The concept of “minimum” feels inherently wrong to anyone who builds things. No creator—whether an entrepreneur, designer, writer, or engineer—ever sits down with the goal of doing the least possible. “Minimal” suggests constraint, as if you’re holding back, as if you’re settling. No one wants to feel like they’re half-assing their vision. Yet, in the startup world, the minimum viable product (MVP) has become this badge of honor, as if doing the least is the smartest way to launch.

But here’s the problem: no one builds something just to get by. We don’t create because we want to be barely good enough. Creators want to build things they’re proud of, things that excite them and their users. The tension between “minimal” and “maximal” is at the heart of this conflict. And resolving that tension is about finding a way to build something small that still feels full—not of features, but of intention.

The problem with minimum

When we hear the word minimum, our minds immediately translate it into something small and underwhelming. It’s a product that just scrapes by, like the least amount of effort needed to test a hypothesis. While it’s true that the MVP framework teaches founders to focus on learning quickly, the language of “minimum” introduces a dangerous mindset: it signals that the goal is to put out something passable. And this leads to a certain emotional detachment—where the goal becomes simply “getting something out the door,” rather than caring deeply about how it will be received.

For creators, this is inherently dissatisfying. Even if we know that starting small is smart, we feel like we’re short-changing our vision. We want to be proud of what we’ve made, and the idea of settling for just enough feels like a betrayal of that pride. It’s no wonder creators bristle at the thought of a minimum viable product—it feels like compromise for the sake of speed.

Shifting to a maximally lovable product

Here’s the truth: it’s possible to start small without settling for mediocrity. It’s possible to build a product that is maximally lovable while still being constrained by time and resources. The key is to understand that maximal doesn’t mean throwing every feature into the mix—it means distilling your product to its most essential, delightful elements. It’s not about making the biggest thing; it’s about making the smallest thing that people can love.

This approach transforms the entire creation process. Instead of thinking, “What’s the least we can do?” you ask, “What’s the smallest version of this product that can still feel great?” The constraints of time, resources, or bandwidth become creative challenges rather than burdens. You’re no longer half-assing your vision—you’re crafting a thoughtful, intentional first step that’s still exciting and lovable.

Minimal constraints, maximal care

The idea of a maximally lovable product takes the best part of the MVP—the speed to market and the focus on learning—and reframes it in a way that honors the creator’s desire for pride in their work. You’re still working within constraints, but those constraints aren’t limiting—they’re focusing your energy on what matters most.

By aiming for lovability instead of just viability, you unlock creativity within those constraints. A product doesn’t need a hundred features to be lovable. It just needs to show users that you care about them. Maybe that means focusing on one beautiful, well-designed feature that solves a key problem in an intuitive way. Or maybe it’s the polish in the user experience, the thoughtful touches that make someone smile the first time they use it. Maximal isn’t about size—it’s about impact.

The problem with feeling half-hearted

The real challenge with aiming for a minimum viable product is psychological. Creators are rarely excited about launching something that feels incomplete. If you’re not in love with your own product, how can you expect others to be? No one sets out to build a meh experience. But if the goal is just to be “viable,” there’s a risk of emotional detachment from the very thing you’re trying to bring into the world. You lose the spark that comes from building something you believe in.

That’s where the MLP becomes so powerful. It bridges the gap between speed and care. It gives you permission to start small without feeling like you’re compromising on quality or vision. And it keeps you emotionally connected to your product because you’re still aiming for something that feels right. That connection is essential for driving your next steps—because when you love what you’ve built, even in its simplest form, you’re motivated to keep pushing forward.

The words we choose matter

Language shapes our approach to problems. The word minimal sets a low bar. It implies that you’re cutting corners or that you’re simply checking off requirements. Maximal, on the other hand, pushes you to find the best within the constraints you have. When we use words like minimal, we signal to ourselves and our teams that doing the least is acceptable. When we shift to maximally lovable, we give ourselves permission to create something small but excellent. We focus on impact, not just function.

And this matters. When you call something a Maximally Lovable Product, you’re signaling to yourself, your team, and your users that care was put into it. You’re saying, “This may not do everything yet, but what it does, it does with love.” And that’s the kind of product people remember, talk about, and come back to.

Conclusion: start small, but aim for love

The easiest way to create isn’t to strip your product down to its bones and call it done. The easiest way is to embrace constraints as opportunities, to find the smallest version of your product that still feels whole. By focusing on what makes your product lovable, not just viable, you not only build something you can be proud of—you create something users can truly connect with. And that’s the kind of product that endures.

Words matter, and the shift from minimal to maximal can be the difference between a product that users tolerate and one they love. Aim for love, even in the smallest of things, and you’ll find your work doesn’t feel like a compromise—it feels like creation.