The beauty of being unfinished

We spend so much time chasing perfection — in our work, in our bodies, in our lives. But I’ve started to realize something: the beauty is not in the perfection. The beauty is in the cracks, the pauses, the incomplete.

This is what wabi-sabi has been teaching me.

For me, it started with my own journey.

Running a menswear brand, I always wanted things to look sharp, flawless, like the big brands that inspire me. But the truth is, my unit has delays, stitches sometimes go off, and drops never come out as fast as I dream. I used to fight this imperfection, get restless, even frustrated. But then I began seeing it differently — every delay, every stitch, every rough edge is part of the story. It’s not broken. It’s alive.

The same has been true in my fitness journey. When I first joined Hyrox, I imagined finishing strong, like the athletes I admire. Instead, I struggled, my time wasn’t great, and my body felt the weight of every kilometer. But even in that sweat and exhaustion, I saw something pure. That race, imperfect as it was, became my mirror. It showed me that effort, not outcome, is where the truth lies.

Wabi-sabi is not just about pottery with cracks filled in gold. It’s about how we live. My restlessness, my habit of imagining perfect future scenarios instead of taking action — that too is wabi-sabi. It shows me I’m human, unfinished, still shaping myself.

And maybe that’s the lesson I want to share:

• Your delays don’t mean failure. They mean growth is happening in its own rhythm.

• Your cracks aren’t weaknesses. They’re the proof that you’ve lived, tried, and felt deeply.

• Your incompleteness is not a curse. It’s your canvas.

My brand, my fitness, my writing, my family dreams — none of these are “perfect.” But they’re mine. And when I look at them through wabi-sabi, I no longer feel the need to polish every detail. Instead, I let them breathe, just as I’m learning to let myself breathe.

Maybe the world doesn’t need a polished version of me. Maybe it needs the real me — imperfect, raw, in progress.

And if you’re reading this, maybe the same is true for you too.