I love my Peloton bike. I know people rag on it, but about five years after I got mine I can say that it’s more than earned its keep. I love real bikes too, but the Peloton has a lot of advantages: it’s always there, weather-resistant, can be adjusted to any member of the family, and requires very little from me to get going. Daily rides absolutely kept me sane during the pandemic, and while I have had busy times and fallow periods, I’ve now done nearly 1,500 rides and still use it most days.

Everyone who uses Peloton has favorite instructors, and ones they avoid. I prefer the trainers who push you along quite hard—and particularly the ones who work hard themselves, the ones who sweat. I don’t want anybody who makes it look too easy, or like they’re not doing the hard yards with you. If I’m sprinting, they better be sprinting too. If I’m cranking up a steep incline, I want to see them going for it as well. So, inevitably, my favorites get sweaty with me. Alex Toussaint will be soaked through by the end of a ride; Hannah Frankson will tell you she’s gassed out and has legs like noodles. In between motivational speeches on this morning’s ride, Christine D’Ercole had puddles of sweat flying off her.

This desire to see the effort is something I value whether it’s in physical work, digital products or anything else. I want to know that somebody worked really hard to make the website that I’m using; I want them to have carefully worked the device that’s in my hands; to have pushed themselves to make the food I’m eating taste great, or to have dedicated themselves to the art that they’re making.

This isn’t just about me needing to feel like I’ve gotten maximum value out of it; it’s not about effort for its own sake. It’s about effort as a way of demonstrating intention and deliberate choices. Sweating the details is a very visible way of being able to tell that somebody gives a shit about what they’re doing. I know from my own work that when you are really familiar with a craft—when you’ve developed your taste and insight—you can see how much work has gone into making the thing.

At Matter, we tried to make the amount of work that went into a story transparent, showing you not just who wrote it but who edited it, who fact-checked it, who copyedited it, and so on. (We toyed with even more exposure: how much money did we spend on it? How many nights did we work on it? How many cups of coffee were consumed? How many phone calls? We decided this was too much, especially for a tiny startup that was learning a lot at every step.)

Experience means that when I’m reading stories, I can see the archeology of the decisions that were made. Why use a particular phrase or construction or approach? Why say this and not that? You can trace the lines through the work, and you can see when it’s sloppy. But even when you’re not an expert you can feel these things. Did the maker work hard to make this easy to use? Have they tried to take your needs into account? Does the thing incorporate all that attention and intention?

We sweat because we work hard to get it right. Because making great things isn’t easy, even if it the end result is simple. Because that care, that love… it matters.