It’s a privilege to be fascinated by anything and everything artful.
If you’re anything like me, you have extremely particular tastes. I know what I like, and I know what I don’t like. That doesn’t mean what I like is the best thing ever, but it does mean I purposefully invest energy and emotion into the things I love. This is important, because loving everything shows a lack of discipline, and loving nothing shows a lack of care. Both extremes are a tax on your creative integrity, and you truly don’t want that.
Anyway.
My opinions are formed fairly quickly, although the process looks more like diving head-first into a deep, black abyss, rather than carefully combing through the waves of a roiling ocean. Or, sometimes it’s both. It depends on what it is and how familiar I am with the subject matter. To be honest with you, this is a personality trait that I’ve had since I first opened my stupid mouth and learned how to talk. Whether it’s art, fashion, photography, design, film, branding, or language, or some beautiful interception of all of those things, I have a deep and unwavering connection (or lack thereof) to whatever piece I’m writing.
Here’s where I’m feeling a little bit like an outlier, but maybe you’re feeling the same—or needed this message to land in your inbox today:
There are only about two things I’m interested in from a creative level. Writing is my main method of communication. I use words to build many different types of stories, from fiction and branding to advertising and this newsletter. I adore words. They are my lifeblood. They are the reason I live.
The second love is photography, which has taken a bit of a backseat lately—but I absolutely adore the medium, from digital to film. This is something I want to bring back for my socials; the thought of creating a conceptual storybook with multimedia photography and multiple creative projects would be wonderful. It’s a medium where my attempt at commercializing it fell short, but I never forgot my unwavering love of black and white, cinematographic styling, dark shadows and angled lighting, and the stories you can tell with just one subject and one emotional narrative at the center.
But, there are a fountain of subjects I’m deeply inspired by, and deeply care about, that I have zero interest in on a consumer level, or even a direct, hands-on creative level.
Fashion is one of them.
Recently, at the ripe age of 31, I’ve started investing a lot of time and creative thinking into what I actually want as far as my personal style. I love monochromatic stylings, from my sweatsuits to the all-black button-ups and trousers and matching shoes.
However, even though my wardrobe is dated and unintentional, I have no intention of blowing money on new pieces I don’t need. I work with what I have; I’m resourceful, and take curation seriously. (I will be taking my personal style seriously in the remainder of 2026… but today is not that day)
That being said, I have an interesting relationship with fashion.
My sister is much more of the fashion connoisseur—she even has a phenomenal tenniswear brand, where she designs, sources, and sells every item herself—but this has always been in her blood. She lives and breathes interior design, fashion, culture, and the high-taste functionality that drives those subcategories.
I was always the opposite. I’ve always loved my sneakers and never liked spending more than five minutes on my hair. I never liked makeup. I take decent care of my skin and I’ll wear mascara and exfoliate my lips on “special” days. I do put in more effort if my partner is taking me to dinner, or if I’m exploring something new. But the act of putting together an outfit for myself never gave me any joy.
However, what does bring me immense fascination and interest is the editorial side of high fashion. Couture. Gowns. Spreads in Vanity Fair and VOGUE. Women and women, treated as sculptural icons. These are where I find glimpses of interest; not as someone who wants to buy, but as someone who admires the work like they’re a fixture in the Louvre.
I have zero interest in becoming a fashion designer.
I don’t care about what’s trending, or what goes with what. What I do care about is the actual shape and making of these garments. I can appreciate the architectural intention behind a good piece. I love understanding the thinking and direction behind these pieces, and why they resonate with people. The aesthetics light a fire that is quite different to the bedrock of coals I use to fuel the writing and storytelling engine.
It’s the exact same rule for architecture, classical music, old films, jewelry, and vintage advertising. Doesn’t matter what they are. They create little avenues. Mirrorlike prisms reflecting rainbows of intersecting imaginative rabbit trails.
The slight difference there with the latter is that I’m deeply inspired by vintage ads, and I consider David Ogilvy to be the dead mentor I never asked for but always needed—but I did not create them, and I don’t usually like to review literal subjects to inspire sparks for my work. (This is probably why I’m a decent candidate for brand work—there’s no such thing as a boring industry to me)
This brings me to the point that I think everyone needs to acknowledge as a creative thinker, especially if you have a slew of interests on an observational/inspirational level, but not necessarily the consumer level:
There’s an art to loving things that you’re not meant to own. You can, and should, be inspired by the world around you. You should be deeply interested in the trillions of individual embodiments of creation at your disposal. You should be invested enough in yourself—in the internal scope of how you’re inherently designed—to recognize these patterns, fully realize them on a personal level, and paint them as Figments of Truth within the canvas of your mind.
If you haven’t learned how to think this way yet, you’re going to start.
Because nothing about the world and its creative embodiments and beauty and everything in-between are boring. Boredom is a choice. It’s the worst choice you can make as a creative.
The ability to consciously avoid boredom—and I don’t mean this in the doom-scrolling way, but in the way that only truly creative people understand, where it’s truly impossible to be bored when you recognize and observe the beauty around you—is an unbelievable force of strength. This conscious avoidance of boredom and equally conscious acceptance of beauty—and being fascinated by that beauty, and on a deeper level, wishing to create that beauty—are what lead to Truly Remarkable And Irreplaceable People.
I’ve realized, while writing this—I don’t plan these ahead of time; you can probably tell, hah—that I’ve gone off into two separate tangents. I’m not going to edit them, or erase them, because those are explorations into the parts of the brain that were not fully awake before these tangents happened. This is is how creative processing works. Without the machine. Just my thoughts, ping-ponging and digging trenches and allowing the floodwaters to rush, rush, rush. This process is, of course, not the same for everyone, but it’s outrageously similar. So similar, in fact, that you’re probably nodding your head right now, drinking all of this up and wondering why the fuck you’ve been reading this when you could be working on your own project right now.
(If you are working on something, you should. Stop reading this newsletter immediately and go work on what brings your soul the endless Fires of Inspiration and all the gorgeous happenings that can only occur from that kind of work)
Anyway, to bring this back in…
Let’s walk through this.
Talk through it, actually.
Like adults with the curiosity of children. With imaginations that never atrophied. (Mine didn’t; I’m safely assuming yours didn’t, either). So I’ll stop waffling and be frank: you already know what you like. You might have been used to overthinking for too long—because of how much you consume each and every day—but you can’t let this direct where your attention funnels.
Pay attention to what’s in front of you, and what’s inside of you.
Listen to the part of you that doesn’t necessarily want to design buildings, but longs to flip through the pages of an architecture book. Listen to the part of you that yearns to trace the loops of a musical note as it dances through your mind, even though you don’t have the burning itch to take up the violin, or touch the keys of a piano. Listen to the part of you that is drawn into the cinematography or the lighting or the writing or the entire making of the movie that yanks on your heartstrings… even though you’ve never really thought about crafting a film yourself.
Pay attention to those parts of you. They were never gone. There was never a point they didn’t exist. You need to brush off the cobwebs and drown yourself within yourself. Sounds a little morbid, but that might just be because it’s 10:04 PM and I’m running on three hours of sleep.
Good luck, and goodnight,
— Taylor Barnes.