The internet is full of writing advice, most of it sounding like a teacher trying to get you to behave.

Keep it short. Make it scannable. Use simple language. Don’t make people think.

You’ve heard this, maybe even internalised it. People have no attention span, right? If your writing isn’t bite-sized, brainless, and digestible in 0.3 seconds, they’re gone.

Except… have you looked around?

People are listening to three-hour podcast interviews on microbial gut diversity.

They’re reading long-form Substack essays about the ethics of AI in criminal sentencing.

They’re neck deep in a 2000-word Mad Men Reddit thread at 10pm standing in front of their conspiracy board tracing red strings between Pete Campbell’s receding hairline and the collapse of mid-century masculinity (ok, maybe that one was just me).

But I know exactly why I do it.

When something makes me think, it nudges my brain into connection mode. I’m spotting patterns, drawing conclusions, feeling like I cracked something that no one else did, even though I’m just piecing together theories other people already put online.

Clearly, the issue isn’t attention span, it’s attention allocation.

People don’t have a problem with complexity. They have a problem with friction, with content that feels like effort without payoff. They’re not skipping long-form essays because they’re dumb. They’re skipping them because most aren’t worth their time.

Why people actually do like complexity.

We are GLUTTONS for a good mental challenge. Not in a what-is-this-nonsense kind of way, but in a this-feels-like-a-mystery-I-just-have-to-crack way.

Psychologists call this cognitive bias IKEA Effect, which is just a fancy way of saying we love things more when we suffer for them. That’s why that wobbly chipboard desk with a missing screw you spent two hours assembling feels way more yours than any pre-built version you could’ve just bought. It’s not just badly built furniture, it’s a monument to your perseverance.

And the same thing happens with ideas.

Nike doesn’t tell you what to do. Apple doesn’t tell you how to think. Instead, they hand you an unfinished puzzle, one that your brain has to complete.

Got Milk?
Just Do It.
Think Different.

Even what happens in vegas, stays in vegas taps into this. It doesn’t tell you what happens, it dares you to imagine it. Nothing hijacks the brain faster than the feeling that you’re missing out on something forbidden that everyone else is in on.

The best ideas stick in people’s heads because they make the audience do something. When people feel like they’ve ‘built’ an idea themselves, they own it. They remember it. They share it. They make it part of their identity.

The best thinkers don’t over-explain, or strip their ideas down. Instead, they structure their thinking so that understanding feels inevitable because it’s been made irresistible.

Audiences don’t (always, lol) want to passively consume old information; they want to engage with content that challenges them, makes them think, and rewards them for following along.

People don’t hate complexity. If it’s done right, complexity teases the brain, sparks curiosity, and rewards engagement.

It invites them into the club. It creates tension, intrigue, and the irresistible pull of what am I missing?

BUT complex ideas must also deliver.

They must offer a moment of clarity so satisfying that the struggle to get there feels worth it.

So please, please, don’t patronise your audience. No need to dumb down your lovely ideas. Respect their effort, and never let them leave them empty-handed.

The science of why smart content sticks.

Ever notice how some ideas just click? Like, you read them once, and boom, they make sense, they stick, they feel almost… obvious? That’s cognitive fluency, baby.

Psychologists say people like things that feel easy to process. Feel easy. Not are easy.

This is where most people get it wrong. The best communicators don’t dumb things down, they make them clear. They guide your brain through complexity so smoothly that you don’t even realise you’re being led. They hit that sweet spot of ‘optimal difficulty’ where something is just challenging enough to be rewarding, but not so complicated that it makes you want to throw your laptop out the window.

Think of the best book you’ve read. It didn’t just dump facts on you like a history teacher. It had rhythm, structure, energy. It made you feel smart to keep up.

That’s what great writing does. It doesn’t flatten depth, it designs it.

Why most content gets this wrong.

You’ve seen the corporate LinkedIn jargon. The try-hard, buzzword-stuffed nonsense.

’Effective communication requires distilling intricate concepts into digestible insights that maximize engagement without sacrificing intellectual depth.’

Lordddd, I feel ill.

Bad content is predictable, forgettable, and usually hiding behind minimalism in a desperate attempt to hold attention. But great content does the opposite, it challenges you. It respects you. It correctly assumes you have a big juicy brain.

How is this?

‘Great writing makes complex ideas feel effortless. The best communicators don’t dumb things down, they structure ideas so they click. Complexity isn’t the enemy. Confusion is. If an idea doesn’t land, the problem isn’t depth. It’s delivery. Intriguing writers don’t serve conclusions fully formed; they lay the groundwork that lets the reader connect the pieces. Because an insight you assemble yourself is more than understood, it’s remembered, internalised and owned.’

The same message as the first one. But it’s easy, natural, and flows. It actually does something, it pulls you in. It evidences cognitive engagement, intellectual tension, and self-discovery. Hell, it could be shorter, but it’s easy to read, like falling down a slippery slide.

The trick to writing for smart readers.

People don’t share content because it’s short. They share it because it makes them feel something.

Because it challenged an assumption.
Because it put words to a feeling they’ve had for years.
Because it made them sound insightful in the group chat.

This is why audiences return to thinkers who make them work just the right amount. When you respect your reader’s intelligence, when you make them feel smart for engaging with your ideas, they’ll give you their attention.

And attention isn’t something you demand. It’s something you earn.

how your audience feels reading your clever posts

The internet needs less fluff, more depth.

For years, we’ve been told that people won’t sit through long content. That attention spans are shrinking. That everything has to be short, punchy, and dumbed down for scrolling.

But the evidence says otherwise.

People aren’t running from complexity. They’re running from bad content.

This should change the way you write. The way you market. The way you earn attention in a world that’s constantly yelling for it.

The best content doesn’t pander. It pulls people in. It rewards curiosity. It respects intelligence.

And that’s the content people return to.

Because the internet isn’t making people dumber.

But treating them like they are?

That might.

TL;DR

People don’t hate complexity, they hate friction. Long content isn’t the problem; bad content is. If something is engaging, people will stick with it.
Great writing isn’t about dumbing things down, it’s about making them click. Complexity isn’t the enemy; confusion is. Clarity and structure make ideas irresistible.
Make people feel smart for engaging with your ideas. If readers build the insight themselves, they value it more, remember it, and share it.

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