on the taste gap

The “taste gap” describes the space between what you admire and what you can actually create. When you start something creative, your ability to recognize and appreciate good work develops much faster than your own skills do.

It’s much easier—and faster—to become a good critic than a good creator. Consuming and analyzing art is passive, and requires less investment than the vulnerable, often frustrating work of making something yourself.

This leads to a familiar frustration: you can see what’s good, but you can’t yet make it yourself. Your taste has outpaced your ability, and the gap can feel discouraging.

The best way I’ve found to cope is simply to embrace the gap. Recognize that it’s normal to be a better consumer than a creator, and there’s nothing wrong with that. That most of the times, you won’t be up to your own standards.

Revisit things you’ve created way back in the past. See how differently you judge those compared to things you created recently. It’s a sign that you’ve grown as an artist.

Drawing a parallel, I’ve come to see writing as the “taste” side of self-development, and actual change—assimilation, self-actualization, identity-forming—as the “creation” side.

When I write, I’m often imagining myself as the person I aspire to become. I try to build sound arguments and thoughts, but my thinking always seems to run ahead of my actual feelings or habits.

I often say, “I know it, but I haven’t assimilated it.” It’s one thing to understand something rationally, and another to truly believe it—to let it shape how you act and who you are.

But writing helps bridge that gap. It clarifies my thoughts, and over time, helps me internalize what I want to believe and become.

Writing is a way to preserve my thinking, and to practice being the person I want to grow into. In a way, it’s a step before “fake it till you make it”—it’s how I figure out what I want to make of myself in the first place.

The deepest reflection often comes in conversation with thoughtful friends. But writing, for me, is a way to continue that conversation with myself—to close the gap between what I admire and what I can create, both on the page and in my life.

I’ve grown the most whenever I’ve given myself space to feel, reflect, and—most importantly—to think things through by writing them down.

The best part is having something to look back on whenever I need a reminder of who I wanted to become.

Of course, those old reflections can become outdated. You can change your mind about the person you want to be, and what you once wrote might no longer fit. Honestly, it would be disappointing if that never happened—growth means outgrowing old versions of yourself.

But in the short and medium term, writing has helped me build a kind of compass. It shapes and influences me, giving me a clearer sense of who I’m aiming to become.

Maybe the gap never fully closes. But that’s what keeps creation—and self-discovery—interesting. So I honestly hope it never does.