Latest / Style Project: Lifestyle, beauty & modern living / Why Your Partner’s Socks on the Floor Are Driving You Crazy | Style Project
Transcript
- I have a closet full of dresses I started knitting three years ago. They are tangled, uneven, and absolutely perfect because they remind me that I was trying. Let’s start with the truth. The one I usually hide behind a tidy Instagram grid or a perfectly organized desk. Last weekend, I was looking for a specific pair of earrings. Not just any earrings, but the gold hoops with the tiny pearl drop that I wore to my first major styling gig in Paris. I dug through my jewelry box, past the stacks of rings I bought on impulse during sales I didn’t need, until I hit bottom. And there it was. But underneath it, tangled in a knot of its own making, was a half-finished scarf. It’s gray cashmere. Or at least, it was supposed to be. I had unraveled it twice already. The yarn is frayed. The stitches are uneven. It looks like a disaster waiting to happen. Most people would throw it away. They’d feel ashamed of the waste, the time lost, the lack of follow-through. But I kept it. I keep all of them. There’s a basket in my studio corner, labeled simply 'The Museum of Almost.' It contains a watercolor painting where the sky is too blue and the house is missing windows. It has a sourdough starter recipe written on a napkin that’s stained with olive oil. It has a sketchbook filled with dress designs that were never cut from fabric. If you walked into my life right now, you might think I’m chaotic. You might think I’m a person who starts things and abandons them when the novelty wears off. And maybe, in some ways, that’s true. But I want to invite you to see these unfinished things differently today. I want to talk about the quiet dignity of the incomplete project, and why your messy creative corners might actually be the healthiest part of your day. We live in an era that worships the finish line. Look at our feeds. We don’t see the burnt cookies; we see the plated dessert. We don’t see the draft with three redlines and a coffee stain; we see the published article with the polished headline. Society has convinced us that value is only created when something is done. When it’s finished. When it can be shown off without apology. This creates a pressure cooker in our minds. We become afraid to start anything unless we know exactly how it will end. And if we do start, we become anxious if it doesn’t go according to plan. Think about the last time you picked up a hobby that made you happy. Maybe it was gardening. Maybe it was learning French. Maybe it was just rearranging your bookshelf by color. How did it feel when you stopped? Did you feel proud? Or did you feel relief that the mental load was lifted? For many of us, the moment of completion brings not joy, but a strange emptiness. Because the work was easy. The planning was fun. But the doing? The doing is where the mess happens. The doing is where we get distracted by a phone call, or tired after work, or suddenly realize we hate the color we chose. We abandon the project not because we failed, but because we’re human. And yet, we judge ourselves as if we’re machines that should run efficiently until the task is complete. Let’s unpack that. Why do we treat our creativity like a checklist rather than a conversation? There is a difference between quitting and editing. In my world, as a stylist, I talk about 'the art of the edit' constantly. It’s the skill of knowing what stays and what goes. When I put together an outfit, I take ten pieces out before I leave the house. I edit down the noise until only the signal remains. That is an intentional act. It requires confidence. But abandoning a creative project is different. It’s often reactive. It’s emotional. It’s the sigh you let out when the candle won’t melt evenly, so you toss it in the drawer. It’s the guilt trip you give yourself when the novel sits on your nightstand for six months. I want to challenge you to look at your own 'Museum of Almost' with gentleness. Those unfinished projects are not evidence of your laziness. They are evidence of your curiosity. You tried something new. You explored a path. And then, perhaps, you realized it wasn’t for you. Or perhaps, you realized you needed more time. Or perhaps, you just wanted to stop. All of those are valid reasons. The problem isn’t the abandonment. The problem is the shame we attach to it. We tell ourselves stories like 'I’m not disciplined enough' or 'I don’t have the talent.' But really, what you’re saying is 'This didn’t bring me the satisfaction I thought it would.' And that’s okay. Satisfaction comes in many forms. Sometimes it’s the final product. Sometimes it’s the hour you spent losing track of time while you were doing it. Don’t let the lack of a bow on top erase the value of the ribbon itself. I remember a few years ago, I decided I was going to learn pottery. It sounded so romantic. Hands in clay. Slow spinning wheels. Quiet studios. I took a six-week class. By week two, I was obsessed. I came home every day eager to shape something. By week four, my hands were cracked and dry. The kiln fired my first bowl, and it arrived with a crack running right through the center. It leaked water. I couldn’t use it for coffee. I couldn’t use it for flowers. It was, functionally, useless. I was devastated. I felt like a fraud. Who buys pottery classes and makes a leaky bowl? I threw the rest of my attempts in the trash. Well, almost all of them. I kept the crackle-bowl. I put it on my kitchen counter. At first, I used it to hold keys. Then, I stopped using it altogether. It became a paperweight for bills I didn’t want to open. It sat there, a silent reminder of my failure. But one day, a friend came over for dinner. She saw the bowl. She picked it up. She said, 'Oh, I love this. It looks like a landscape. Like a canyon. Can I have it?' She took it home. She told me later she used it to hold her succulents. The crack held the dirt. It didn’t matter that it leaked. It mattered that it existed. That story changed how I view my unfinished things. They aren’t failures. They are artifacts of a moment in time. A moment where I was trying. Where I was vulnerable. Where I was creating something that didn’t have to be perfect, it just had to be real. So, here is my invitation to you. Look around your space. What is sitting unfinished? Is it a letter you haven’t sent? A garden bed you pulled up in November? A playlist you curated but never shared? Stop apologizing for it. Stop feeling the need to clean it up or hide it away. Embrace the messiness. There is freedom in leaving things open-ended. When a project is finished, it is static. It is done. It cannot change. But an unfinished project is alive. It holds potential. It holds the memory of your intent. I want you to practice 'wear your own skin' with your hobbies. If you don’t finish the drawing, wear the fact that you drew. If you don’t finish the meal prep, wear the fact that you chopped the vegetables. Acknowledge the effort, not just the outcome. This shifts the focus from performance to presence. And in a world that demands so much of our productivity, presence is a radical act. It says, 'I am here. I am trying. I am allowed to be imperfect.' Your creative spirit does not need to be polished to be valuable. It needs to be expressed. So let those half-finished socks sit in the basket. Let that draft sit on your computer. Let them breathe. They are part of your story, even if they are not the ending. If we look back to our last conversation about creating a calm sanctuary in a tiny apartment, you might wonder how unfinished projects fit into that vision. Isn’t clutter the enemy of calm? I would argue that clutter is only the enemy when it is hidden guilt. When you hide your unfinished projects under the bed, they become heavy. They weigh on your subconscious. They whisper that you are failing. But when you acknowledge them, when you place them in a visible, honored spot—like my basket, or your favorite shelf—they lose their power. They become decorative. They become conversation starters. They become reminders of your multifaceted self. You are not just the person who finishes. You are also the person who begins. You are the explorer. The tinkerer. The dreamer. These roles are just as important as the executor. By allowing yourself to leave things unfinished, you are giving yourself permission to play. And play is essential for a healthy, vibrant life. It keeps your mind flexible. It keeps your heart light. So, make space for the starts. Make room for the experiments. Create a sanctuary that welcomes all parts of you, not just the productive ones. Your home should reflect your humanity, not just your achievements. As we wrap up today, I want to leave you with a simple question. What is one thing you’ve left unfinished that you can forgive yourself for? Name it. Say it out loud. 'I left the painting half-done.' 'I didn’t finish the book.' 'I stopped cooking that recipe.' Now, say this next part: 'And that is okay.' Feel the weight lift. Feel the breath come easier. You are allowed to change your mind. You are allowed to outgrow your goals. You are allowed to be a work in progress, forever. Next time you pick up a new creative endeavor, do it with no expectation of completion. Do it for the joy of the process. Do it for the texture of the materials, the sound of the sounds, the smell of the ink. Let it be messy. Let it be weird. Let it be yours. And if it ends up in a basket labeled 'The Museum of Almost,' cherish it. Because it proves you showed up. And showing up, in all your messy, beautiful, incomplete glory, is the most stylish thing you can do. Thank you for letting me into your world today. Keep your sketches messy and your heart open. I’ll see you in the next one. Bye for now.