A minimal PDF
The smallest complete file: a page, and shapes drawn on it.
Click a link to a long PDF and you wait, watching nothing happen. The reason is the shape of an ordinary PDF file: the list saying where everything in it is sits at the very end, so a reader has to receive the whole document before it can put a single page on screen. Two hundred pages, and you wait for two hundred pages to read the first one.
Written the other way round, the file opens with page one, everything page one needs, and a small list saying where each of the other pages begins. The first page appears while the rest is still coming down the wire, and jumping to page fifty fetches page fifty alone. The document is exactly the same one: anybody who opens it on their own machine sees no difference at all. The example below measures it — the ordinary file makes you wait for all of it, the reordered one for a quarter.
Whole programs, hundreds of lines long, for whoever writes your software.
Read the Rust source Read the Python source
The smallest complete file: a page, and shapes drawn on it.
The same document written twice, plainly and packed, with what each one weighs and what the packing saved.
A page anybody can open and print, and nobody can copy or alter. Every word of it is scrambled inside the file, and the page states the password that lifts what is withheld.
Text set in a typeface the file carries inside it, cut down to the letters actually used, and still searchable, copyable and readable aloud.
A tick, a cross and a dash drawn by the program, added to the document as a font, and set among ordinary words.
Four faces every reader already draws, set on one page, so the file holds no font at all — and the example weighs the same lines both ways to say what that saves.