It usually starts with Seedhe Maut in my ears and a silent scroll through Pinterest. No plan, no structure, just aesthetics and broken typography and raw energy. This is how I summon the vibe gods.
Then comes dishwashing therapy. Foam, hot water, nothing in my ears, and my thoughts steeping like chai. Somewhere in there I start pacing around the flat, one room to the next, talking to myself. Sometimes I hit record and vlog the chaos, not for content, just to hear what the idea sounds like when it breathes.
I use AI for rejection, not answers
Next I run the idea through ten different AI tools, and not one of them is there to hand me the answer. I’m hunting for what doesn’t work, what sounds robotic, what falls flat. Bad outputs sharpen my instincts. When the machine says “not this,” it quietly drags me toward this.
Then it goes to humans. I call my friends and pitch three versions of the same idea: the dramatic one, the funny one, the overexplained one. Whatever makes someone go “yo wait, THAT one” is the winner.
For the final gut check, I pull out the MOM test. It’s not an actual framework. I just explain the idea to my mom. If she gets it, it’s clear. If she squints, I rewrite. Nothing brings clarity like simplifying your chaos for the person who raised you.
Then I let it marinate
Like clockwork, a random YouTube spiral shows up. An hour of mechanical watch repairs, jazz history, and conspiracy breakdowns. It’s not research, it’s a brain reset. Then I sleep on it. No notes, no pressure, just marinate.
And the next day, boom. Twenty minutes before the deadline I sit down, ignore the AI, and ignore the noise. I take every failed draft, every good reaction, every random visual, and I make the damn thing in one go. Like the idea always knew it had to wait for this exact moment.
Even then, when it’s done and ready to post, I sometimes still wait. For a meetup, a jam night, a room full of actual humans. I want to watch people react, to catch where they smile and where they lose focus. The live read tells me more than any analytics ever could.
That, in all its mess, is my process. Part logic, part chaos, part divine last-minute panic, fuelled by friends, AI flops, and community feedback.
It’s not clean. But it’s honest. And it’s mine.
Originally published on Mataroa.