Most developers start projects by creating their first file: main.py, index.html, or app.js. I start with README.md.
This isn't about documentation best practices or making my repositories look professional. It's about forcing myself to think clearly before I write code that thinks for me.
The README-first approach has saved me from countless architectural mistakes, scope creep disasters, and that special kind of technical debt that happens when you're not sure what problem you're actually solving.
The Problem with Code-First Development
Here's what happens when you jump straight into implementation: you start solving for the solution instead of the problem. Your brain gets excited about the technical challenges—the algorithms, the frameworks, the clever abstractions—and loses sight of why any of this matters.
I've watched brilliant developers build technically impressive solutions to problems that didn't exist. They spent weeks perfecting the implementation details of features nobody needed. They optimized for engineering elegance instead of user value.
The code was beautiful. The problem was that the wrong problem was being solved beautifully.
This happens because code is seductive. Once you start writing functions and classes, you feel productive immediately. The compiler gives you instant feedback. Your editor helps you auto-complete. You're in flow state, building something that feels substantial.
But productive and progressive aren't the same thing. You can spend days writing code that moves you further away from a solution that actually works for real people.
README as User Experience Design
When I write a README before touching code, I'm forced to think like a user instead of a developer. I have to explain what the project does and why someone would care—before I get distracted by how it works.
This is harder than it sounds. Most technical ideas that seem obvious in your head become awkward when you try to explain them to someone else. The act of writing exposes gaps in your thinking that code would have hidden.
A good README answers questions that excited developers often skip: What problem does this solve? Who is this for? What does success look like? How will someone know if this is working?
These aren't just documentation questions—they're product questions. And answering them early prevents you from building technically correct solutions to strategically wrong problems.
I learned this lesson the hard way during a side project that consumed six months of evenings and weekends. The code was clean, the tests were comprehensive, and the performance was excellent. The problem was that I'd built a sophisticated solution to a problem I'd imagined instead of researched.
When I finally showed it to potential users, their response wasn't "the API could be better" or "the UI needs work." It was "I don't understand why I would use this." All that beautiful code was solving the wrong problem beautifully.
The Architecture of Clear Thinking
Writing forces you to linearize your thoughts. You can't hand-wave through unclear ideas when you have to explain them in sentences.
When I write "This tool automatically optimizes database queries," I immediately realize I need to define what "optimizes" means, what types of queries it handles, and what "automatically" actually entails. The specificity required for clear writing reveals the specificity required for clear implementation.
This process often uncovers assumptions I didn't know I was making. I thought the problem was obvious, the solution was straightforward, and the implementation would be simple. But writing the README forces me to confront the complexity I was unconsciously avoiding.
The beauty is that this complexity is much easier to resolve in prose than in code. You can rewrite a paragraph in thirty seconds. Refactoring a poorly designed module takes hours.
A good document summarizer can help you distill complex ideas into clear explanations, but the real value comes from the thinking process itself: What am I actually trying to build, and why does it matter?
Test-Driven Documentation
The README-first approach is similar to test-driven development, but for product clarity instead of code correctness. You're writing the specification before the implementation.
Just like TDD forces you to think about your API before you build it, README-first forces you to think about your user experience before you code it. What would the ideal interaction look like? What would make this tool indispensable instead of just clever?
This perspective changes what you build and how you build it. Features that seem essential from a technical perspective often feel unnecessary from a user perspective. Architectural decisions that feel elegant to implement might create friction for the people actually using your code.
When you start with the README, you're constantly asking: Does this complexity serve the user or just the developer? Most technical debt comes from prioritizing developer convenience over user value.
The Economics of Early Clarity
Time spent clarifying the problem in a README saves multiples of that time during development. It's much cheaper to change direction when you're holding a document instead of a codebase.
I estimate that one hour of thoughtful README writing prevents five hours of coding in the wrong direction. The return on investment is massive, but the benefits aren't immediately visible.
This is why most developers skip this step. Writing documentation feels like overhead when you're excited to build something. But coding without clarity is the most expensive overhead of all.
The README also serves as a forcing function for scope management. When you have to explain every feature in plain English, it becomes obvious which ones are actually necessary and which ones are just technically interesting.
Complex READMEs usually indicate complex problems that need to be simplified before they're implemented. If you can't explain it clearly, you probably don't understand it clearly enough to build it reliably.
Documentation as Rubber Duck Debugging
The README-first approach is essentially rubber duck debugging for product design. By explaining your idea to an imaginary user, you often discover flaws in your logic before they become flaws in your code.
Sometimes I'll be writing a usage example and realize that the workflow I'm describing is unnecessarily complicated. Or I'll be explaining a feature and recognize that it's solving a symptom instead of the root cause.
These insights are much easier to act on when they happen in a text editor instead of after you've built the wrong abstraction.
The process also forces you to think about edge cases and error conditions before you encounter them in code. What happens when the input is malformed? How does the user recover from failures? These aren't just implementation details—they're core user experience questions.
A good AI tutor can help you think through these scenarios systematically, but the fundamental practice is about anticipating problems before they become technical debt.
The Signal in the Noise
One of the biggest benefits of README-first development is that it helps you distinguish between essential complexity and accidental complexity. Not all problems are worth solving, and not all solutions are worth the maintenance overhead they create.
When you start with code, it's easy to get attached to clever implementations that don't actually serve the core purpose. You've invested time and mental energy, so you rationalize why that elegant algorithm or sophisticated design pattern is necessary.
But when you start with the README, you're constantly evaluating features against user value instead of implementation effort. If you can't explain why something matters to the person using your code, it probably doesn't matter.
This leads to simpler, more focused solutions. You build exactly what's needed instead of everything that's possible.
The Compound Effect of Clear Communication
Here's what surprised me about adopting README-first development: it improved my code quality even when nobody else read the documentation.
The discipline of explaining my thinking clearly made me think more clearly. Projects with well-written READMs tend to have better APIs, cleaner abstractions, and fewer architectural surprises.
This isn't correlation—it's causation. The practice of writing for users forces you to design for users. When you have to explain how something works, you naturally build things that are easier to explain.
The README also serves as a contract with your future self. Six months later, when you need to modify or extend the code, you'll understand not just what it does but why it exists. Documentation isn't just for other people—it's for the version of yourself that will inherit this code.
The Discipline of Starting Right
README-first development is ultimately about developing the discipline to think before you build. It's about resisting the immediate gratification of writing code in favor of the long-term satisfaction of building something that actually works.
Most developers know they should plan better, but planning feels abstract and coding feels concrete. The README bridges that gap by making planning feel productive.
You're not just thinking—you're creating an artifact that serves the project throughout its lifecycle. The time invested in clarity compounds into better decisions at every subsequent stage.
Start your next project with a README. Before you choose frameworks, before you set up repositories, before you write your first function. Explain what you're building and why it matters.
You might discover that the project isn't worth building. Or you might discover a simpler approach that makes the implementation obvious. Either way, you'll save yourself from the expensive mistake of building the wrong thing beautifully.
The code will come. But clarity has to come first.
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