How many clicks does it take?

This is another of those accidental posts I seem so fond of lately.

Today, I sat down to read an article. A normal one. Words. Paragraphs. A headline that promised wisdom.

Three seconds later I was negotiating with a cookie panel the size of a small studio flat, wondering if “legitimate interest” meant I’d just joined a book club in Luxembourg.

Click one

You know the drill because you’re living it too. You land on a page. You squint. Where’s the content? You scroll, hopeful.

A newsletter popup slides in like it’s late to the party but very committed to being noticed.

It asks for your email before it’s shown you a single sentence. Bold strategy.

Click two

I close it. Politely. I’m not a monster.

The page reloads. Or maybe it jumps. Or maybe an autoplay video begins speaking at me without warning.

Somewhere, a tiny speaker icon blinks like it’s ashamed of itself. I mute it. I didn’t consent to this relationship.

Click three

At this point, I’m invested. Not in the content. In the process. I’ve entered what I call the Click Tunnel.

It’s a mental state where curiosity keeps you going even though common sense says you should leave and make tea instead.

Another overlay appears. This one is friendly. Too friendly. “Before you go…” it says, even though I very much have not gone anywhere. I admire the confidence.

Click four

Still no article.

This is usually where I pause and think, maybe it’s me. Maybe I missed something.

Maybe the content is shy. Maybe it needs encouragement. I scroll again. Slowly. Like I’m approaching a nervous horse.

And there it is. The first sentence. Half visible.

Obscured by a sticky header, a sticky footer, and something that looks like a chat widget but might be a philosophical statement about engagement.

I’ve made it. Sort of.

Guilty as charged

Now here’s the awkward part where I admit something.

I write for the internet. I have written popups. I have debated button colours. I have said the words “conversion intent” out loud without irony.

This post is not me standing on a moral high ground. It’s me standing in the rubble of my own past decisions, nodding knowingly.

We all want websites to pay. Fair enough. Servers aren’t free. Time isn’t free. Coffee certainly isn’t free.

But somewhere along the way, we started treating attention like a hostage negotiation. One more click and the article gets it.

The problem is that you don’t feel welcomed. You feel processed.

You didn’t come to join a funnel. You came to read a thing. A simple, innocent thing.

And now you’re ten clicks deep, your cursor finger tired, your trust slightly dented, wondering if the good stuff was ever real or just a rumour passed around on social media.

There’s a strange irony here.

The more barriers we add to protect value, the harder it becomes to experience any.

It’s like wrapping a gift so thoroughly that no one wants to open it. Including you.

I think about writers I love. The ones who let you in first. Who earn your email by saying something worth remembering. Who don’t shout “subscribe” before they’ve even said hello.

You know the type. They feel human. Relaxed. Confident enough to wait.

That’s the energy I want more of. Fewer click mazes. More clear paths. Less digital throat clearing. More actual sentences.

So if you’re building a site, or tweaking one, or staring at a dashboard wondering if one more popup will finally do it, here’s my gentle suggestion from someone who has absolutely been there.

Let people get to the good stuff

If it’s good, they’ll stick around. If it’s not, no amount of overlays will save it.

And if nothing else, you’ll spare someone from entering the Click Tunnel on a Thursday morning when all they wanted was an article and a quiet moment.

Anyway, thanks for clicking. You made it.

If you’d rather your readers reach the good stuff without surviving a click obstacle course, you know where to find me. I write, edit, and wrangle AI into behaving itself so your content feels human, readable and worth sticking around for.