I Got 20 Angry Texts at 7 AM. Blame This App Redesign.
A couple of weeks ago, I woke up to a storm of messages from friends who share my BodyFit credentials (I’ve been on it for over 12 years — it’s the OG fitness app by Bodybuilding.com). Yes, about twenty of them, because I wanted everyone to try it. Their frantic texts flooded my WhatsApp:
“Dude, why’s the interface so different? 😖”
“Where did my workout programs go? What did you do? 🤬”
“I can’t find anything — help! 😭”
I was caught somewhere between chuckling at their panic and feeling genuinely concerned. Little did I know, this mild chaos would remind me just how messy learning curves can be for devoted users — and how that’s both terrifying and exciting as a product designer.
See, BodyFit recently launched a dramatic UI overhaul. As someone who practically lived in the old version (and roped two dozen friends into it!), I felt the shock. One moment, you know every nook and cranny; the next, you’re relearning from scratch. And for a lot of folks:
“New? Great… but I liked how it was before. 😰”
That’s the crux of any big redesign: the first reaction often isn’t “Wow, new features! 🤩”
It’s “Wait, where’s that thing I used daily? 🫨”
I’ll be honest: it felt like someone snuck into my apartment overnight and rearranged all the furniture without asking. As a user, that’s jarring, and I totally get the frustration from my friends who just wanted to find their usual workouts. But as a product designer, I know these changes don’t happen on a whim. There’s always research — user data, feedback, a need to keep the product fresh and efficient. Problem is, when we shift the room around, we sometimes forget the people who’ve already grown comfy in the old layout. Humans innately hate learning curves.
It reminds me of how the world moved from horses to cars. If you’d asked folks back then what they wanted, they’d have said “faster horses,” because that’s all they knew. Cars were a massive leap — suddenly you needed roads, traffic laws, driving lessons, licenses — so many hurdles. Yet the payoff was huge: people could travel way faster, safer from the elements, and eventually, it completely transformed how we get around. Compare that to physical keyboards — we’ve stuck with QWERTY for decades because any improvement hasn’t been earth-shattering enough to justify retraining billions of us. It’s all about weighing the cost of learning against the value of innovation.
As product makers, we often find ourselves balancing innovation and intuition. The outcome of that balance is the learning curve. BodyFit’s redesign was a prime example — some people discovered cool new guided workouts and a sleeker UI, while others were stuck whining, “But where’s that thing I used daily?”
If there’s one thing I’ve learned from all this, it’s that learning curves are pretty much guaranteed whenever we truly innovate. In a world where people once ordered takeout by calling a number off a pamphlet, we now expect to tap an app and have food on our doorstep in minutes. That’s a huge leap — one we’ve mostly embraced because the value outweighs the inconvenience of figuring out a new process.
That’s why empathy matters: when we change the world, even a little, we owe our users clear value, friendly guidance, and reassurance. We can’t just stop innovating because people are momentarily uncomfortable; we just have to do it thoughtfully, showing them the bigger picture so they know their relearning is worth the payoff.
And yes, sometimes the first one through the wall is the one who gets bruised. But that’s how breakthroughs happen — either you do it for everyone else, or your competitor does it first and you scramble to catch up. If you’re a designer, knowing your audience and carefully balancing “familiar” vs. “new” can help you stay ahead of that curve without leaving anyone behind.
So sure, we might grumble about new layouts or features, but eventually, we tend to appreciate the leap — if it’s done right.
After all, if we never tried anything new, we’d still be riding horses.
*ping!* another angry text
