In the early days of Slack, when we were still just a few dozen people trying to build something people would love, Stewart Butterfield—our co-founder and CEO—shared a principle that’s stuck with me ever since:
We paint the back of the drawers.
It’s an old woodworking expression. When you build a drawer, no one will likely see the back panel. But a true craftsperson paints it anyway. Not because someone will notice, but because it’s the right thing to do. It’s a reflection of integrity, pride, and belief in the details—seen or unseen.
That mindset shaped the culture of Slack from the very beginning. And now, years later, it’s become part of the DNA of how I’m building Dib.
The Craftsmanship Runs Deep
That phrase—paint the back of the drawers—didn’t just resonate with me because of Slack. It hit a deeper chord.
I grew up in a woodshop. My dad and Papa were both craftsmen. The kind who triple-check miters, sharpen their own chisels, and sweep up at the end of the day even if no one else will ever walk through the shop.
I spent my childhood sanding boards, driving screws, and learning that you don’t take shortcuts—not because someone might catch you, but because you would know.
Papa didn’t believe in half-finishing anything. If you built a cabinet, the back mattered just as much as the front—even if it would end up against a wall for 40 years.
That’s how I learned that the invisible work is the real work.
Why the Hidden Work Matters
Dib is a home inventory and AI assistant that remembers the things you forget—what paint you used in the guest room, when you last replaced your air filter, where your septic tank clean-out is buried, or which manual came with the HVAC.
Most of that information lives in the shadows. It’s not glamorous. It’s not visible to guests or even to you—until the moment you need it. And that’s precisely why we treat it with the same care and respect as the parts you can see.
We paint the backs of the drawers.
- When we parse your uploaded PDF and extract the obscure model number from page 36 of your appliance manual, we’re painting the back of the drawer.
- When we let you snap a photo of your attic shut-off valve and make it searchable later, that’s drawer-backing craftsmanship.
- When our AI is trained to know the difference between “Benjamin Moore Simply White” and “Sherwin-Williams Alabaster,” we’re brushing on that invisible layer of value.
Most people won’t notice all of this. But they’ll feel it.
When Dib gives them the answer instantly, when it remembers something they lost track of months ago, when it prevents a costly repair or helps them close an insurance claim—that’s the reward of painting the back.
Carrying Forward a Philosophy
Stewart’s now-famous post "We Don’t Sell Saddles Here" was a call to build things that solve real problems in human ways—not just features, but transformations.
I took that lesson to heart.
Dib isn’t just a database or a digital filing cabinet. It’s a helper, a listener, a little robot that lives in your home and gets smarter over time. We don’t just build for utility—we build for trust. For calm. For the quiet confidence that your home remembers its story, even if you don’t.
That’s what people actually want, even if they don’t say it out loud.
And just like at Slack, and just like in my family’s workshop, we’ll keep painting the backs of the drawers—because the invisible parts shape the experience just as much as the visible ones.
For the Homeowners Who Care
If you’re the kind of person who labels your breaker panel, who saves receipts in Ziplocs, who takes pride in knowing where things are and how they work—dib was built with you in mind.
And even if you're not, you’ll still benefit from the care we put into the corners you’ll never look at. Because that’s what good tools do—they disappear until the moment they’re needed. Then they shine.
Thanks, Stewart. And thanks, Dad and Papa. I'm still painting.
-- Alex
