Reinvention is rough-and-ready
your gonna look bad before you get good
We all want reinvention to be clean—a cha-cha slide into a better version of ourselves. But it’s not. It’s awkward. Messy. Uncomfortable. It never looks good at the start.
You try something new, and it feels weird. You stumble. You stop. You start again. You doubt yourself. Still not quite right. And yet—this is the only way it works.
Reinvention doesn’t happen in a single moment—a sharp before-and-after shift. It’s an evvvvolution. Slow. Full of missteps, adaptations, and awkward in-between phases. You don’t just wake up one day as someone new. You stumble, adjust, shed old layers—until one day you look around and realize: you’ve changed. Ta-da!
The Slow Process
Reinvention rarely feels like a clean break. It’s more like being stretched between two selves—one foot still rooted in the familiar, the other reaching toward something undefined. From the outside, the shift may look obvious, even inevitable. From the inside, it’s a blur.
If change had a “before” picture, it wouldn’t be a clear image. It would be layered—old and new selves overlapping, uncertain at first, like a double exposure. Only over time does the picture come into focus, revealing something wholly new.
I started Work Unseen at the beginning of my own evolution—creative, career, personal. A year and change later, I still don’t have it all figured out.
Early on I was upfront with my first readers (mostly my friends) that I had no idea where this was leading. I can’t even recall the first title because I’m on name number three. Or four. Oh yeah, it was called IRL KEL. Here’s what I wrote at the end of my first post:
This is my first post on Substack. Who knows where this will take us. More soon.
That’s all I had. No big plan, no grand vision. Just a simple commitment: write and publish weekly.
Some people sprint through reinvention. Others crawl. I’m somewhere in between—slow, but deliberate.
It doesn’t matter how fast you move. What matters is staying in motion.
A post a week. An experiment. A small step forward.
If you skip a month? Come back. Just come back.
The Power of Rough First Drafts
People love to celebrate the final product—the polished brand, the well-executed pivot. Launch day, etc. But no one talks enough about the first versions, the ones that feel clunky, uncertain, incomplete. And yet, that’s where everything actually happens.
This newsletter wasn’t always called Work Unseen. I changed the name three times in one year. I fumbled my way through different formats, different tones, different ideas. I was making it up as I went. But a year later? I feel clearer than ever.
Because clarity doesn’t come from waiting. It comes from doing.
If I had kept my ideas inside—if I had waited to get it “right” before sharing—I wouldn’t feel this grounded. Every week unveils another layer.
The same was true when I built Lex. The first version wasn’t even an app. It was just a Google Doc and a dream. A pink and gold colored background. Free tools, nothing fancy.
And yet it worked. People used it. It connected them. It led to relationships, friendships, even marriages.
No one cared that it wasn’t polished. They cared that it existed. That it solved their problem. And the best part? They helped shape it. The first Lex users weren’t passive consumers—they were co-creators. They sent feedback, requested features, invited their friends. They weren’t waiting for perfection; they were excited to be part of something real. (This is Lex now.)
Why People Love the Messy Beginning
We assume people want polished perfection. But often, they’re more drawn to the rough draft. The early adopters, the ones who find you first? They’re not looking for sleek—they’re looking for a spark.
They don’t need your idea to be refined. They just need to believe in it.
Your first 1,000 true fans won’t care that your work is raw, that you’re still figuring things out. They’re the ones who see the potential before the polish. They stick around through every messy iteration.
This is exactly why early-stage founders should resist the urge to over-polish before launch. You don’t need a perfect product. You need the right early adopters—the ones who see the vision and help you refine it. Your first 1,000 fans don’t just support your work; they shape it.
I’ve seen this play out firsthand, both in my own work and in the startups I advise. The brands that build loyal, engaged communities aren’t the ones that launch fully formed. They’re the ones that let people into the process—messy, unpolished, evolving.
That’s why early versions matter. The people who find you in the beginning? They get it. They don’t need you to be finished. They just need to feel something real.
It’s why behind-the-scenes content is so compelling. It’s why watching an artist experiment in the studio is more interesting than the final track. Seeing the process—the risks, the changes, the decisions—makes us feel connected. And connection is always more powerful than perfection. (check out my post, Doechii Teaches to get learnings from behind the scenes interviews)
The Only Way Forward Is Through
So start. Start with what you have. Start before you’re ready. Start before it’s good.
Then refine. Polish. Repeat.
If you’re not happy with the result? Keep going. Reinvention doesn’t happen in a single leap. It happens in the doing, the trying, the evolving.
One day, without realizing it, you’ll look back and see just how much has changed.
What’s Your ‘Rough Draft’ Story?
What’s something you started before you were ready? A project, a career shift, an experiment that felt messy but led to something real?
Drop it in the comments—I want to hear how you’ve navigated the in-between.
If you’re a founder, a creator, a builder—don’t hide the rough draft. Share it. Let people in early. That’s how you build a community, not just an audience.
A fellow re-namer! I started my newsletter as HEAVY METAL EMAIL in 2021, then renamed in 2023. I THOUGHT I was writing for one sort of audience, but along came some lovely people who kept saying "this is written for heavy metal bands, but it applies to other creative fields, too," which made the name change feel more comfortable. Those first 1000 subs or whatever... they didn't just sign up, they helped moved this into a whole new space.
oh, i needed this. i haven’t written for my substack in months, frozen in deer-in-headlights fear after a renaming, a still-in-process redefining, all for the half a dozen lovely people who currently read my work😆 thank you for the encouraging shove!