Look, I get it. You write beautiful code. Pristine, really. So elegant that angels sing when they compile it. You gave your variables meaningful names, broke things into neat functions, and even threw in a unit test or two. You’re convinced the code should be obvious to anyone who reads it. After all, “good code is self-documenting,” no?
Nope. Dead wrong. Your code isn’t some mystical scroll that speaks its secrets aloud. It’s more like a cryptic novel missing half its pages. And every time someone new tries to read it, they’re cursing your name under their breath. Think I’m exaggerating? Let’s talk about what really happens when you buy into the self-documenting code delusion.
Let me guess. You think your code is so crystal-clear that it doesn’t need documentation at all.
Comments? Nah, that’s for people who don’t know how to read code.
READMEs? Too much effort.
Architecture diagrams? Huh, you’ll just “see it in the repo,” right?
Some devs wear that attitude like a badge of honor, proudly proclaiming their code “speaks for itself.”
Oh, it speaks for itself? Fabulous! I’d love to meet the code that explains the business logic quirks, the deployment gotchas, and the hidden API contracts all on its own. Does it also make coffee?
Jokes aside, believing code alone is enough is like believing a novel doesn’t need a synopsis because “the story tells itself.” Sure, the information is there, but good luck understanding it quickly or correctly without some guidance. Unless you have psychic powers, reading raw code to glean the intent and context is a slow, painful slog. Yes, even if it’s your code, especially six months from now when you’ve slept a few hundred times and your brain has conveniently purged the details. Trust me, your future self will look at your once-“obvious” code and go, “What the hell was I thinking here?”
Let’s be clear, self-documenting code is a nice ideal to strive for (please do write readable code!), but it’s not a replacement for actual documentation. It doesn’t matter how “clean” or “elegant” the logic is if the poor soul maintaining it has no clue why it exists or how it’s supposed to interact with the rest of the system. Without written docs, your code is a silent film, not the fun Charlie Chaplin kind, but the confusing kind where everyone wishes there were subtitles.
Still not convinced that code alone isn’t enough? Fine. Let’s look at the wreckage left behind by teams that skip documentation:
Ever watched a new developer struggle to join a project with zero docs? It’s like handing them a jigsaw puzzle with no box image and a few pieces missing for good measure. Day 1, they’re poking around file structures wondering how to even run the app. Day 5, they’re neck-deep in function calls, with that dazed look of someone who’s been lost in a cave for weeks. Every question they ask gets the answer, “Oh yeah, check that part of the code,” and around they go in circles. Welcome to the team, hope you enjoy deciphering hieroglyphics! Forget ramping up in a week. Without docs, onboarding is an exercise in slow, soul-crushing despair.
Imagine another team or a third-party developer tries to integrate with your system. The API has no docs because, hey, the endpoints are super intuitive (to you, anyway). Fast forward to the inevitable disaster. They call the APIs wrong, send data in a format your code didn’t expect, and everything breaks. Or maybe they give up entirely after hours of guesswork and half-baked experiments. Broken integrations and frustrated partners are the legacy of “code is the only documentation you need.” If you enjoy frantic phone calls and last-minute fire drills, by all means, keep relying on your self-explanatory code. The rest of us will be over here RTFM-ing… if only there was an FM to read.
In the land of undocumented code, the one-eyed king is the developer who wrote it (or the one who somehow absorbed its lore through osmosis). Everyone else has to beg this person for insight whenever something goes wrong. Congrats, you’ve created a knowledge silo so tall it might as well have a NO TRESSPASSING sign. If that “indispensable” developer leaves or even takes a vacation, your team is screwed. The code isn’t telling anyone anything, and now nobody knows how that critical module works or why it was built that way. You’ve effectively turned your project into a haunted house of secrets where only the original ghost—er, developer, knows where the traps are. Good luck with that.
And those are just the headline horrors. Undocumented code also means repeated mistakes (since nobody learns from history, because nobody wrote it down), endless “figure it out yourself” scavenger hunts, and a general slowing of progress to a crawl. It’s an invisible tax on every future developer who touches that code, one that you imposed because you couldn’t be bothered to write a few damn paragraphs.
Now, I can already hear the excuses whizzing in:
Let’s cut through the crap, these excuses are just that, excuses. Writing docs isn’t glamorous, and it’s rarely anyone’s favorite part of the job, but it is part of the job. If you think saving a few hours by skipping documentation is smart, wait until you spend 30 hours dealing with fallout from an avoidable misunderstanding. Skipping documentation is a prime example of being penny-wise and pound-foolish (or, in developer terms, saving minutes now to lose days later).
Also, please don’t kid yourself that commenting your code or writing a quick README is too much hand-holding. You’re not writing for the compiler or to pad your ego; you’re writing for that next extremely stressed developer who has to work with this stuff. Sometimes, that developer will be you, months or years down the line, staring at your own code like it’s written in alien gibberish. Do your future self a favor and leave a trail of breadcrumbs, huh?
Alright, deep breaths. Let’s say you’re fired up (or at least mildly terrified) now and ready to do the right thing. How do you approach documentation without feeling like you’re writing War and Peace? The key is adopting a “just-enough” documentation mindset. In other words, you don’t need to write a 500-page spec detailing every trivial variable. Just cover the important stuff in a clear, concise way. Here’s the mindset to cultivate:
Pretend a total stranger (or future you, suffering from convenient amnesia) is going to maintain your code. What would they need to know to make sense of it quickly? What context would save them from pulling their hair out? That’s what you document. It might be a few lines in a README about the module’s purpose, a code comment explaining a non-obvious workaround, or a short design doc outlining the new feature’s intent. You’re not writing a novel; you’re leaving behind a map so the next person doesn’t get lost.
Good documentation isn’t just about spoon-feeding information, it’s about creating a source of truth that shuts down pointless debates. If you clearly document why a decision was made or what a function is supposed to do, you preempt the endless “But I thought it worked this way!” discussions. Fewer heated Slack threads, more alignment. Think of docs as the referee that settles disputes: when questions pop up, you can point at the docs and say, “See? That’s what we agreed on.” It’s not just nice-to-have; it actively lowers the blood pressure of your entire team. You’ve seen those veins popping up during these discussions, haven’t you?
This is more of a habit than a mindset, but it flows from the mindset that docs are essential. Treat a feature or project as incomplete until the documentation is updated alongside the code. It’s not an optional bonus or a chore to procrastinate, it’s a step in the development process. When you adopt this attitude, writing a quick blurb about your new API endpoint or updating the setup instructions becomes just another to-do, not an epic hurdle. And future-you (and your teammates) will silently thank present-you for being so considerate and thorough.
Notice something? None of this is about writing perfect documentation or spending more time writing docs than coding. It’s about doing just enough to save everyone’s sanity. It’s a way of thinking where you value your fellow developers’ time (and your own). It’s realizing that a few minutes of writing now can prevent days of confusion later. It’s about being a responsible coder, not just a code producer.
So next time you catch yourself mumbling, “Eh, the code speaks for itself,” stop. No, it doesn’t. That’s the sound of your laziness talking. Smack it down, open a document (or even the comment box in your code), and write something useful. Describe the why, the how, and the weird edge case that took you three days to figure out. Write the damn docs.
And if you still think your code is so flawless that it doesn’t need documentation? Well, don’t be surprised when your onboarding process feels like a hostage negotiation, your integrations break like clockwork, and your team treats the codebase like a minefield only the “original creator” can navigate. You have the power to fix that right now by jotting down a few honest words about your code. So do it. Spare us all the horror story of yet another brilliant codebase that’s an absolute nightmare to work with. Write. The. Damn. Docs.
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