Two Numbers Decide Everything
How hard a piece of writing is allowed to be depends on exactly two things about its reader: how much attention they have chosen to spend, and whether they can go back. Everything else — the topic, the author's ability, the prestige of the venue — is secondary to those two.
Put a few surfaces on that grid and a budget table falls out. An essay reader chose to work, will re-read, and wants depth, so being unfriendly is a genre feature and flattening it destroys the thing. A lesson has a motivated reader who can stop and resume, so it can be demanding as long as it rewards a second pass. A casual reader browsing has no obligation and may leave, so the story has to carry the weight. And a video viewer has borrowed attention, an exit one thumb away, and no rewind at all — which makes it the hardest surface in the table, not a neutral one.
Why This Cuts Both Ways
Two rows of that table are the whole trap, and they fail in opposite directions.
The internal-notes row is why a technical writer's instincts are miscalibrated. Most of what an engineer writes — documentation, design records, notes to a future maintainer — is for a reader who holds the entire context and can read a sentence three times. Compressed, abstract, clause-stacked prose is correct there. It is the register you become fluent in, and it is the register you default to. Carried onto a video it is lethal, because the viewer has none of the context and cannot go back.
The essay row is the guard against over-correcting. This is not a mandate to simplify everything. Some venues are supposed to make the reader work; applying broadcast standards to them would destroy them just as surely as the reverse. The rule is calibrate, not lower — and a writer who has internalized only half of it has swapped one miscalibration for another.
Broadcast Basics, and Why It Is Not About Intelligence
The standard for the hardest row is a broadcaster's rule of thumb: pitch it at a middle-schooler's level. That sounds insulting until you see the mechanism, which has nothing to do with how smart the audience is. Attention is on loan and the exit is one thumb away. A viewer who has to work out what a sentence meant has already stopped hearing the next one, and two of those in a row and they are gone.
Which produces the hard consequence: on video, a sentence that is merely difficult is not a lesser version of a good sentence. It is a failed sentence — one the viewer never received. Elegance is not a defense against not being understood.