Why shorter isn’t always better

The lesson involved the story of a fishmonger who had hung up a sign outside his shop that read:

Fresh Fish Sold Here

Enter our well-meaning but overly enthusiastic sub-editor, who suggests a few “improvements” to the sign.

“Fresh fish? Well, of course it’s fresh. You’re not selling ‘old’ fish, are you? Cut it out!”

Fish Sold Here

“Sold? You’re not giving the stuff away, are you? Cut it out!”

Fish Here

“Here? Where else would you be selling it? The sign is right out the front of your shop! Cut it out!”

Fish

“Fish? People can see the fish in the window. Cut it out!”

Eventually, the poor fishmonger admits defeat and removes the sign. Our sub-editor’s work done, he saunters on (as a former sub-editor, I imagine we saunter, not merely walk).

I’m a big believer in the value of brevity and the need to get to the core of the matter as swiftly as possible. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think there’s a place for in-depth analysis or long-form writing. It all depends on your intended audience and the purpose of your communication.

When short goes too far

The one-pager is meant for busy decision-makers who need the facts and a “so what” as quickly as possible. The long-form version of your idea is for the policy-maker who wants to see your thinking—who wants to understand your arguments, what you’ve considered, and what you haven’t. These are the people who do have the time to digest longer, in-depth reports.

Not everything fits in a tweet or needs to be a five-second soundbite. If cutting words removes meaning, you’ve gone too far.

In fact, an obsession with brevity has created a new problem: people now fear writing anything longer than a social media post. But in the rush to always be short, we often make things shallow and lose necessary complexity (notice I said necessary). If a message is important enough to communicate, it’s worth communicating properly — not just in the shortest possible form. Longer isn’t always worse. Sometimes, it’s the only way to get your point across properly.

The real trick is knowing when short is smart — and when short is just lazy.

Why long-form still matters

This obsession with brevity isn’t necessarily the fault of writers. There’s a belief that people only have time for short bursts of information before their attention drifts elsewhere. Meanwhile, outlets such as The Atlantic, The New Yorker, and Longreads still pull in millions of readers who willingly sit down to read a 5,000-word deep dive. Why the paradox?

Because people don’t avoid long content — they avoid boring content that’s irrelevant to them. If it’s compelling, people will keep reading. The problem isn’t length. It’s whether you’re holding their attention and being relevant to them.

There are times when brevity is the enemy of clarity—whether that’s a policy announcement so vague no one knows what’s actually changing, a news article that condenses a complex legal case into a misleading summary, or a pitch so short that the person reading it has no idea what you’re actually offering.

Not everything fits in a tweet or needs to be a five-second soundbite. If cutting words removes meaning, you’ve gone too far. So how do you size your content for maximum impact? It’s handy to keep two things in mind: who is the audience, and what do you want them to do with it?

Imagine you’ve done some cracking analysis that you think the government should absolutely act on. You write it up — deep, thorough, and compelling. It runs to about 30 pages. That’s fine.

The people you want to read it are those who would ultimately implement the idea, so you want them to have as much information as possible. In this case, the audience (bureaucrats) and the purpose (inform) mean long = good.

The trailer isn’t the movie

Getting a decision-maker or their adviser to notice the idea is a different story. That’s where we return to the one-pager and op-eds, where brevity is more important.

Another rule of thumb: think of your content like a movie trailer.

A trailer isn’t the whole movie — but it makes you want to watch.

A one-pager isn’t the whole report — but it makes you want to read.

An op-ed isn’t the full research — but it makes people engage with the idea.

All of these build interest in the main event—the feature-length movie (i.e., your carefully crafted analysis). The trick isn’t making things shorter. It’s making sure every version of your content is the right length for its purpose.

The takeaway? Shorter isn’t always better — just ask our apocryphal fishmonger. The real skill lies in assessing what your piece of writing is meant to do, who it’s meant for, and adjusting accordingly. So, when the situation calls for it, write as much as you need. No more, no less.

Because in the end, the best writing isn’t short or long — it’s just right.