Embracing Imperfection: From Wabi-sabi to Malcolm Gladwell’s Imperfect Puzzles

The great David Lee Roth once explained the concept of Wabi-sabi to Joe Rogan this way: “Wabi-sabi is a Japanese term that, succinctly put, means that which is perfect is cause it’s a little f—ed up.”

“Your favorite pair of jeans? Very Wabi-sabi,” he expanded. “The guitar player for the Rolling Stones? Very Wabi-sabi.”

As someone who knows next to nothing about Japanese art and aesthetics, the concept was new to me. My grasp of it is still tenuous, but as a writer in the age of AI, I’ve found it can serve as a tonic, helping me remember the importance of authenticity and imperfection.

The voice of self-doubt in my head has always been loud. But today, where machines can ingest the entire internet and spit out pristine prose on any subject in a matter of seconds, that voice can reach higher decibels than before.

So it’s important for me to remember that this new environment will, perhaps more than ever, reward distinguished voices who can make off-beat arguments and tell authentic stories that don’t hide their imperfections, oddities, ticks and warts. Those flaws, after all, are what make us human and interesting.

Rick Rubin, a guy who knows a bit about creativity and art, summed it up well in his book The Creative Act: “Flaws are human, and the attraction of art is the humanity held in it. If we were machine-like, the art wouldn’t resonate. It would be soulless.”

I agree with Ethan Mollick’s argument that to maintain job security, we need to ensure we are always “the human in the loop,” which means staying fluent in AI tools and best practices. But it helps to remember that the tools should serve us, not the other way around. As machines crowd into the writing process, writers will need to keep their own experiences front and center to truly connect with other humans. ?

Embracing imperfection doesn’t mean writers need to swear off grammar apps or run text through AI-powered programs to consider suggested changes. Those tools are miracles of technology and can make meaningful improvements, but they should not substitute human judgment.

Gladwell’s imperfect puzzles

Malcolm Gladwell, in a MasterClass course, has likened his writing to putting together a jigsaw puzzle—for good reason.

Many of us love doing puzzles. Or, at least, we find them very hard to resist.

The allure is somewhat of a mystery, as Gladwell notes. We know any puzzle can be solved because we’ve been given a picture and the exact number of pieces. There’s zero drama over whether it can be completed.?

And yet, we are drawn to see them finished. We can’t pass by an unfinished puzzle and not feel compelled to dig in.?

Writing, to Gladwell, is like arranging pieces of a puzzle. He’s looking to make them fit together in a compelling way. His pieces—research, characters, anecdotes, facts, and figures—are on a shelf as he begins to write. One by one, he takes them off the shelf to put them together in an order that keeps the reader engaged.?

But there’s one crucial difference between a jigsaw puzzle and Malcolm’s articles.??

His pieces don’t always fit perfectly. Instead, they often draw an imperfect puzzle.?The reason is simple: imperfect puzzles are more interesting and likely to linger in the heads of readers.

Note that “Interesting” is the goal of his writing. It’s not to assemble irrefutable arguments with neat corners and tidy endings.?

It’s an important point we all can consider, especially as we try to distinguish our writing.? We are not drawn to neat, common-sense arguments because they’re obvious. We are drawn to arguments that surprise us or strike us as odd.

Of course, what is interesting?is hard to define; it’s a human judgment call. ?

In his legendary New Yorker piece on ketchup, Gladwell seeks to explain why the condiment has defied variation and innovation that swept other condiments like mustard and vinegar. The article never quite nails down why. In one long digression, he profiles Howard Moskowitz, a funny and brilliant character who helped to revolutionize various food categories but who ultimately has no insights into why ketchup resisted change. So the puzzle is never quite solved, but the journey takes you to some interesting places.

I asked ChatGPT to provide a short outline for the piece, and here’s what it gave me:

• Anecdotal Lead: Gladwell starts with an engaging story about mustard to hook the reader.
• Contrast: He sets up a contrast between the diverse mustard market and the homogeneous ketchup market.
• Expert Insight: Introduces Howard Moskowitz and explains his contributions to the food industry.
• Scientific Explanation: Delves into the science behind taste preferences and product development.
• Case Study: Uses Heinz as a central case study to illustrate why some products resist diversification.
• Attempts and Failures: Chronicles various attempts to innovate ketchup and why they failed.
• Cultural Analysis: Explores the cultural and emotional reasons behind consumer loyalty to Heinz.
• Broader Implications: Concludes by reflecting on what this says about consumer behavior and market strategies.

The outline follows a logical structure, but Gladwell had to make many decisions along the way, how much time to spend on Moskowitz, who ultimately has nothing to offer on the ketchup mystery. All of them required his judgment of what was most interesting. Those instincts are unique to him. But we all have them. It important we don't stop listening to them.