Financial software is often complex by design. Not because money is inherently complicated, but because complexity creates leverage. When systems are hard to understand, people are more likely to defer decisions, accept defaults, and remain dependent on institutions that control that understanding.
The result is software that's harder to use than it needs to be.
Simplicity by design
It's usually easier to make something complicated than it is to make it simple. Adding features, options, and explanations is straightforward. Removing them requires restraint. It requires understanding what actually matters and being confident enough to leave the rest out. In software, simplicity is rarely the result of doing less work - it's the result of doing more.
Below is a simple example of how the same information can be presented in very different ways for different intended audiences. Too often, the design assumes a level of expertise most users don't have.
Order ticket
Level 2
Total return
+--%
Current price
$--.--
Risk level
8/10
Complex tools have their place. In the right context, that level of detail can be useful. For most long-term investors, however, it introduces more noise than insight.
Language and exclusion
Personal finance adds another layer to this problem: language. The space is filled with jargon and insider terminology that assumes prior knowledge. If you already know the language, it feels efficient. If you don't, it feels alienating. Confusion is often framed as a personal failure rather than a design one.
Below are a few common examples.
| Term | What it actually means |
|---|---|
| Asset allocation | How your money is split across different types of investments |
| Risk-adjusted return | How much return you get relative to how much risk you take |
| Volatility | How much prices move up and down over time |
| Expense ratio (MER) | The yearly fee you pay to own a fund, often deducted quietly |
| Benchmark | The thing your investment is being compared against |
| Rebalancing | Adjusting your investments back to a target mix |
| Drawdown | How much an investment falls from its highest point |
None of these ideas are especially complex. What makes them intimidating is how rarely they're explained in plain language, or tied back to the decisions people are actually trying to make.
Defaults shape outcomes
For many people, investing starts at the same place their chequing account does: their bank. Not because they've compared options, but because it's familiar, already set up, and presented as the default.
Once money is invested there, the details rarely get questioned. Fees are embedded in fund names, buried in documents, or deducted quietly in the background. Without clear points of comparison, it's easy to assume this is just "how investing works." Switching feels risky, even when the costs are higher than necessary.
Over time, convenience turns into commitment. People stay not because the option is best, but because it's already in place. The default becomes the decision.
To make this concrete, the comparison below shows two common paths people take when investing. On one side is a low-cost index fund, like VEQT, which passively tracks global markets and charges a small annual fee. On the other is a typical actively managed mutual fund, often recommended by banks, which charges a higher fee for management and distribution.
Both invest in similar markets. The difference is how much is quietly taken out along the way.
Fees add up
7% return · $500/month invested
Low cost index fund
0.21% MER$561,108.61
Fees paid $12,231.23
Typical mutual fund
2.00% MER$400,475.68
Fees paid $91,703.40
This is one of the reasons I'm building Nest. Not to tell people where to invest, or to replace their brokerage, but to make what they already own easier to see and understand. The institution doesn't have to change for clarity to improve.
When information is simple and comparable, defaults lose some of their power. People don't need to act differently - they just need to be able to see what's already happening.
The human side
Financial tools are often built as if everyone starts from the same place. In reality, people bring very different levels of understanding and confidence. Designing only for the most informed users turns access to clarity into a privilege.
Understanding money shouldn't be a prerequisite you're expected to meet before you're allowed to participate. Everyone deserves access to clear, usable financial knowledge, regardless of background, education, or starting point.
This is why I think simplicity in financial software is a form of empathy. Simple doesn't mean shallow or underpowered. It means fewer decisions, clearer defaults, and information presented when it's actually useful. It means respecting the user's time, attention, and mental energy.
This mindset shapes how I think about building financial products. When something feels complicated, I try to ask whether the complexity is necessary or just convenient for the system. The goal isn't to remove all complexity, but to make sure it's earned.
Simple software makes better decisions easier.