Why Your Mess Is Actually Data (And How to Use It to Build Better Systems)

I used to think my brain was broken...
Some mornings, I wake up craving a crisp, color-coded dashboard. By lunch, I’m fantasizing about setting it on fire and dancing in the ashes.

For a long time, I saw that tension as a problem to fix. Don't get me wrong, I love building systems. But like most creative people, I hate being trapped by them.

I’ve come to understand that creativity doesn’t come from clarity, sterility, or worse, perfection.
It comes from tension.
From sitting in the friction long enough for something new to emerge.
You loop. Wrestle. Spiral.
Then—boom. Something breaks through.
That wild, maddening, electric middle space where real ideas are born. And it feels great.

I don’t know where we got the idea that the best systems have to feel technical—engineered for perfection and stripped of anything messy or human.
Somewhere along the way, we decided systems had to be sterile. Machine-like.
But we’re not machines.
So why are we building systems like we are?

The truth is, creative people are brilliant. Visionary, in fact. But they often don’t execute or reach their peak—not because they can’t, but because the systems around them (if they even have one) don’t support how their brain works.

So here is the question I put to myself before sitting to write this: What if our systems didn’t flatten our creativity, but fueled it?
And what if the tension was the exact material we needed to build systems that gave us room to move, collide, and ignite our creative spark?

That inner tug-of-war, structure one day, destruction the next, isn’t just a mood swing. It is a design signal and where the first tension lives.

Tension #1: Structure vs. Chaos

The best systems I’ve ever built didn’t start from clarity—they started from discomfort. A messy whiteboard. A founder mid-panic. A workflow that made sense until it didn’t. Systems are often born where things break down.

Something about this used to bother me. Shouldn’t a "good" system be clean, elegant, logical, and one-size-fits-all?

Then I met systems that were aesthetically flawless but completely soulless. Or worse of all... no one followed them or understood them. They didn’t make sense to real humans trying to do real work.

Here’s where The Unaccountability Machine by Jonathon S. Smucker boils it down to one brutal truth: big systems succeed at making responsibility no one's job. He argues that big systems don’t fail by accident—they fail on purpose. Or rather, they succeed at what they’re really designed to do: make responsibility impossible to locate.

Smucker (whose book isn't exactly beach reading) unpacks how large organizations often optimize themselves into oblivion—not to improve outcomes, but to distribute and dilute responsibility. The more efficient they appear, the more they can obscure who’s actually accountable. Optimization becomes camouflage. And in the process, real clarity and integrity get lost in the maze.

Smucker shares an example from his time organizing with Occupy, where the group had a seemingly open and democratic process, but behind the scenes, a few individuals held most of the real decision-making power. The visible structure gave the illusion of shared accountability, but in reality, it shielded key actors from scrutiny. It looked participatory. It wasn’t. That disconnect between what’s shown and what’s real—that’s the danger of optimization without integrity.

That’s how a lot of systems work. Optimization becomes aesthetic—something to perform, not live by. It looks great in a slide deck. But ask a simple question: "Who’s responsible for this?"—and suddenly the silence is deafening.

Smucker puts it plainly:

"Most systems aren’t broken. They’re working exactly as designed. The question is: who do they protect, and who do they erase?"

Friction isn’t something to smooth over—it’s a design clue. If something’s messy, there’s usually a reason. Something honest. Maybe even necessary. That’s where systems should start—not with what’s tidy, but with what’s true.

Which leads right into the next tension we love to ignore.

Tension #2: Rationality vs. Emotion

Rory Sutherland, Vice Chairman of Ogilvy and one of the sharpest minds in behavioral economics, often shares how people’s buying decisions are rarely founded on logic alone.
We buy based on story, symbol, instinct. We are deeply irrational—and beautifully so.

And if you're thinking, "Not me," I get it—I used to think the same. But years of writing copy and building marketing strategies taught me otherwise. We’re not as logical as we think.

So why would we design systems that pretend otherwise?

Most automated systems expect people to be efficient, linear, and consistent. But real effectiveness often comes from emotional timing.

It’s like showing up to a party two hours early. The host is still in the shower, the lights aren’t on, and no one’s ready for you. Same message, wrong moment. You’re not welcomed—you’re in the way. And the host might even be a little irritated with you.

But arrive when the room is warm, the music’s playing, and everyone’s ready to connect? Now you're not barging in—you’re arriving just as the host opens the door with a smile.

Optimizing for 'ideal behavior' sounds smart until you remember: most people don’t live in ideal conditions. They’re juggling. They’re messy. They don’t follow perfect sequences. The systems that last are the ones that flex with that reality.

In a nutshell, the best systems don’t treat emotion as an obstacle. They use it as a design input.

Which brings us to the next tension worth sitting with.

Tension #3: Strength vs. Shadow

Carl Jung—yes, the Swiss psychiatrist whose work laid the foundation for everything from personality theory to shadow work—believed that growth doesn't come from perfection. It comes from integration.

The shadow, in Jungian terms, isn’t just our dark side. It’s all the parts of ourselves we avoid, repress, or pretend don’t exist. The stuff we hide because it doesn’t fit the brand.

But here’s the kicker: those parts don’t go away. They run the show from the background.

And if your systems only reflect your highlight reel—your strengths, your "ideal self"—then guess what? They’ll crack the second your chaos shows up.

Take the story of the Porsche 911. For decades, engineers at Porsche’s headquarters in Stuttgart tried to “fix” its rear-engine layout, because on paper, it was flawed.
The car was prone to oversteer. It handled unpredictably. It broke the rules of balance and control. A flaw by traditional engineering standards—but in Jungian terms, it was a shadow trait: a hidden tension that, once integrated, revealed something powerful.

Instead of scrapping the layout, over time Porsche engineers refined everything around it. The suspension. The weight distribution. The stability systems.
They didn’t eliminate the "flaw"—they learned how to work with it. And over time, that so-called flaw became the 911’s signature. Enthusiasts didn’t just tolerate it—they came to love the way it felt. Distinctive. Alive. Irreplaceable.

That’s the point: you don’t need to fix every flaw—just learn how to work with it. Not erased. Not avoided. Mastered.

Tension #4: Automation vs. Artistry

Automation doesn’t have to be cold.
In the right hands, it can be deeply human. A reminder. A ritual. A form of care.

The best systems don’t erase your humanity. They make space for it.

"Your joy is your sorrow unmasked." —Kahlil Gibran

This line from The Prophet isn’t just poetic. It’s practical. Joy and sorrow don’t cancel each other out—they define each other. You only know deep joy because you’ve known deep loss. It’s the contrast that gives it weight.

Systems are the same. The parts that feel chaotic or frustrating? They’re often the flip side of your greatest strengths. Emotional depth can mean emotional mess. Creativity can mean inconsistency. Precision can mean perfectionism.

If you design a system that only makes space for the joyful, tidy, or "on-brand" parts, it will eventually buckle. But if you make space for both—the sorrow, the struggle, the friction—your systems won’t just function. They’ll feel like they fit.

That’s not softness. That’s sustainability.

Let the Paradox Live

Tension isn’t a problem. It’s the material.
Seriously—if your system only works when everything’s perfect, it’s not a system. It’s a stage prop.
The good ones? They’re built to flex. To hold tension. To survive contact with real humans doing real work.

Here’s the Build Better Cheat Sheet: Four tensions to design systems that actually work—for you.

Structure vs. Chaos

Inspired by Jonathan S. Smucker's book, The Unaccountability Machine

“Most systems aren’t broken—they’re working exactly as designed. The question is: who do they protect, and who do they erase?”

→ Shift: Don’t aim for tidy—aim for true.
→ Try This: Look at one system you’re using (content calendar, onboarding flow, planning doc). Now ask: What parts feel forced, fake, or avoided? Instead of patching over that mess, rebuild around it. Design for the panic point—not the ideal flow.

Rationality vs. Emotion

Inspired by Rory Sutherland

“The human mind does not run on logic any more than a horse runs on petrol.”

→ Shift: Real systems don’t run on logic—they run on momentum.
→ Try This: Identify a place where your system assumes you’ll “just do it” (e.g., content batching, client follow-up, offer promotion). Add one cue that evokes emotion—like a playlist, image, message, or testimonial. Make it feel worth showing up for—not just doable.

Strength vs. Shadow

Inspired by Carl Jung + Porsche

“The flaw isn’t the flaw—it’s the feature.”

→ Shift: Don’t build for your best day. Build for the day after.
→ Try This: Review your process when you fall off (miss a post, ghost a lead, skip a task). What do you blame yourself for? Now redesign that part of the system to absorb the wobble: default drafts, “break glass” content, a recovery ritual. Build for your breakdown—not just your breakthrough.

Automation vs. Artistry

Inspired by Kahlil Gibran

“Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.”

→ Shift: Automation can feel like art—if it holds soul, not just logic.
→ Try This: Pick one automated moment (confirmation email, thank you page, onboarding sequence). Rewrite it as if you were writing it to your favorite client on their worst day. Same automation—more aliveness.

Something to Sit With:

Where in your business are you optimizing for how things should work—at the expense of how they actually do?

Let me know in the comments below...

Until next time—may your systems be strong enough to hold your chaos.
—Giselle, aka the structure junkie