The Garage Pottery Setup
There’s a wheel in my garage in Denver’s Baker neighborhood that has seen more emotional breakthroughs than most therapists. What started as a casual weekend activity has quietly reshaped how I think about clothes, control, and showing up imperfectly in the world.
The First Lesson: Control Is an Illusion
When you first sit down at a pottery wheel, you think you can force the clay into your vision. You push hard, you overcorrect, and suddenly the whole thing collapses into a sad lump.
Sound familiar? That’s exactly how I used to approach my wardrobe and my life.
I would plan perfect outfits, stress about every detail, and feel devastated when a piece didn’t look exactly like the Pinterest photo. The clay taught me that forcing things usually ends in disappointment.
The Second Lesson: Beautiful Things Emerge Through Surrender
The best pots happen when you work with the clay instead of against it. You feel its moisture, its thickness, its natural tendencies — and you guide rather than force.
This mirrors how I now approach getting dressed. Instead of fighting my body or forcing trends, I work with what I have — the weather, my energy level, my actual plans for the day. The outfits that result feel more authentic and usually look better.
The Third Lesson: Imperfection Is Interesting
Some of my favorite mugs are slightly lopsided. They have character. The “perfect” ones I tried too hard to make often look stiff and soulless.
This shifted how I see my body and my clothes. The outfits where everything is perfectly tailored and spotless sometimes feel less alive than the ones with a bit of personality — a slightly oversized sweater, jeans with natural wear, pieces that show I’ve been living in them.
How Pottery Changed My Relationship with Clothes
I Buy Less, But Better
Just like I now use less clay and focus on one good piece, I buy fewer clothes but invest more thought into each one. Quality over quantity became obvious after watching good clay transform in my hands.
I Embrace the Process
Throwing pots taught me to enjoy the making, not just the finished product. Similarly, I now enjoy getting dressed as part of the day’s ritual rather than a stressful performance.
I Let Go of “Perfect” Outfits
Some days the pottery comes out wonky. Some days my outfit is simple and imperfect. Both are still valuable parts of a creative life.
What I Wear to Pottery Nights Now
Old favorite jeans or comfy overalls
A well-loved button-down I don’t mind getting clay on
Apron (obviously)
Sneakers that can handle garage dust
It’s not cute. But it feels right. And that feels more important.
The Deeper Connection
Style and pottery both involve creating something beautiful while working within constraints — your body, the weather, the clay’s nature, your skills at the moment.
The most beautiful results usually come from working in harmony with those constraints rather than fighting them.
What I’m Carrying From the Wheel Into My Closet
More forgiveness for days when nothing feels right
Appreciation for pieces that have stories (natural wear, repairs, memories)
Willingness to experiment and fail
Focus on how clothes feel as much as how they look
A Gentle Reminder
Life, like clay, resists being forced into rigid shapes. The more I release my need for control, the more space there is for unexpected beauty — in my pottery, in my outfits, and in my days.
James still teases me about my growing collection of slightly crooked mugs. Scout doesn’t care if my sweater has clay on it. And I’m learning not to care so much either.
Your Turn
If you’ve been feeling stuck in a perfectionist style rut, maybe try something completely different. Take a pottery class. Learn to dance. Start a garden. Anything that reminds you that beautiful things can emerge from messy, imperfect process.
What hobby has taught you the most about life and style? I’d love to hear in the comments.
Wear it (imperfectly) and go, friends. The clay (and life) will meet you where you are.
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