Own your flaws

Who’d eat at an imperfect bistro? 

A lot as it turns out. It was booked out. We couldn’t get a table. 

I was so disappointed. It sounded like just my type of (fl)awesome restaurant.  

It made me wonder what it was about the name that didn’t put diners off. 

I put my money on confidence and honesty.  

My hospitality years are long behind me but I remember clearly how almost nothing went to plan. 

The vegetable order was missing a key ingredient. The sous chef called in sick. The waiter had a hangover. 

We adapted. The doors opened and people were served - well. 

We were transparent. We told them if the kitchen was a chef down or the promised artichoke wasn't on the menu that night. They appreciated our honesty and understood why their meal may not have arrived as fast as usual.

I reckon Osteria Imperfetta worked for diners because it promised a real experience, not ‘the best pasta in Ragusa’.

This osteria in southern Sicily leaned into its imperfection, rather than hiding it. I think it’s a bold move, rather than self-effacing. It said, ‘we know we’re not perfect, we’d love you to join us.’ And people did. In droves. 

We edit our imperfections out of our proposals, polish them off our LinkedIn posts, smooth them over in our workshops – in the name of ‘professionalism’ or ‘branding’ – when the reality is that few of us have got it together. 

I don’t this confidence is about having it all together. It’s the courage to be seen as you are, flaws and all.  

In discovery sessions with clients, in workshops with participants, I’ve noticed that my honesty makes people lean in. I can almost hear people breathe out with relief. Honesty creates space for connection, courage and real conversation. 

Maybe Osteria Imperfetto has the same secret ingredient.  

Perfect’s overrated. Real fills the room. 

Thanks for reading this far. 

Stay (fl)awesome!