I’ll Occams Razor That Shit Straight Out Of My Life.

We’re often using mental models by accident. But if we used them on purpose? Game. Changer.

I recently came across this blog on mental models, and it did that thing where your brain kind of goes “oh wait, so there’s a name for the nonsense I do in my head?”

Which is always an excellent combo of validation + dread.

The blog is from Farnam Street, and it basically lays out how the smartest people in the world don’t necessarily know more facts than you do; they just use better thinking tools. Which is both humbling and annoying.

Our brains need some structure to make sense of the world.

Enter: mental models.

These are like internal blueprints we use to simplify reality. Think of them like those IKEA manuals, except they work and they don’t require a tiny, useless Allen key.

We all use models. Even when you’re just figuring out if you should ghost that one person who says “let’s vibe” on a dating app, yes, that’s a mental model in action. Congratulations, you’re a thinker.

The blog divides mental models into neat categories, which I promptly ignored in favour of taking screenshots and sending them to friends with the caption: “WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME THIS SOONER.”

There’s first principles thinking, which means you take something complicated and break it down to the basic elements, like how a three-year-old deconstructs an iPad. Elon Musk apparently loves this. I, too, love this, especially when explaining to my parents why I can't go out tonight despite having made plans weeks ago. “You see, Ma, the first principle here is I have no social battery tonight”.

Then there’s second-order thinking, which is essentially not being a dumbass. It means looking beyond the immediate result. Like, sure, you can eat that third gulab jamun, but what happens after? (Shame. Regret. Gas.)

It teaches you to pause and think: “If I do this, then what?”

There’s inversion. My personal favourite. Instead of asking “How do I succeed?”, you ask “How do I definitely fail?” and then don’t do those things.

Which is a brilliant hack because I, for one, am extremely skilled at imagining the worst-case scenario. The trick is to weaponise that anxiety. Thank you, mental models, for turning spirals into strategy.

Occam’s Razor says the simplest solution is usually the best. I use this all the time when I’m overthinking a text from someone who said “cool” instead of “cool!”

They’re not mad. They’re just typing like a tired raccoon. Simplicity for the win.

Hanlon’s Razor says don’t assume malice when stupidity will explain it. Honestly, this should be printed on a T-shirt and handed out to every teenager who thinks the world is out to get them. It’s not.

People are just distracted. Or lazy. Or using only 10% of their brain because the rest is thinking about lunch.

Another one I found fascinating is the idea of Chesterton’s Fence.

It basically says, don’t remove a fence until you understand why it was put there.

Which is perfect for all of us who love rage-quitting systems we think are dumb.

Like, your company’s weird 4-step approval process is the result of 3 lawsuits and a haunted printer. Don’t tear it down till you know why it exists.

There’s also the Law of Diminishing Returns, which sounds like economics but honestly applies to dating, hobbies, gym, even therapy.

The first 3 sessions? Breakthroughs. The 7th? You’re just crying into your chai and wondering why you spent ₹2400 to realise your mother was right.

Another underrated one is Bayes’ Theorem, which, no, is not just for math nerds and crypto nerds.

It means updating your beliefs based on new evidence. If you thought someone was a jerk but they did something kind, you update the probability. If only more people on the internet used Bayes instead of screenshots.

And the circles of competence.

Know what you know, and know what you don’t. Stay in your lane.

This feels especially relevant in the age of social media, where everyone with a ring light is suddenly a therapist, economist, and geopolitical analyst. It’s okay to say, “I don’t know enough about this to have an opinion.” I mean, I won’t, but it’s okay if you do.

Then it goes into physics, biology, and systems thinking.

Feedback loops, critical mass, creative destruction. I’ll be honest, this is where my brain started quietly tapping out and thinking about biryani. But I get the gist.

The world is a system. Everything is connected. There are invisible forces. Like gravity. And WhatsApp groups.

A model that really stayed with me was Marginal Utility, each additional unit of a thing gives you less pleasure than the previous one.

Which explains why the second slice of pizza is heaven and the fourth is sin. Or why scrolling through Reels is amazing until the 27th minute when you realise your soul has left the chat.

And don’t even get me started on Sunk Cost Fallacy, the idea that just because you’ve already spent time/money/emotion on something doesn’t mean you should keep doing it. Yes, this applies to that course you hate.

Yes, it applies to that one friendship that feels like a performance review. Walk away. The cost is already sunk.

And what I learned from all of this is: I’ve been living in a fog of semi-intelligent instinct. Like, yes, I “kind of” think about consequences, and I “sort of” analyse problems, but I’ve never sat down and thought, “Hmm, let me apply second-order thinking to this situation.”

Which is weird because I have absolutely done 45-minute journaling sessions on whether I should get bangs. This blog made me realise that we’re often using mental models by accident. But if we used them on purpose?

Game. Changer.

Also, I realised that I had about three working mental models, one of which was “what would a slightly smarter version of me do?, and the rest was vibes.

Which is fine when you're choosing outfits but probably not when you’re navigating career moves or relationships or, I don’t know, climate change.

Reading this made me kind of sad and kind of excited.

Sad because no one taught us this in school. We spent so much time learning the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell, and not enough time learning how to actually make decisions.

But also excited because now I know. I have a starter kit. I can begin applying these models consciously. I can stop crashing into the same damn walls.

For example, I now use inversion for everything. Planning an event? I start by thinking about how it could absolutely fall apart. (Rain. No electricity. No one comes. Food poisoning.)

Then I work backwards. Surprisingly effective. My anxiety loves it. She feels seen.

Occam’s Razor, meanwhile, has become my love language. If someone doesn’t text back, I assume they’re busy.

Not plotting my downfall. Just busy. It’s incredibly freeing.

I’ve also come to terms with my circle of competence. I used to try and have opinions about everything. Now I proudly say “I don’t know” about crypto and politics just yet, and why anyone would enjoy going to Ibiza. I am not for all knowledge. And all knowledge is not for me.

But beyond the tools, I feel a sense of intellectual agency.

Like hey, you don’t have to be the smartest person in the room. You just have to build a better mental toolbox. That’s doable.

“I used first principles thinking on that problem.” Wow. Hot. “I applied systems thinking to our team structure.” Instant promotion. “I used inversion to figure out what not to wear on a first date.”

Genius. This stuff is the golden retriever of intellect. Smart, loyal, always useful.

What I also realised is that most of our parents have been using mental models without knowing what they’re called. Every time my mother said, “Don’t jump into something without thinking three steps ahead,” she was teaching me second-order thinking.

Every time my dad asked “What’s the worst that could happen?”, inversion.

And now that I know the names, I want to spread the gospel. Imagine if every teenager knew about this stuff.

If every decision-maker in the country used second-order thinking. If every social media influencer applied Occam’s Razor before spiralling into performative despair. We’d be living in a mildly better timeline.

So, in closing, mental models are not just for nerds or CEOs or weirdly enthusiastic Twitter bros. They’re for all of us.

I came for the smartness. I stayed for the feeling of control.

I learnt that I already had some of these tools. I just hadn’t sharpened them.

And now that I have?

God help the next bad decision that tries to tempt me. I’ll Occams Razor that shit straight out of my life.