It usually starts with Seedhe Maut and a silent scroll through Pinterest.
No plan. No structure. Just aesthetics, broken typography, and energy.
This is how I summon the vibe gods.
Then it’s dishwashing therapy.
Foam. Hot water. Nothing in my ears.
Letting my thoughts steep like chai.
I start pacing around the flat.
One room to the next. Talking to myself.
Sometimes I hit record and just vlog the chaos —
Not for content. Just to hear what the idea sounds like when it breathes.
After that, I try 10 different AI tools.
Not for answers — but for rejection.
I want to see what doesn’t work, what sounds robotic, what feels flat.
Bad outputs sharpen my instincts.
They say “not this” — which gets me closer to this.
Then comes the pitch round.
I call my friends. Tell them three different versions of the idea.
Dramatic. Funny. Overexplained.
Whatever makes them go “yo wait, THAT one…” — that’s the winner.
Sometimes, I pull out the MOM test.
Not an actual framework — I just explain it to my mom.
If she gets it, it’s clear. If she squints? I rewrite.
Nothing brings clarity like simplifying your chaos for someone who raised you.
And then, like clockwork, the random YouTube spiral.
An hour of nonsense: mechanical watch repairs, jazz history, conspiracy breakdowns.
It’s not research. It’s brain reset.
Then I sleep. No notes. No pressure. Just marinate.
And the next day — boom.
Twenty minutes before the deadline, I sit down.
Ignore the AI. 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.
And even then — when it’s done and dusted and ready to post —
Sometimes I still wait.
For a meetup, a jam night, a room full of humans.
Because I want to watch how people react.
Where they smile. Where they lose focus.
The live read tells me more than any analytics ever could.
That’s my process.
Part logic, part chaos, part divine last-minute panic.
Fueled by friends, AI flops, and community feedback.
It’s not clean.
But it’s honest.
And it’s mine.