Wunderlist: The To-Do App That Made Software Feel Human

Wunderlist: The App That Wouldn’t Let Go

Wunderlist’s rise—and the story of its founder, Christian Reber—isn’t just the tale of a to-do list app. It’s a window into how ambition, design, and sheer stubborn belief can ripple out from one restless creator to millions of people, and in the process, mark an era in European tech. For users, Wunderlist was never “just another productivity app.” It was the bar. The thing everything else was measured against. It was the unattainable standard of what “simple, delightful, and effective” could mean. Its ending is still mourned not only because the product was shut down, but because it represented something more: a philosophy of craft, a kind of purity in software, and a founder who believed in it to the point of heartbreak.

This is the story of Wunderlist. Told through the lens of Christian Reber’s journey—from a restless creative drawn into software, to a founder who built one of the most loved productivity apps in the world, and from the height of acquisition to the bitter reality of watching his creation die.

The Restless Beginning

Christian Reber didn’t start out wanting to be a founder. Born in 1985 in Germany, his early life was more about creativity than code. He loved music, design, digital art. He wanted to compose. Software wasn’t the plan. But like many of his generation, he eventually got pulled in by the gravitational field of the internet.

His first steps were ordinary: freelancing, digital side projects, co-founding a small agency. Nothing that screamed “the next great founder.” But underneath all of that was a frustration. Productivity apps were everywhere, yet none felt right. Everything was either too bloated or too stiff. The joy of using something clean and sharp was missing. The German instinct for precision and minimalism hadn’t made its way into digital productivity yet.

And that frustration became the seed. Why wasn’t there a to-do app that just worked? Why was something as universal as a list either painful to use or ugly to look at?

That question—seemingly naive—was the beginning of Wunderlist.

Wunderlist: Lists, Done Right

In 2010, Reber and a small team under the banner of 6Wunderkinder set out to build that missing app. The vision wasn’t grandiose. It wasn’t “reinvent work” or “disrupt productivity.” It was much smaller, sharper: build the list app everyone wanted, but no one had built yet.

The first version shipped quickly, out of a cramped Berlin office. And instantly, the DNA was visible. Clean interface. Reliable sync. Little touches of delight like background images, buttery animations, the satisfying sound when you checked off a task.

There were no frills, no bloated menus. Just the essence of a list, crafted with care.

Users noticed. First it spread slowly, through word of mouth—students, parents, professionals passing it along. Then it snowballed. A million users within a year. Ten million by 2014. Wunderlist wasn’t a Silicon Valley rocketship in funding rounds or headlines, but it was everywhere in people’s lives.

What set it apart wasn’t only design. It was philosophy. Wunderlist respected its users. It didn’t steal attention. It didn’t drown them in onboarding flows or hide basic features behind paywalls. It gave them something simple, reliable, and yes—beautiful. In an age where most software was either boring or overwhelming, Wunderlist felt like an ally.

Christian Reber: The Guardrail and the Experimenter

Wunderlist worked because Christian Reber fought for it. He wasn’t just the CEO. He was the keeper of the product’s soul. He defended it against unnecessary features, against boardroom pushes to “go enterprise,” against every shortcut that would have cheapened the experience.

He also tinkered endlessly. Wunderlist wasn’t frozen in time. It experimented—adding collaboration, reminders, subtasks. But every decision went through the same filter: does this make the product better without breaking its simplicity?

The board wanted faster monetization. Investors pushed for aggressive revenue. Reber resisted. The freemium model—keep core features free, let scale do the work—wasn’t the obvious path to riches, but it was right for the product. And he bet that loyalty and trust would matter more in the long run.

This stubbornness made him a product philosopher and a startup gladiator at the same time. He was fighting on two fronts: protecting the purity of Wunderlist, and surviving the harsh reality of building a company in Berlin without the deep capital pools of Silicon Valley.

He knew one thing though: Wunderlist couldn’t survive forever without a bigger backer. At some point, it would need scale, money, and a wider reach.

The Microsoft Deal

By 2014, 6Wunderkinder was Berlin’s pride. A shining example that Europe could build a world-class consumer app. Suitors circled. And in 2015, Microsoft made the decisive move, acquiring Wunderlist for somewhere between $100–200 million.

On paper, it was a dream. Resources, reach, validation. For Reber, for the team, for the product—it seemed like the logical next step. Microsoft wanted to rejuvenate its productivity suite, and Wunderlist was the jewel.

And at first, it worked. Features kept rolling out. The team was empowered. Wunderlist reached even more users.

But under the surface, the cultures didn’t fit. Microsoft’s DNA was consolidation. Standardization. Rationalization. Wunderlist’s DNA was independence and simplicity. The clash was inevitable.

Eventually, Microsoft announced it would sunset Wunderlist, rolling its best ideas into a new product: Microsoft To Do.

Reber didn’t take it quietly. He publicly asked to buy Wunderlist back. He wrote open posts, rallied the community, stirred petitions. Microsoft refused. The book was closed.

And that was the moment Wunderlist passed from product to legend. The app itself died. But the memory stayed alive in millions of users who couldn’t quite let it go.

After Wunderlist

For Reber, life didn’t stop at Microsoft. But it did get complicated. He did his time inside the giant, but he wasn’t built for it. The restlessness returned. The urge to build something new.

Looking back, he was brutally honest about his mistakes. He admitted to being too slow to fundraise, too protective of the product, too hesitant to scale. But he never gave up on the values. If anything, he doubled down. He became a voice for authenticity in product design. A defender of European craft against the scale-obsessed mindset of Silicon Valley.

And eventually, he came back with Superlist. A spiritual successor to Wunderlist. The same focus on clarity, the same attention to detail—but modernized, aimed at collaboration and AI-assisted workflows. It was both a continuation and a restart. Proof that he wasn’t done.

Why Wunderlist Still Matters

Why does a to-do list app, killed years ago, still linger in memory? Because it wasn’t just a tool. It was a philosophy made tangible. It respected people’s time. It made checking off a task feel joyful. It proved that software could be functional and beautiful at once.

Wunderlist was also proof of how much a founder’s fingerprints matter. Reber’s stubbornness, his taste, his unwillingness to compromise—that’s what gave Wunderlist its soul. Without that, it would have been just another app. With it, it became unforgettable.

And its influence spread. The wave of minimalist productivity apps that followed—Todoist, Things, TickTick—all carried echoes of Wunderlist. Berlin’s startup scene got a new kind of credibility. Europe had shown it could build a product the world loved.

The Legacy

The story of Wunderlist is a reminder of what matters in building. Not the funding rounds or the exits. Not the pivots or the headlines. But the conviction that software should be more than functional. It should be loveable.

Christian Reber lived that conviction. Wunderlist embodied it. And even in its death, it proved the point: people don’t just remember what software did. They remember how it made them feel.

That’s why Wunderlist’s legacy endures. Not just as an app, but as a standard. A reminder that simplicity, beauty, and respect for the user aren’t luxuries. They’re the foundation for products that last.

And in Reber’s refusal to let go—in his attempt to buy it back, in his decision to start again with Superlist—you see the founder’s ultimate lesson. That building isn’t just about winning once. It’s about holding on to the values that made the first success possible, and carrying them forward.

Conclusion

Wunderlist was the app that wouldn’t let go. For its users, for its founder, for an entire scene. It showed what happens when vision, craft, and tenacity collide. It showed that Europe could build with taste, not just scale. And it showed that sometimes, even when a product dies, the philosophy behind it lives on.

Christian Reber’s journey through Wunderlist is a parable for makers everywhere. Build with conviction. Fight for simplicity. Don’t trade delight for quick wins. Because in the end, it’s not the features that endure. It’s the feeling.

And that’s why, years later, people still talk about Wunderlist. Because it wasn’t just an app. It was proof that software could be loveable.