The Farfalle and the Wall

The ick, the stick, and the world beyond spaghetti

I first learned about the expression “Throw spaghetti at the wall to see if it sticks” with its original, literal meaning: when it sticks to the wall, it’s ready. I was in college, and learning to cook my own pasta for the first time. I was fascinated by this concept, and ended up throwing half my pasta at the wall rather than eating it.

These days, most people mean it metaphorically: try out a bunch of random ideas to see if any of them gain traction. A guy I knew once used it in reference to his dating strategy – if he asked out enough women, one of them might say yes. At the time, I thought it was ick, but was it really different than the strategy I used to apply for jobs and internships, when I couldn’t afford to be selective?

But the thing about spaghetti is that eventually, it will stick to the wall. It’s not luck, it’s timing. So, people who use this strategy often end up with one or both of the following dysfunctions:

1. Entitlement: But I threw the pasta at the wall! Why hasn’t success happened yet?

2. Jealousy: Why is their pasta sticking to the wall, but mine isn’t?

If you have a long enough career, you also move from being the thrower of the spaghetti to being the wall at whom others are throwing their spaghetti. People ask you for things, sometimes small, sometimes absurd, in the hope that you might say yes. At work, the things people might ask me could range from a request for advice to a demand that I get them a job, introduce them to my network, or support their promotion. In the writing world, where so much runs on community, I might get asked to beta read or review or blurb others’ books, which is lovely, or asked for freebies and favors, which isn’t.

As an introvert, I find getting too many of these requests to be overwhelming, rather than flattering. Also, because I take these requests seriously, I would never half-ass it if I agreed. If someone asks me for feedback, I will give them feedback. If someone wants to read and review one of my books, I will gladly send them a free copy (unless they work where I do, in which case, get your own, 1%ers). But I also ignore or turn down a lot of requests, and have to make peace with the fact that someone just threw spaghetti at me and now I’m covered in the starchy slime of guilt for having said No.

How do I know if I’m doing the same to others – throwing my half-done spaghetti at someone, hoping it will stick? Honestly, most women err on the other side, where they don’t throw enough spaghetti, don’t lean into their network, don’t ask for enough, or for the right things, or early enough, and so when they do finally ask for something, they end up with poor outcomes:

1. Soggy spaghetti: The spaghetti is wayyyyy overcooked, you spent too long staring at it and wondering if it was good enough and being afraid of throwing it at the wall, and now it won’t stick to anything because it’s got the weight of a small intestine. This is usually the case when someone is a perfectionist. Some friends wrote a great book about why this is a bad idea.

2. Stabbing strangers in the eye with uncooked spaghetti: This happens when someone gets impatient, and they dip their stalks in water for 20 seconds and then start throwing it at the wall. This usually happens when people have an inflated sense of their skills, when they believe their work deserves greater praise than it’s getting, or are afraid about missing out on opportunities.

There’s also the fun situation where you can pendulum swing between BOTH these dysfunctions, growing increasingly resentful and frustrated that your pasta isn’t coming out right, and feeling as if the instructions are contradictory and ambiguous. What do you mean, I need to put myself out there despite the fear of rejection, but not yet, and not like that, and listen to others’ criticism, but not always, and show initiative but also ask for help, and network with people but not impose too much on their time? AAAAAH!!!!!

I won’t pretend to have all the answers – I’m notoriously bad at asking people for things – but here are the ways I’ve thought about avoiding the Ick-factor and creating more Stick-factor instead:

1. Open with an offer, rather than a request: give 10x more than you take

You may need something from someone. Maybe they can give you a referral, or boost your visibility, or are in a position to blurb your book. If you don’t know them well, or haven’t spoken to them in a while, don't open with “Hi, long time no see. Could you do me a favor and…?” The open self-absorption is an immediate turnoff, no matter what the favor is. Hopefully, you’ve built a personal relationship with that person over time. If not, at least start with a rationale for why you’re reaching out, and make the other person feel valued beyond their ability to grant you favors. Someone once told me you have to give 10 times before you ask once, and I try to live by that.

2. Read / Listen 10x more than you write / speak: let others influence you

This isn’t just a tip for writers. The vast majority of people don’t read nearly as much content as they put out for others to consume. Not only is this yet another sign of self-absorption (read MY strategy doc, MY book, MY substack) it also means you’re never improving by reading and learning from others. I particularly see this among aspiring writers, who fear that reading will influence them too much or distract them. But other people aren’t walls at whom I need to throw my spaghetti, and one person shouting out their thoughts into a megaphone isn’t a conversation. Paradoxically, the less you push your wants and needs on others, the more they usually offer help themselves.

3. Master brevity and salience: tell a compelling story

When I was junior at work, I had a great boss who really understood the details of my job. But then he became an executive, and didn’t have time to be as involved. I would send him detailed updates to ask for advice. He took me aside and said, “I’m going to do you a favor, but you’re not going to like it. Any time I can’t read AND take action on your email in the 2 minute break I have between meetings, I’m going to send it back unread.” He was right. I didn’t like it. And it was the fastest that I ever learned a skill. Nine times out of ten, if your spaghetti isn’t sticking to the wall, and you aren’t getting the responses you want out of others, you haven’t done the hard work to make it clear what you’re asking for, or the even harder work of making it easy for the recipient to say yes.

4. Invest in people for the long-term: Avoid the quid-pro-quo and the win-win

Negotiation techniques, when taught by men, usually emphasize the win-win and the quid-pro-quo (You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours). Both of these are high on ick-factor. On social media, there’s often a lot of “like-for-like” or “follow-for-follow” but all this gets you is a fake platform, not genuine engagement. Moreover, it doesn’t actually help you in the long-run. People who boost you only so they’re boosted in return are not going to invest in your growth, champion you to their friends, or stick with you when things get hard.

5. Say No a lot, so you can say Yes with your whole voice.

I understand shyness when it comes to asking for things. I feel it all the time. Nobody likes getting rejected. Maybe it’s internalized misogyny that whispers that women exist solely to help other people, which makes us cringe with guilt at the idea of saying No, and we run away screaming at the idea of asking for something for ourselves. But if you don’t make a practice of saying No, and having boundaries around your time and self-worth, you won’t have anything left to give the people who matter. I say No almost all the time, so when I say Yes, people know I mean it.

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There’s also a whole other option on the table. Especially these days, when AI is perfectly capable of generating half-cooked spaghetti and throwing it all over the world, why not differentiate? Go for the artisanal, the unique, the butterfly (farfalle) instead. Farfalle is never going to stick to the wall. Ever. So there’s no point throwing it, but if you make a nice dish, farfalle is better at picking up the sauces, and it looks way prettier. People might just come to you for your farfalle when they’re tired of getting smacked in the face with half-cooked AI spaghetti.

I mean, look at this mess above. Wouldn’t you rather have this handcrafted rainbow farfalle? (You can, and you can “also cook them in salads with seasonal vegetables and anything that will make you happy.”) I’m sold. Spaghetti days are over.