Subtract

When was the last time you improved something by removing rather than adding? In Subtract, behavioral scientist Leidy Klotz argues that the most overlooked path to better outcomes—whether in design, life, learning, or society—is subtraction. Humanity’s obsession with adding, building, and accumulating blinds us to the creative, efficient, and often transformative power of taking away. Klotz contends that progress rarely depends on how much we stack on top; it depends on what we have the courage and insight to strip away.

The core premise is deceptively simple: whenever we change something from how it is to how we want it to be, we have two options—adding or subtracting. Yet science shows we overwhelmingly default to adding. This bias shapes everything from global economies to household clutter, from city planning to personal wellbeing. Klotz explores why addition dominates our choices and thinking, tracing its roots through biology, culture, economics, and cognitive psychology.

A Story of Three Subtractors

Klotz opens with three powerful stories of people who changed the world through subtraction. Sue Bierman championed the removal of San Francisco’s Embarcadero Freeway after an earthquake, reclaiming the city’s waterfront. Leo Robinson, a dockworker, subtracted economic support from apartheid by refusing to unload South African goods and starting a global divestment movement. And Elinor Ostrom, Nobel-winning economist, subtracted flawed assumptions from social theory, proving that humans can manage shared resources without tragedy. Each story reveals how removing—whether concrete, money, or ideas—unlocked new possibilities.

Through these examples, Klotz introduces subtraction as not merely absence but an act of creation. In removing what’s broken, unnecessary, or harmful, we create space for improvement. These stories function as metaphors for everyday decisions—you may not dismantle a highway, but you can clear mental expressways blocking better judgment.

The Other Kind of Change

Subtraction is more than minimalism. It is active transformation that requires mental effort and courage. Klotz differentiates between less—the end state—and subtracting—the process. Removing a freeway or editing a law isn’t laziness; it’s deep, deliberate work. “Subtracting is not doing less,” he writes. “To get to less often means doing, or thinking, more.” This idea situates subtraction as a creative and moral endeavor, akin to innovation itself.

We neglect this kind of change because it’s harder to conceive and execute. Psychologically, we default to addition because it signals competence (“look what I built”). Culturally, growth and accumulation are equated with success. Economically, systems reward expansion rather than refinement. Biologically, our evolutionary instincts—to show fitness, stockpile goods, and crave more—reinforce this bias. Add in modern information overload, and subtraction becomes an unthinkable act.

Why It Matters

Neglecting subtraction has consequences far beyond personal clutter. It drives overregulation, institutional bloat, social injustice, and environmental collapse. Klotz shows how overlooking subtraction harms our planet: we add emissions faster than we remove carbon and build cities faster than we dismantle inequitable systems. Subtraction, therefore, is not a luxury—it’s a survival skill.

Understanding the nature of adding and its underlying biases gives you a strategic advantage. If others are trapped by addition, those who subtract can innovate more efficiently. Klotz promises that mastering subtraction is “exploiting an inefficiency in the market of human change.” This inefficiency—our blindness to removal—creates opportunity for those who can see it.

A Map of Subtracting

Throughout the book, Klotz divides his inquiry into two parts: Part I: Seeing More diagnoses why we neglect subtraction—how our brains, instincts, and cultures skew toward addition; Part II: Sharing Less teaches how to implement and communicate subtraction—how to make it visible, scalable, and systemic. From experiments involving Legos and written essays to stories of CEOs, architects, and activists, each section bridges rigorous science with relatable, real-world storytelling.

“We’re all trying to change things from how they are to how we want them to be,” Klotz writes. “The problem is that we overwhelmingly add.”

That insight frames his mission: to bring subtraction back into our imagination. The rest of the book teaches how to think subtractively—to remove unnecessary physical, cognitive, cultural, and systemic barriers—and thereby create space for true improvement. Like Da Vinci’s perfection defined by “nothing left to take away,” Klotz challenges you to see that progress often means doing less, but better.

If you’ve ever tried to simplify your life only to end up buying more storage bins, you’ve seen addition bias in action. Klotz’s research reveals how humans systematically overlook subtraction—and how this bias is deeply ingrained in our thinking.

The LEGO Experiment

It started with Legos. While building a bridge with his son Ezra, Klotz instinctively reached for more blocks to fix uneven towers. Ezra, however, removed one piece instead—and solved the problem faster. That moment catalyzed a series of scientific studies where hundreds of participants faced tasks that could be improved by adding or subtracting elements. Whether rearranging Legos, editing text, scheduling itineraries, or adjusting patterns on a digital grid, people overwhelmingly chose to add—even when subtraction offered a simpler, better solution.

Across hundreds of experiments, fewer than 20 percent of participants subtracted. In fact, even when reminded that subtraction was free (“removing pieces costs nothing”), subtraction rates barely improved. This bias isn’t just behavioral—it’s cognitive.

The Accessibility Trap

We think of addition first because it’s more mentally accessible. Our brains are wired to retrieve familiar ideas faster, and adding is reinforced by constant experience—buying, building, writing, expanding. Subtraction, on the other hand, is harder to imagine. When cognitive bandwidth is reduced (as shown when participants multitasked or experienced stress), subtraction rates dropped even further. Bringing subtraction to mind requires effort and cues—just like asking people to consider removing an unnecessary rule.

Effort and Identity

Adding also signals competence. Building, buying, or creating feels productive and leaves visible evidence of effort. Removing, by contrast, can look like laziness. Klotz and his collaborators—including psychologists Gabrielle Adams and Benjamin Converse—showed how professionals and students alike avoided subtraction because it seemed less active, less impressive.

This instinct resonates beyond experimentation. Sue Bierman faced resistance when proposing to remove San Francisco’s Embarcadero Freeway; detractors equated demolition with regression. Only an earthquake forced reconsideration and revealed subtraction’s benefits—green parks, housing, and vibrancy.

Cultural Conditioning

Cultures further reinforce the bias. Societies built on expansion—industrial economies, consumer lifestyles, digital media—celebrate adding as growth. Historically, civilizations themselves were born from monumental adding: temples, cities, networks. The Mesopotamians built their ziggurats before they built their governments. In this world of “more,” taking away feels heretical. As Klotz notes, even after an Embarcadero-style proof, we still cling to rules, habits, and possessions because they’re part of our identity as achievers.

“Neglecting subtraction is harmful in our households, in our institutions, and on our planet,” Klotz reminds us. “We have more but are not better for it.”

Recognizing this bias is the first step. You can’t subtract what you don’t see. By learning to question automatic adding and intentionally bring subtraction to mind, you begin to uncover unrealized opportunities—whether decluttering a rulebook, trimming your schedule, or redesigning systems for efficiency.

Klotz traces our addiction to more back to evolution. Like the bowerbird that decorates its nest to attract mates, humans evolved to show competence by adding. Each new structure, possession, or project signals capability. Yet this same instinct now drives inefficiency and overload.

Competence as Display

Biologically, we add to prove our worth. Adding shows clear evidence of work done—unlike subtraction, which leaves little trace. The Collyer brothers in the 1940s New York brownstone embodied this instinct turned pathological: they compulsively accumulated newspapers, pianos, and junk until crushed beneath their own additions. The brothers weren’t irrational; their hoarding satisfied ancient drives to demonstrate capability and safety through possession.

The Pleasure Pathway

Our brains reward adding. The same dopamine circuits that light up when eating are activated by acquiring objects, scrolling social media, or purchasing goods. Dr. Stephanie Preston’s research on hoarding and acquisitiveness links adding behavior to this deep reward network—the mesolimbocortical pathway. Like food, possessions and information trigger pleasurable responses. When stress amplifies these signals, adding becomes self-soothing. No wonder modern consumer society feels biologically addictive.

Quantity Instincts

Human brains instinctively favor more. Studies by psychologist Elizabeth Spelke showed that even children who couldn’t yet calculate arithmetic could intuit which pile of candy was larger. This innate “number sense,” refined by evolution, privileges addition—it’s harder for us to visualize subtraction or negative quantities. Historically that made survival sense (more food, more allies). Today, it biases decisions toward growth over reduction—even when less would improve stability.

Natural Subtraction

Ironically, nature itself balances both. Evolution subtracts inefficient traits as often as it adds adaptations. Natural selection prunes species, and even our brains prune synapses during sleep to optimize learning. Trees require periodic trimming; ecosystems thrive through checks on growth. Recognizing this, Klotz argues that subtraction isn’t anti-nature—it’s how nature maintains equilibrium.

Once we understand our biological lean toward addition, we can consciously override it. Just as our ancestors carried only what was necessary for survival, we can relearn the discipline of less—not to deny instinct but to redirect it toward smarter balance.

Culture amplifies what biology began. The dawn of civilization turned our adding instincts into social norms. Building temples, cities, and monuments became proofs of human greatness. Klotz explores how cultural evolution—from ancient Mesopotamia to modern consumerism—made addition both sacred and habitual.

From Temples to Highways

Monumental architecture was civilization’s turning point. Archaeologist Klaus Schmidt’s excavation at Göbekli Tepe in Turkey revealed that humans built temples before they built cities. People gathered to add structures—and only afterward developed agriculture and permanent societies. Addition birthed civilization itself. Centuries later, pyramids, cathedrals, and highways continued this pattern, reinforcing the idea that prosperity means building more.

Independent vs. Interdependent Views

Stanford psychologist Hazel Rose Markus’s research on cultural psychology deepens this story. Western cultures (like the U.S.) prize independence and personal achievement—additive values. Eastern traditions (like Taoism) often emphasize balance and interdependence, closer to subtraction. The contrast between Cain and Abel versus yin and yang encapsulates how worldview shapes our sense of improvement: do we dominate our surroundings or harmonize with them?

Designing the Field

Seeing the surrounding field rather than just objects helps us subtract. Klotz invokes architect James Oglethorpe’s plan for Savannah, Georgia—a balanced grid of squares and streets that subtracted excessive private space to add communal life. Likewise, Harlem’s Collyer Brothers Park emerged when philanthropists removed abandoned buildings to add inclusive green pockets. In design and policy alike, subtraction of excess creates shared value.

Balancing Add and Subtract

Cultures that evolve through addition risk choking on their own growth. Klotz points to artist Maya Lin, whose Vietnam Veterans Memorial subtracted from the ground—a minimalist cut rather than a towering monument. Initially criticized for being “too feminine,” Lin’s wall became one of America’s most visited sites. Her design embodied cultural maturity: realizing that memory and meaning deepen when we remove excess.

To change culture, we must learn to see contradictions not as conflicts but as complements. As the Hindu goddess Kali symbolizes both creation and destruction, progress requires embracing both sides: add and subtract, build and dissolve. Only then can civilizations move beyond accumulation toward wisdom.

Economics transformed our love of more into a global doctrine. After World War II, U.S. President Harry Truman declared that peace and prosperity would come through “more food, more clothing, more housing, and more mechanical power.” That speech enshrined economic growth as moral purpose. Klotz calls this ideology more-ality—the modern gospel that equates adding with virtue.

Growth as Moral Good

Building on economist John Maynard Keynes’s ideas, Truman’s postwar vision promised security through production. From factories to homes, growth became synonymous with progress. This narrative saved lives and raised living standards, but it also blinded us to alternatives. Klotz recounts his own home renovation—a contest called “Addition by Subtraction.” Despite intentions, he and his students couldn’t bring themselves to actually subtract. Everyone added space, reflecting how deeply economics and culture intertwine in defining success.

The Time Famine

More doesn’t just apply to money—it extends to time. Sociologist Leslie Perlow coined “time famine” to describe overbooked professionals who add meetings, tasks, and distractions until they have no free bandwidth. Her experiments with “quiet times” in workplaces showed that subtracting obligations—creating stop-doing lists—improved morale, productivity, and relationships. Even the U.S. Army suffers from hoarding responsibilities, illustrating systemic addition at every level.

Stop-Doing and Happiness

Psychologist Liz Dunn’s studies on spending money to save time reveal another truth: reducing tasks makes people happier. Participants told to pay for time-saving services felt more positive and less stressed than those who bought things. This finding ties back to Klotz’s theme—real improvement often means removing workload, possessions, or commitments rather than adding new ones.

Innovation Through Less

Subtraction can even drive markets. Inventor Ryan McFarland built the Strider bike by removing pedals, giving toddlers mobility years earlier than traditional designs. Designer Tinker Hatfield made Nike Air iconic by subtracting material to reveal visible air pockets. Both capitalized on subtraction’s novelty—and profit. A study of U.S. patents showed additive designs outnumber subtractive ones three-to-one, proving how underused removal remains as a source of innovation.

The message: capitalism doesn’t forbid subtraction—it rewards insight wherever it creates value. Yet you must look differently, focusing on humans rather than objects, as McFarland did with his child. Removing pedals wasn’t anti-commerce; it was human-centered design. True progress, Klotz insists, comes when profit aligns with less.

Even when we subtract well, others may not notice. To make less visible—and valued—Klotz invites us to study artists and designers who elevated subtraction into performance. Their secret: persistence and clarity until the absence itself becomes the art.

Beyond Good Enough

Subtraction requires effort beyond satisficing—Herbert Simon’s term for “good enough” solutions. Stripping a process or product to its essence takes more thinking and editing. Edward Tufte’s “data-ink ratio” in information design teaches us to erase nonessential marks until every line communicates. Landscape architect Kate Orff applied similar logic to Lexington, Kentucky’s Town Branch Commons, removing concrete to reveal the buried creek and reconnect people with nature. Both prove that removing isn’t laziness—it’s refinement.

Persistence Pays

Musician Bruce Springsteen exemplifies “noticeable less.” On his album Darkness on the Edge of Town, he cut dozens of tracks to ten stripped-down songs. His leanness created power and intimacy, revolutionizing rock’s sound. Maya Lin’s minimalist memorial worked the same way—removing grandeur to reveal humanity. The genius of less often demands obsessive persistence and courage to delete beloved work.

Editors and Helpers

Editors are professional subtractors. Klotz reminds us that even Hemingway and Fitzgerald had Max Perkins to shape their brilliance. Seeking external helpers—mentors, collaborators, or editors—can make your own subtraction effective and visible. Because we’re attached to what we’ve built, outsiders can cut what we can’t see.

Joy and Flow

Persistence turns subtraction into joy. Psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi calls this state “flow,” the absorption when challenge and skill align. Editing, simplifying, and refining can induce flow because each action feels purposeful and revealing. Marie Kondo’s mantra “spark joy” reflects the same principle—subtract intensely and completely until only meaning remains.

Making less noticeable isn’t about marketing absence—it’s about persistence until the clarity of what remains is breathtaking. Done right, subtraction becomes visible proof of mastery.

When subtraction scales beyond personal life, it can change entire systems. Klotz shows how systemic improvement—whether dismantling racism, refining cities, or curing societal overload—depends on removing hidden forces that block progress.

Seeing Structures

Systems hide their scaffolding. You can’t fix what you can’t see. During apartheid, many activists fought openly against racism, but few addressed its economic supports. Dockworker Leo Robinson did: his refusal to unload South African cargos triggered global divestment, weakening apartheid’s funding. Klotz parallels this with scholar Ibram Kendi’s definition: racism itself is systemic; to undo it, we must “consistently identify and describe it.” Seeing forces precedes subtracting them.

The Good Way to Change Systems

Psychologist Kurt Lewin understood systems as networks of opposing forces. His insight: the best way to change behavior isn’t adding pressure—it’s removing barriers. This principle explains why offering incentives often fails while subtracting obstacles succeeds. Removing racist policies, harmful subsidies, or redundant regulations relieves systemic tension rather than intensifying it.

Paradox of Performance

German mathematician Dietrich Braess proved that adding capacity to a system—like extra roads—can sometimes slow overall performance. Known as Braess’s paradox, this logic appeared when Seoul subtracted a freeway and traffic improved. Systems thrive through pruning, not piling. The same holds for teams, institutions, and ideas: removing unnecessary parts can enhance the whole.

Essence and Focus

To manage complexity, Klotz invokes Donella Meadows and her systems theory: clarity comes from defining a system’s goal and stripping away nonessential detail. Doctors use checklists; builders prioritize essentials; leaders must do the same. Simpler representations allow better intervention. In systems, subtraction is the path to essence—the point of action.

In a complex world drowning in additions, scaling subtraction becomes revolutionary. Removing barriers alters not one element but the equilibrium itself, freeing systems to self-correct.

Humanity now dominates Earth’s systems—the Anthropocene age. Klotz argues that subtraction may be our best hope for survival. The key is learning to leave options by removing harmful behaviors and infrastructures, not just slowing their growth.

The Story of The Lorax

Dr. Seuss’s The Lorax becomes metaphor: the Once-ler’s endless “biggering” devastates his ecosystem. Like him, we chase “more” until nothing remains. Environmental collapse mirrors cultural addition bias. Klotz connects this lesson with Donella Meadows’s Limits to Growth, which mathematically proved infinite expansion on a finite planet is unsustainable. Yet both Lorax and Once-ler hold wisdom—the need to balance creation and restraint.

Pre-Action Subtraction

Before acting, subtract complexity. Former Costa Rican minister Carolina Mauri simplified national climate policy to one bold goal: carbon neutrality by 2021. By removing distractions and focusing on essence, Costa Rica initiated reforestation, renewable energy transitions, and even banned oil extraction. Her triage shows how subtraction clarifies global problems into achievable missions.

Remove Before You Recycle

Klotz updates the old “reduce, reuse, recycle” mantra. Adding a fourth R—remove—reminds us to subtract carbon already in the atmosphere, not just slow additions. Reforestation exemplifies this subtract-first logic. Similarly, climate engineering projects should focus on removing greenhouse gases rather than adding interventions that risk new tensions.

A Legacy of Options

Ultimately, subtraction preserves freedom. Environmental scientist Desmond Tutu advocated divesting from fossil fuels—the same tactic that helped dismantle apartheid. Others, like economist Dana Meadows, urged “maximizing inherent potential” by cleaning up systems to leave options for the future. Subtraction, Klotz concludes, is how we leave possibility instead of waste—the once-ler’s Truffula seed rather than his factory wreckage.

In the Anthropocene, progress means pruning what constrains life. Removing emissions, racism, and clutter isn’t loss—it’s renewal.

In the information age, subtraction isn’t just ecological—it’s intellectual. To convert data into wisdom, you must prune knowledge. Klotz echoes Lao Tzu: “To attain knowledge, add things every day. To attain wisdom, subtract things every day.”

Information Overload

We live amid too much input. Cal Newport’s essay “Is Email Making Professors Stupid?” and Herbert Simon’s quote—“a wealth of information creates a poverty of attention”—frame the problem. The more we add information, the less cognitive bandwidth remains for insight. Princeton psychologist Eldar Shafir studies this effect among the poor: scarcity itself steals attention, making good decisions harder.

Selecting and Weeding

Historian Ann Blair showed that scholars have managed overload for centuries by subtracting—selecting what truly matters, like gardeners weeding bookshelves. Libraries that weed instead of pulp preserve culture intentionally. Likewise, pruning mental clutter speeds learning, much like our brains’ nightly synaptic cleaning.

Subtracting Wrong Ideas

Klotz tells how his preschool son’s teacher limited dump trucks to foster curiosity—removing toys to create learning. He connects this to cognitive science: real understanding requires discarding misconceptions. From physicist Galileo replacing Aristotle’s view of motion to economist Elinor Ostrom correcting Garrett Hardin’s tragedy of the commons, learning progresses through deliberate removal of flawed theories.

Analogy as Subtraction

Psychologist Nancy Nersessian found that scientific revolutions rely on analogies that subtract complexity and reveal essence. When students link planetary motion to atomic orbits, they replace heliocentric misconceptions with clearer models. Subtraction makes space for understanding.

In the end, wisdom isn’t adding more information—it’s removing distortion. Like editors, scientists, and teachers, you learn best by cutting away what’s wrong, unclear, or needless until knowledge stands stable. Thinking less is thinking better.