't think there's meaning in prioritizing quantity over quality. But you can't understand anything unless you release it."
That one sentence hit me. I had always been trying to "understand" before releasing. Whether someone would want to use it, what features were needed, how the design should be—I was trying to find all the right answers before releasing. But in reality, you can't understand anything until you release it. No matter how much you simulate in your head, it can't compete with actual contact with real users.
From that realization, I switched to a policy of "just release it." Of course, I didn't fully commit from the start—the first few releases still made me nervous. But with each app I released, that nervousness gradually faded.
1. Decision-Making Became Faster
As I released five, ten apps, my decision-making speed increased. Questions like "Should I include this feature or not?" or "Should I go with this design or redo it?"—I used to spend one or two days worrying about these, but now I can decide in about thirty minutes.
The reason is simple: the criteria for judgment have seeped into my body. As the empirical knowledge that "you won't know until you release it" accumulates, the judgment "let's just release it and see the feedback" becomes natural. I stopped searching for the right answer and got used to testing hypotheses. When the time spent worrying decreases, the number of apps I can make simply increases, creating a good cycle.
2. The Definition of Failure Changed
For the old me, "failure" meant releasing an app that nobody used. But now it's different. A release where I learned nothing is a failure, but even if it gets zero downloads, if there's a learning like "this didn't resonate," then it's not a failure.
This isn't wordplay—my actual sense has changed. Even with bad numbers, analyzing the data and reactions to figure out "why wasn't this used?" has become, how do I put it, fun. It's close to the feeling of solving a puzzle.
Many people say failure is tuition, but I needed to accumulate numbers to feel it in my bones. My head understood it, but my body was afraid. That gradually got resolved through mass production.
3. "What I Actually Want to Make" Became Clear
At first, I was trying to make "things that would be popular." I chased trending categories and referenced other people's apps. But as I kept making things, the difference between themes I was genuinely interested in and themes I was making out of obligation became crystal clear.
Apps made out of obligation lack love in the details. I become reluctant to fix bugs and lose the motivation to add features. On the other hand, apps I made thinking "I actually want this" keep calling me back to tinker with them, even if they're not used.
Through mass production, the outline of what I "want to make" gradually became clearer. I don't think I would have seen this if I'd just kept carefully making one app.
I've written only good things, but I'll be honest—there were difficult periods during mass production.
At one point, I released three apps in a row that were barely used. Downloads were in the single digits, no comments or reviews. Social media announcements got little response. I remember thinking "Maybe this isn't for me" and "Isn't this a waste of time?"
What helped at that time was the community of people who were also continuing to create. When I honestly wrote about things not going well, I got several replies saying "I'm the same way," and somehow I felt relieved. I realized again that I didn't have to hide my failures.
Small Tricks for Continuing
When things were difficult, I realized something: "Never give up until the next release" kind of grit-your-teeth determination doesn't sustain you.
What I started doing was intentionally making the scope of releases smaller. Narrow down features. Minimize design. Decide in advance "if I can do at least this much, I'll release it." That way, the distance to completion gets shorter and it becomes easier to continue.
Also, I reduced how often I checked the numbers. If I checked download counts every day, my mood would be dragged around by the numbers. When I switched to checking only once a week, it got a bit easier. This is mundane, but it really helped.
I've written a lot about what changed, but there are things that didn't.
The desire to "make something good" hasn't changed at all. Even as my speed increased, I can't think "it's okay to be sloppy." The feeling of wanting to carefully consider the experience of the people using it has actually gotten stronger the more I continue mass production. As the number of app releases increases, my resolution improves—I notice things like "I'd drop off at this flow if I were the user" or "this label doesn't communicate its meaning."
And there's that small sense of accomplishment when something is finished. No matter how many apps I make, there's still a little nervousness when I press the release button. I secretly treasure the fact that hasn't gone away.
What I've learned from continuing mass production is that it's tough as long as you're thinking "I want to gain something by releasing an app." Chasing viral success, rushing to monetize, worrying too much about evaluation—none of that is inherently bad, but if that's your only goal, you'll feel like breaking every time things don't work out.
Once I could think "releasing itself is practice, and the goal is to get better at practicing," things got a bit easier. If you want to get better at cooking, you cook every day regardless of whether anyone will eat it. I think it's the same. After you get better, you can create something that makes someone happy.
Quantity changes people. But it doesn't happen overnight. I didn't notice the change until quite a bit later. If you're stuck right now, afraid to release, it's okay if it's not perfect—just release something once.
The first step is always scary. But once you release it, the next one is a little less scary. And then you release again. That repetition, before you know it, has changed you. Continuing to create itself might be the shortest path.
Lily (@bokuwalily) — Indie developer. Making iOS apps and web services in tandem with AI.
