Building, breaking, and writing about the web.
For five years I said no to every startup that offered me equity instead of real salary. Last weekend I dug out the old offer letters, ran the numbers, and found out exactly how lucky — and unlucky — I actually was.
I logged every interview conversation for over a year and flagged every single time my personal site came up. The number was lower than my ego wanted, but the pattern in *when* it came up changed how I job hunt forever.
Frustrated by hiring black holes, I spent a year applying to jobs with nothing but a plain-text resume and a spreadsheet logging every response time, rejection, and ghosting incident. The data turned out to be more useful than any career advice I've ever gotten.
Two years ago I said no to a $180K salary with benefits to stay independent, and everyone told me I was burning money. I finally ran the numbers — all of them, including the ones nobody puts in a spreadsheet.
I locked my three most-visited tutorials behind a newsletter signup for one month and tracked every number that mattered. Traffic cratered, signups exploded, and my inbox got spicy. Here's the full dataset and whether I'd do it again.
For half a year, I filtered every recruiter email and job board posting by one brutally shallow criterion: if the title contained 'rockstar,' 'ninja,' 'guru,' or 'wizard,' I declined. Here's the data, the callbacks, and what the buzzword blacklist taught me about how companies see developers.
I locked my longest project write-ups behind a $3 paywall for a month, mostly to see if anyone would notice. One person did — and paid. Here's the full breakdown of traffic, revenue, and the surprisingly emotional emails I got.
I published every number I've ever earned — from my first internship to my last raise — on josephkhan.me and left it there for two months. The recruiter responses ranged from radio silence to a job offer I didn't apply for, and the whole thing taught me more about hiring culture than a decade of job hunting did.
For one full year I refused to touch a new framework, skip a migration, or entertain a rewrite — I just shipped with the stack I already knew. Here's what got better, what I actually missed, and why 'boring tech' turned out to be the best career move I've made in years.
Last spring I turned down a Senior Engineer title and the raise that came with it, because the role came with a specialization I didn't want. A year later, here's the honest math on what that decision cost me — and what it quietly paid back.
For thirty days, I answered every cold email from a recruiter instead of doing my usual thing: archiving and hoping they'd go away. Here's what I learned about the state of tech recruiting, the red flags I now spot instantly, and the one message that actually changed my career trajectory.
For one week, I let internet strangers tear apart my portfolio and implemented their suggestions whether I liked them or not. Some changes made the site measurably better. One made it objectively worse. All of it taught me something about my own ego.
I tracked every dollar, every outage, and every migration scramble from two years of running josephkhan.me on free-tier everything. Spoiler: 'free' cost me about $400 and a very bad Tuesday in March.
I spent a week 'improving' my RSS reader instead of shipping the three features people actually asked for. Here's the hour-by-hour breakdown of how refactoring became my favorite form of avoidance — and the guardrails I built to stop it.
After three years of publishing on josephkhan.me, I finally exported my server logs and looked at the numbers honestly. The results humbled me, confused me, and taught me more about writing for the web than any advice thread ever did.
I went through public job-hunt threads and found five portfolios with zero custom design that landed offers anyway. The common thread wasn't polish — it was shipping. Here's the case for deploying the rough version.
I handed my bio, case studies, and project blurbs to an AI for a full month and tracked what happened to my response rates. The results were messier — and more useful — than I expected.
I spent years writing framework deep-dives that got ignored while a 400-word story about a botched deploy became my most-read piece ever. The data from my own site finally forced me to admit the stack was never the story.
josephkhan.me has gone through more rebuilds than a Detroit assembly line, and each version failed in its own special way. Here's the honest autopsy, version by version, and what actually changed once I started paying attention to how people read.
Four days into my first real dev job, I took down checkout for a company doing serious revenue. Here's what breaking production taught me about testing, owning your mistakes, and why failure stories beat success stories every time.