I’ve spent an embarrassing portion of my life staring at shelves. Grocery store shelves, metaphorical shelves, mental shelves. Olive oil or avocado? Stay or go? Work or rest? There’s a kind of paralysis that comes not from ignorance, but from knowing too much. We research ourselves into corners, read another article, open another tab, and tell ourselves we’re being thorough. We’re not. We’re stalling.
That’s where “razors” come in. Not the kind you use in the shower—the philosophical kind. A razor, in decision-making, is a simple rule of thumb that cuts through noise. It shaves away complexity. It’s the art of getting to the point faster.
Philosophers, scientists, and businesspeople have been using these for centuries. They’re like intellectual shortcuts for people who think too much (which is, let’s be honest, most of us). I’ve gathered ten of my favourites below.
1. The Luck Razor
When choosing between two paths, pick the one that gives luck more room to find you.
You can’t control luck, but you can absolutely improve your odds. It’s hard to get lucky watching Netflix. It’s easier when you’re out there bumping into people, taking chances, saying yes.
A larger “luck surface area” means putting yourself in situations where interesting things could happen. Coffee dates, conferences, volunteering, experiments. You don’t have to be everywhere, just somewhere other than your couch. Most of what’s shaped my life didn’t happen by plan—it happened by proximity.
Luck doesn’t visit the ones who wait. It visits the ones who leave the door unlocked.
2. The Feynman Razor
If you can’t explain it to a five-year-old, you don’t understand it.
Physicist Richard Feynman said this, and I’ve learned the hard way that it applies to everything from science to relationships. The more complex your explanation, the more likely you’re bluffing (even if it’s with yourself).
When I was younger, I thought sophistication meant being hard to understand. Now I think it means the opposite. Simplicity is confidence in disguise.
If you can say something clearly and briefly, you own it. If you can’t, it owns you.
3. The Optimist Razor
Spend time with people who see open doors.
Pessimists will always sound smarter. They’re quick with statistics, risk factors, and history lessons. But optimists are the ones who actually build things. They’re the ones who start businesses, fall in love again, and book flights to places they can’t pronounce.
The world belongs to those who keep believing it might. Optimism doesn’t mean ignoring problems—it means assuming you might solve them. When in doubt, sit next to the person with ideas, not excuses.
4. The Young & Old Test
Make choices your 10-year-old self and your 80-year-old self would both applaud.
Your younger self wants adventure, laughter, and ice cream for dinner. Your older self wants health, love, and peace of mind. Most of our better choices exist somewhere in between.
Before you say yes or no to something big, picture the two of them—your 10-year-old self tugging your sleeve, your 80-year-old self raising an eyebrow. If you can make them both proud, it’s probably a decision worth keeping.
5. The Rooms Razor
Choose the room where you’re not the smartest person there.
It’s bad for your ego, but great for your evolution. We love comfort, but comfort rarely grows us. You can’t get better by staying in rooms where you already know all the answers.
When you’re the least experienced voice in a conversation, you learn faster. You listen harder. You evolve quietly. Every time I’ve grown in my career or writing, it’s been because I walked into a room where I felt underqualified.
If you ever feel like an imposter, good. It means you’re in the right room.
6. Occam’s Razor
The simplest explanation is usually the right one.
We love drama. We build stories around other people’s actions, trying to fill in the gaps. But most of the time, the truth is ordinary. They didn’t text back because they forgot. The project failed because no one followed up. The universe isn’t punishing you—it’s just not paying that much attention.
Occam’s Razor is a reminder to stop spiralling. Simpler assumptions lead to calmer minds.
7. The Arena Razor
Given two paths, take the one that puts you in the arena.
The arena is the place where you might fail publicly. It’s where your skin is in the game. The sidelines are safer—they’re for spectators, critics, and the perpetually “waiting until it’s perfect” crowd.
Growth doesn’t happen in observation. It happens in participation. Once you step into the arena, stop asking the people in the stands for approval. They’re not fighting the same fight.
8. Hanlon’s Razor
Never attribute to malice what can be explained by stupidity—or exhaustion, or distraction, or bad Wi-Fi.
Most people aren’t out to hurt you. They’re just busy, tired, or unaware. I used to waste hours replaying conversations, wondering what someone really meant. Ninety percent of the time, the answer was: nothing.
Assume clumsiness over cruelty. It’s lighter to carry.
9. The Lion Razor
Work like a lion, not a cow. Sprint, then rest.
We’ve been conditioned to worship steady output: 9–5, every day, no peaks, no valleys. But creative work doesn’t work that way. Inspiration comes in bursts. When it hits, you sprint. Then you stop. Resting is part of the rhythm, not a reward for finishing.
Lions don’t graze. They hunt, they feast, they nap. You should too.
10. The Razor Razor
Remember: these aren’t commandments. They’re shortcuts for the perpetually overwhelmed.
Razors don’t make decisions for you—they make them easier. They reduce friction. They keep you from getting lost in the labyrinth of your own thoughts.
When life feels tangled, choose clarity over cleverness. Fewer assumptions. Fewer explanations. More action.
We live in a world that fetishizes complexity. We equate sophistication with busyness and depth with difficulty. But most of the time, wisdom looks like subtraction.
It’s the art of knowing what not to do. What not to overthink. What not to carry.
So pick a razor. Any razor. Try it for a week. See what falls away when you stop explaining everything and just decide.
You might find that what’s left is sharper. Cleaner. Closer to the truth.