Enduring darlings
Sometimes “forever” is a myth. Sometimes “forever” becomes real.
I’ve been sitting with this question for a while… How do we create things that are both loved and enduring. Darlings that don’t just flare up and fade away? At first blush the two goals seem aligned. If something is cherished affection might carry it far into the future.
But you and I know it is never that simple.
Sometimes the very effort to make something last chokes off the spark that made it loved in the first place.
I think about love here as an instant spark of connection. A product, an idea, or a moment. One that resonates powerfully and we can’t shake it. Love can be nostalgic. It can be intense but short-lived. Like a summer friendship that only works in that exact context.
Lasting, on the other hand can mean lots of things. Staying relevant, outpacing market shifts, adapting over time, or even thriving in near-invisibility (like the protocols running beneath our daily tech).
Love doesn’t need to be explicit to endure. We can adore something without always thinking about it.
The question still nags at me though. Is there a point where chasing permanence dilutes the raw appeal that hooked us in in the first place?
I’ve learned that sometimes what makes something lovable is tied up in its very fragility. A fleeting design, a perfect moment in time.
Maybe its short run is what makes it special. That ephemeral nature also means it slips away if we don’t catch it fast.
Then there’s the opposite trap. You make something built to last. Solid, broad, “evergreen”. But you find it lacks that emotional hook.
How can a brand or product reinvent itself again and again without losing the soul that made people care in the first place?
When I look at the tech companies and creations that have truly stood the test of time until now I instantly think Apple, Nvidia, GitHub. They have pulled off the balancing act of keeping us emotionally invested while evolving mostly in ways that feel natural rather than forced.
Apple has stayed relevant for decades by inventing new categories of products and has always focused on the customer experience without losing its aura of intuitive design and reliability that people fell in love with.
In Nvidia’s long ascent from niche GPU maker to a core pillar of AI infra it exemplified how embracing new domains doesn’t require discarding faithful fans. The gamers haven’t left rather they’ve been joined by data scientists, investors and the mainstream.
And in GitHub’s case, well, some years ago I wrote a love story linked here.
In all cases it comes down to that sense of deep trust “they know what they’re doing, they’ll do it well” that binds folks to a company over time. But trust is always half love and half proof. You don’t earn the forever right to keep it if you drop the ball too many times.
Duration: momentary. Nature: changeable. Perception: dim. Condition of Body: decaying. Soul: spinning around. Fortune: unpredictable. Lasting Fame: uncertain. Sum Up: The body and its parts are a river, the soul a dream and mist, life is warfare and a journey far from home, lasting reputation is oblivion. Then what can guide us? Only philosophy. — II. 17
Then there’s the other side. The once-shining stars that lose their luster.
I remember being asked about and describing a product company I loved in an interview circa 2014. Evernote. They had the perfect tagline: our “external brain.”
And for a while I did feel like I couldn’t live without it. But the bloat, the shift in focus, and the slow response to competition made that spark fade. Obsidian, Notion, Bear, OneNote etc are where the migrants like me fled.
Tumblr was a cultural phenomenon. Raw, creative, irreverent. Then it got scooped up policy changed, purged, and sold for a fraction. It’s always difficult to watch a community-based platform break its core promise. People loved Tumblr for its freedom and that love was quick to evaporate.
The same story played out in different forms for Pebble, Heroku, and so many others. Their big problem wasn’t that they were never loved. They were but its just that love doesn’t guarantee lasting. At some point the pivot to “last” overshadows the reasons we stick around.
Which brings me to an even bigger question.
How much can something change before it’s a new thing entirely? Some companies survive radical reinvention that is often early in their lifecycle (think Slack vs. IBM).
If reinvention is too drastic they might lose the loyal fans who anchored their original success. On the flip side if they cling so tightly that they can’t adjust they risk the cold sad slide into irrelevance.
Maybe that’s why so many big shifts involve asking ourselves, “Are we still the same us after this change?” And it can hover over every rebrand, launch and rewrite.
The role of forgetting also intrigues me. The world moves so fast these days that enduring can sometimes mean dropping out of sight and reemerging with perfect timing. I wonder if that’s what’s behind this Gen-Z Tumblr resurgence?
There’s a collective and personal rhythm to memory. Maybe forgetting is essential for real staying power because if we’re always present in people’s minds they never get a chance to build a craving.
There’s also an ethical dimension to all of this. When we build something that people love and rely on: do we have a responsibility to preserve it for them, or to evolve it in ways that might break that love but serve a larger good? I’ve seen companies and platforms weigh the trade-offs between immediate delight and long-term sustainability (financial or otherwise). Sometimes those decisions spark outrage but ignoring them can lead to bigger problems. That tension doesn’t have a neat resolution.
In trying to pin down these thoughts, I myself have realized I actually have more questions than answers.
What if certain things aren’t meant to endure and should we just accept that
What if a product thrives precisely because it’s ephemeral and cannot be pinned down?
Does the pursuit of universal love water down what made it feel personal and intimate in the first place?
And at what point does a brand’s success become its undoing, because it can’t make the risky moves that once drew everyone in?
I think I’ll keep coming back to the interplay of love and time. True if something is loved hard enough that might push it into the future. But love can be fickle, especially if the object of our affection stops meeting our deeper needs. The trick I think is a slippery one in spotting that invisible line between reinforcing our core identity and shedding the parts that no longer serve.
The best companies, products, and relationships figure this out. They adapt without disowning the essence that made us care.
It’s humbling to realize just how delicate that balance is. But is also makes it worth chasing. The more I see how quickly a “forever” darling can fade (and how some once-forgotten favorite can roar back into vogue), the more I convince myself that there is no formula that guarantees both love and longevity. The best we can do is pay attention to people who care, stay true to why we exist and keep ourselves open to reinvention when the moment calls.
And maybe that’s the ultimate question: Is “lasting” really the highest goal, or is there a sweet spot where something burns brightly for the span it needs to, and that’s enough? Sometimes “forever” is a myth. Sometimes “forever” becomes real.
We’ll never know until we test how resilient our creations are in the wild and see whether they can keep our affection alive across changing times, tastes, and technologies. So I’ll keep pondering. These questions keep me searching. That search is part of what helps any of us make something that’s truly worth loving in the first place.