Charging for the “Stuff”

Online courses—particularly those taught through video—are a fantastic tool. They allow creators to share knowledge with the world in a scalable, visual, and often very personal way. But part of what makes an online course powerful isn’t what most people think of when they imagine one.

When we hear “online course,” our minds jump straight to the old, inherited academic model: lectures, lists of facts, and then the inevitable test or quiz to see if you remembered any of them. This legacy approach to education has been examined in other articles, so I won’t linger on it here—but it’s worth noting how absurdly outdated it is.

The ability to regurgitate information on command does not prove understanding. You can memorize every shortcut, every contextual menu, and every hidden feature of Figma and ace a 100-question test on it. But have you actually learned Figma? Of course not. You only truly know Figma when you can make something good with it.

That’s the real test of learning—doing something with the knowledge, not repeating it back.

The Problem with the “Stuff”

But let’s go a step further, because this isn’t just a critique of education as a whole. What I really want to dig into here applies more directly to online courses—the way they’re packaged, marketed, and sold.

If you’ve browsed enough online courses, you’ve probably noticed something: the flashy mockups showing a stack of digital “goods.” A laptop with a video player on the screen. A few boxes. Some PDFs fanned out like a deck of cards. Maybe a checklist or two floating nearby.

This is what I call the stuff.

When you look at how many course platforms market themselves, it’s clear they’re selling the stuff as much as the course itself—PDFs, assessments, quizzes, worksheets, checklists, bonus downloads, certificates, templates, reminders… and on it goes. These things are framed as proof of value, as if the sheer volume of materials somehow makes the course better.

But when you or I buy an online course, we’re not paying for “stuff.” If I wanted stuff, I could go on Amazon and fill a cart with gadgets and binders and let them rot in my garage.

When I buy a course, I’m paying for a change. I want a transformation. Maybe I want to solve a problem, learn a skill, or start a new kind of work. That’s what we all want—the outcome, not the trimmings.

All the extras are only valuable if they help us reach that outcome faster or more effectively. But in most cases, they don’t.

The Hidden Cost of Busywork

Across countless courses and platforms I’ve used, I keep finding the same thing: all this “stuff” doesn’t just fail to help—it actually slows you down. It’s padding. It’s noise.

Take the Figma example again. Let’s say you’re learning Figma, and after your first couple of lessons, the platform gives you a quiz: a few multiple-choice questions about what buttons do what.

How does that help? Wouldn’t it be better if instead of a quiz, the instructor gave you two or three action items—simple steps like:

1. Open Figma.
2. Create a new document.
3. Choose which device size you want to design for.

By doing those things, you’ve not only learned the steps, you’ve already started your project. You’re learning by creating.

That’s the whole point. The quiz, on the other hand, is just busywork. It exists to make you feel like you’re learning—like your money was well spent—when in reality it’s wasting your time.

The Uber Analogy

Imagine calling an Uber. You get in, and the driver says, “Hey, for an extra few bucks, I can take the scenic route. It’ll double your trip time, but you’ll get to spend more time in my car.”

You’d laugh. You’d decline.

So why do so many online courses do the equivalent? Why do we pay to take the longer, slower route to our goals—through quizzes, worksheets, and downloadable PDFs that add time but not value?

The fault for this isn’t on the course creator. Course platforms are the ones incentivizing this structure. When you sign up for one, they emphasize all the “stuff” you can add: quizzes, certificates, templates, bonus content. These features are easy to market, because they look tangible. But they do little to make the learning process simpler, faster, or more effective.

The platforms, in many ways, still think school is the ideal model. It’s not.

The Simplicity That Actually Works

The truth is, learning almost anything—short of rocket science or neurosurgery—comes down to two things:

1. Watching someone do it or explain it.
2. Doing it yourself in small, immediate steps.

That’s it.

The best classes are the ones that help you practice what you’re learning right away. By the end, you should have something real to show for your effort. A working app prototype. A set of photographs. A finished video edit. Something tangible. Something that says, “I learned this.”

The Middle Ground

I don’t blame the creators. They’ve been boxed in for years by the platforms that push this legacy structure. But the opportunity—the wide-open space that hardly anyone is filling—is in the middle ground between watching random YouTube tutorials and signing up for an online course that feels like fifth grade.

That middle ground is where learning actually happens. It’s structured but simple. It’s guided but not padded. It’s a clean, focused path of short videos, actionable steps, and downloads that move you forward, not hold you back.

The scenic route is nice when you’re out for a drive. But when you call an Uber, you want to get from point A to point B—fast.

The same should be true for learning.