Cringe, Curated, or Real?

Let me be the first to admit: lately I’ve been battling my perfectionist demons. Writing these blog posts has been fun, but I also know I need to put myself out there on social media. Which means creating reels. And that’s where I get caught in the loop.

The moment I start filming, I convince myself every shot has to be curated. Suddenly it’s stiff, it’s cringe, it’s anything but perfect. Meanwhile, the few times I’ve just shown up as my weird, unfiltered self — those are the posts people loved most. I’m comfortable talking in front of a camera when I know it’s not “for anything,” but the second it’s destined for my feed? I spiral. I start overthinking the shot, the angle, the delivery, like I need to morph into Meryl Streep. Spoiler: I’m not winning any Oscars.

That tension — wanting to be authentic but feeling trapped by perfection — reminded me of something I read in Beth Kempton’s book Wabi Sabi: Japanese Wisdom for a Perfectly Imperfect Life. Wabi Sabi encourages us to appreciate that nothing is truly perfect or permanent. The cracks don’t take away from the value. They are the value.

And right now, that feels like a perspective I need. Because the more I polish my content, the less fun it becomes. The less fun it becomes, the more I procrastinate. And the more I procrastinate, the more disconnected I feel. It’s the gap between who I am when I create freely and who I become when I think I need to perform — and Wabi Sabi might just be the antidote.

🪷the philosophy

Wabi Sabi is a Japanese philosophy that Kempton describes as “a way of seeing the world that is centred on acceptance of the imperfect, the impermanent, and the incomplete.” In other words, it’s the quiet appreciation of cracks, flaws, and simplicity — celebrating qualities like modesty and authenticity over the modern pursuit of perfection. It’s not about fixing what’s broken, but about seeing the meaning in it.

📱wabi sabi in modern life

When I think about how this applies today, especially in a world of curated feeds and highlight reels, it feels like Wabi Sabi is the exact opposite of what social media trains us to value. Online, “perfect” is rewarded: the clean aesthetic, the carefully planned colour scheme, the shot list executed down to the last detail. But in practice, that level of curation often squeezes the joy out of creating — at least for me.

I notice it most in my own process. When I allow myself to be imperfect — when I film something in the moment, just being me — it feels freeing. I’m not thinking about how it will be perceived, I’m just having fun. But the moment I start scripting, planning, and curating, it shifts. The shot list feels like pressure. The performance feels stiff. The whole thing starts to feel more like acting than creating.

I’ve noticed there’s also a big difference between filming alone versus with friends. On solo days, I get stuck in my head and everything feels rigid. But when I’m around people, it’s easier to be silly, natural, authentic. The presence of others makes me relax, and the content feels like a by-product of fun rather than the end goal itself. Those are the moments that align with Wabi Sabi: real, imperfect, uncurated, alive.

What’s tricky about modern social media is that you see both extremes. On one side are the creators with gallery-perfect feeds, every detail immaculate. On the other are those who embrace complete chaos, posting whatever they want without hesitation. I feel pulled in both directions: part of me craves order, but too much order makes me lose myself. Wabi Sabi offers a middle ground — a way to see imperfection not as “mess,” but as progress in motion.

If I really applied Wabi Sabi to my content, it would mean working with what I already have instead of forcing something curated. It would look like pulling from my camera roll, sharing the behind-the-scenes, and letting my lifestyle shape my content instead of the other way around. Like creator Nana Del Rey says, “Make content work for your lifestyle, not your lifestyle work for content.” Wabi Sabi feels like the philosophy behind that reminder.

And honestly, when I’ve let myself do that — posting a behind-the-scenes clip I thought was funny, or sharing something unpolished because I didn’t overthink it — those posts have been met with the most love. It’s ironic, but also obvious: people connect more to what’s real than what’s perfect. And the moments I worry least about how I’ll be perceived are often the ones that resonate most.

⛓️‍💥why imperfection matters

The truth is, perfectionism costs me more than just time. It chips away at self-esteem. I’ll set a ridiculously high standard for myself, and if I can’t meet it, I abandon the project altogether. It’s not that I don’t know what to do — I do. It’s the belief that nothing will ever be good enough, so why bother. And when I don’t start, I’m not putting myself out there. Which means no progress, no growth, just another round of beating myself up.

That’s the loop. Perfectionism convinces me to over-plan instead of act. My ADHD brain plays right into it — making shot lists, reworking ideas, mapping it all out in detail — but rarely hitting record. I know action is what actually creates momentum, but I get caught in the trap of waiting for the “perfect” energy, the perfect moment, the perfect version of me. And if my day doesn’t go according to plan, it feels like the whole thing is ruined.

But there are also moments when the switch flips and I stop caring. I post something messy, scattered, unfiltered — and it lands. People don’t see it as imperfect; they see it as real. For a moment, I feel free. Until the cycle resets and I’m back in my head, weighing every angle again.

That’s why imperfection matters. Because perfectionism doesn’t just delay creativity — it suffocates it. It robs me of fun, spontaneity, and connection.

closing reflections

If there’s one thing I want to take with me from all of this, it’s that I don’t need to put so much pressure on myself to get the perfect shot. I know the moments that feel easiest — the ones with friends, or when I rope my partner into filming with me. That’s when creating content feels less like performance and more like expression.

Maybe that’s the point. Not that perfection is impossible, but that it’s unnecessary. No one’s life is perfect, no matter how it looks on a feed. The cracks, the mess, the human edges — those are what people connect with most.

For me, Wabi Sabi is becoming that reminder. That imperfection isn’t failure. It’s proof of being alive. And that’s enough.

Still winging it means being messy with purpose

^-namesnadia

‍