The Beauty of Imperfect Perfection: A Love Letter to Flawed Gems
"I can never make something as perfect as an iPhone, but Apple could never make something as flawed as what I do."
Tom Sachs is a world-renowned artist. Museums buy his art pieces. The Guggenheim has some of his work. What makes Tom Sachs perfect is the imperfections in his art.
I can never make something as perfect as an iPhone, but Apple could never make something as flawed as what I do. - Tom Sachs
He embraces the paint drips, the glue drips, and the scratches. What many would see as flaws is what makes Tom’s sculptures pure art.
Perfection is overrated. It’s sterile, predictable, and, frankly, a bit boring. The things we love most—the games, the stories, the objects, the art—aren’t perfect. They’re gloriously, messily, imperfectly perfect. They’re the scratched vinyl records that still play your favorite song, the chipped mug that holds your coffee just right. Imperfection gives character, soul, and staying power. Let me take you on a tour of four shining examples of imperfect perfection that have captured my heart and, I bet, yours too.
The Lamy Safari and the Jinhao copy of the Safari
The Lamy Safari is my favourite pen. The fountain pen that’s the gold standard for writers, doodlers, newbies to the fountain pen world, and stationery nerds like me. Its sleek design, divisive ergonomic grip, and smooth nib make it a joy to use. It’s not flashy, but it’s perfect in its simplicity—until you meet its knockoff cousin, the Jinhao 619.
The Jinhao 619 pens are an unashamed knock-off version of the Lamy Safari. They copy the design to a T, but there’s always something off. My Jinhao 619 has a slightly scratchy nib fine nib, but because of that it produces a line that my Lamy nib never can: fine, and sometimes scratchy with ink splatters. The plastic that it’s made of feels cheaper and lighter than the Lamy. The in converter that the 619 comes with feels is 100% made of plastic, where the Safari converter is more solid in design, but sold separately from the pen itself. Yet, here’s the magic: the Jinhao is still a damn good pen. For a fraction of the price, it delivers 90% of the Safari’s joy. Its imperfections—the occasional ink burp and unique lines—are what make it endearing. It’s trying so hard to be its idol, and in that effort, it becomes its own kind of perfect. The Safari is the ideal; the Jinhao is the scrappy underdog you can’t help but root for. Together, they prove that perfection doesn’t need to be flawless—it just needs to work.
Zines: The Art of Embracing the Mess
I’ve been churning out an 8-page zine every month. Let me tell you, it’s not easy. There’s always a typo I miss, a in splatter, or a page that’s slightly off-center. My zines are raw, handmade, and gloriously imperfect. And that’s exactly why they’re perfect.
Zines are the punk rock of publishing. They’re self-made, self-funded, and unapologetically real. Every smudged ink mark, every slightly skewed cut, tells a story of a real human, raw creativity, and passion. The imperfections are proof of the human behind the zine. They’re what make zines feel human in a world of polished, algorithm-driven content. Each month, I learn to embrace the flaws—a misspelled word here, a doodle that went rogue there—because they’re what make my zines mine. They’re not perfect, but they’re honest, and that’s what makes them shine.
Escape from Tarkov: The Buggy Beta That Steals Your Soul
Picture this: you’re creeping through the war-torn streets of Tarkov, heart pounding as you hear gunshots not far from you, clutching a scavenged AK-47 with exactly 12 bullets left. You hear footsteps. You aim. You click… and your game crashes. Welcome to Escape from Tarkov, the buggy, unfinished masterpiece I’ve sunk over 3,000 hours into. Eight years in beta, and it’s still a mess—desync issues, glitchy AI, and servers that sometimes feel like they’re running on a hamster wheel. Yet, I keep coming back.
Why? Because Tarkov’s imperfections are what make it unforgettable. Every glitchy firefight, every rage-inducing death (to a bug or the games harsh mechanics), is part of the raw, unfiltered chaos that mirrors the game’s brutal world. It’s not polished, and neither is war. The stakes feel real because the game doesn’t hold your hand—it slaps it away, sometimes by accident. Those 3,000 hours? They’re not just gameplay; they’re stories of triumph, frustration, and the kind of adrenaline rush you can’t get from a “perfect” game, often times shared with friends. Tarkov’s flaws are its soul, and I wouldn’t trade a single crash for any other extraction game out there.
The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion: Potato Faces, Epic Grace
Let’s rewind to 2006, when The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion hit the scene, and then again in 2025 when the remastered version was released. This game is a legend, but let’s be real: it’s a hot mess in the best way. The NPC faces look like they were sculpted by a drunk AI with a vendetta against cheekbones. The voice acting? A handful of actors voicing hundreds of characters, resulting in iconic lines like “I saw a mudcrab the other day” delivered with the gravitas of a Shakespearean soliloquy. And don’t get me started on the physics—horses flying into orbit, anyone?
Yet, Oblivion is a masterpiece. Its sprawling world of Cyrodiil, with its shimmering Ayleid ruins and haunting soundtrack, pulls you in and never lets go. The quests, from the shadowy Dark Brotherhood to the absurdly charming Thieves Guild, are storytelling gold. The imperfections—those wonky animations, the repetitive dialogue—only add to its charm. They remind you that this is a world built by humans, not algorithms. Oblivion’s quirks make it feel alive, like a friend who’s a little weird but endlessly lovable. It’s imperfect perfection at its finest.
The Imperfect Perfection We All Need
These flawed gems—Tarkov, Oblivion, the Jinhao 619, my monthly zines (or your own)—remind us that perfection isn’t about being flawless. It’s about heart, character, and the courage to exist as you are, bugs and all. We don’t love these things despite their imperfections; we love them because of them. They’re mirrors of our own messy, beautiful lives.
So, here’s to the games that crash, the stories that stumble, the pens that leak, and the zines with pages that don’t quite align. They’re not perfect, but they’re perfect for us. What’s your favorite imperfectly perfect thing? Let me know below—I’m dying to know.