Have You Nailed Everything But the Hem?

How do we solve for “x” when we feel like our output is off?

When: October 2025
Where: The 6 train at around 2 PM—heading back to the office with Amy after filming an episode of the Off You Go Podcast (streaming here now, by the way).

To my surprise, the train was only half full—a rare occurrence for a weekday afternoon. We snagged seats along the wall and waited for the doors to close. I opened my mouth to begin rattling off status updates for various projects when I noticed that Amy was already preoccupied. She was studying the outfit of a woman standing just across from us. Don’t get me wrong—this woman was undeniably chic—and the way in which Amy studied her outfit was similar to that of a mathematician trying to crack an equation that they just couldn’t quite figure out. Definitely on the right track, but one of the numbers off by a digit, or two.

This, of course, made me curious (I know, shocker). I knew generally where Amy’s head was —I’d seen this look many times before. But there I was, stumped right alongside her. As the train rumbled on to the next stop, there we sat, silently (and hopefully subtly) trying to solve for “x” in this outfit equation. Within mere minutes, Amy beat me to the punch. She turned her head slightly in my direction, nodded, and mouthed the words, “Everything but the hem.”

At first I couldn’t quite decipher what she was trying to say, so I not-so-eloquently replied a confused, “Huh??”

She used her eyes to sneakily point out the hem of the woman’s pant. Ah-ha! She had solved for “x”.

y = mx + b → The “y” output (the outfit) was off, because the “x” variable (the hem) wasn’t adding up.

If this woman’s pant hem had just been slightly longer—or decidedly shorter—she would have absolutely nailed this outfit. Every single component of her outfit had a point of view, except for this one variable. Her pant hem had taken up residence in what Amy calls “No Man’s Land”. This is the place where non-committal clothing lives. Pants that aren’t floor grazing, and yet aren’t purposefully cropped, either…t-shirts with necklines that are neither mock-neck nor scoop-neck…directionless, uncertain, indecisive silhouettes. And the thing about indecisive, unsettled silhouettes is that they have a tendency to, well, make you feel…unsettled.

I can personally attest to this—I used to find myself so frustrated with my wardrobe, because I would stock up on what I thought were perfect basic t-shirts, but they constantly left me feeling so unbelievably discontent—simply because the neckline was never close enough to my neck. That 1.5” gap between the neckline of my shirt and my actual neck felt so wrong. The problem was, I kept winding up with t-shirts that I thought were the perfect basic in theory—but in practice? Hardly. Despite how many TikTok influencers and Instagram ads were telling me that yes, these were indeed the “perfect” t-shirts, the variables weren’t adding up. And it honestly took me longer than I would like to admit to pinpoint exactly why that was. I hadn’t yet defined my own definition of perfect—which is, something with a point of view (modern), yet still chill (t-shirt fabric is the hallmark of ease), and decidedly classic (what has more heritage muscle than a t-shirt?). If you don’t know what you’re looking for, then it’s nearly impossible to seek with purpose.

Though this light-bulb moment on the train was literally months ago (and honestly only took place over the span of like five minutes), I’ve been chewing on the phrase, “everything but the hem,” ever since. To me, it represents the idea of trying to solve for the missing variable that is impacting the overall result, even though the overall result feels and looks like it should be correct. Does this concept directly apply to pants? Yes. Does it also directly apply to the way in which we assess real-life decisions? Yes. Because sometimes the outcome is just off, even if the input appears to be right.

I’m currently reading a book called Happy Sexy Millionaire by Steven Bartlett (Amy, if you’re looking for your copy, it’s in my purse). The author comes from humble beginnings and, in his younger years, he wrote down his goals for his life. When he took inventory of these goals and drilled down to the first principles of what he really wanted, it was to be a happy, sexy, filthy rich individual. And remarkably, by 25 years old he was exactly what he set out to be—on paper, his life was just as he had envisioned all those years ago. He was physically fit, conventionally attractive, incredibly successful, and by all means very wealthy, but he felt unsettled…unfulfilled. His output was off, and yet on paper, all of his inputs looked exactly as they should.

If you’re at all familiar with the origins of Tibi’s brand ethos, Creative Pragmatism, you’ll know that it’s a similar story to that of Steven Bartlett. The company was wildly successful, and was on track to generate boat-loads of revenue—for any business owner, this is the dream output, right? Like Bartlett, Amy realized that though her (then) ideal result was being realized, she felt unsettled—and after much analysis, it was because the inputs—even though they would be deemed correct by McKinsey or some fashion industry expert—weren’t aligned with her principles. In her case, she hadn’t miscalculated her pant hem, but rather she miscalculated what her goals would (or should) look like through the lens of her principles. And when she ultimately decided to make a hard pivot to align the business with those very principles, the equation began to make sense (You can read all about this process in her new book Almost Reckless—hitting bookshelves in March 2026 and available for pre-order here). Correct inputs = correct output.

The thing is, this will mean something different to each pair of eyes that reads this article—depending on what stage of life you’re in, and what your ideal output might look like at this current time. And honestly, it will likely dance along a spectrum—maybe you really are just stuck on finding clothing with a committed hemline, or maybe you’ve spent two years in what you thought was going to be your dream job, and you’re undergoing a reckoning because it’s completely soul-sucking. Whatever you want to call it—solving for “x”, analyzing whether you’ve nailed everything but the hem—it’s all synonymous. But one thing I’ve learned for sure is: when you’ve nailed your principles, it becomes much easier to solve for the missing variable, no matter how unorthodox your methods might seem.