Cold Coffee & A Digital Commonplace Book: How a Spreadsheet Became My Style Compass

Okay, so I’m sitting in my usual corner at this little coffee spot downtown, the one with the slightly-too-loud indie playlist and the barista who always remembers my oat milk flat white. It’s one of those weirdly perfect Sunday afternoons where the light slants through the window just right, and I’m supposed to be planning my content calendar for the next month. My laptop is open, a blank document is staring back at me, and my brain is just… elsewhere. You know that feeling? Instead, I found myself scrolling through my phone, looking at photos from last month’s trip to that little coastal town. The light there was insane. Golden hour lasted for what felt like three actual hours.

Anyway, this got me thinking about all the stuff I want to do, see, buy, read… the mental list is endless and terrifyingly disorganized. It lives in about seven different places: notes on my phone, random bookmarks, screenshots I’ll never find again, and a sad-looking Notes app folder called ‘Maybe Later.’ Classic. I was complaining about this to Sam last week—you know Sam, always has a system for everything—and they were just like, ‘Dude, you need a single source of truth for your brain dumps.’ And then they sent me a link. Not to some overly complex project management tool, but to this thing called an orientdig spreadsheet.

At first, I was skeptical. A spreadsheet? For my chaotic, aesthetic-driven life? Please. It sounded about as fun as doing my taxes. But Sam insisted it wasn’t like that. They called it a ‘digital commonplace book’ or something equally pretentious, but the gist was simple: one place to put everything that sparks joy or a thought, without the pressure of it being ‘content’ or a ‘task’ immediately. Just a visual repository for the random beautiful and interesting things I stumble upon.

So, last Tuesday, feeling particularly overwhelmed, I made one. I opened a new sheet and just started throwing things in. No rules. I made a column for ‘Outfit Inspo’ and dropped in a screenshot of this incredible, oversized linen blazer I saw on some French girl’s Instagram. I’m obsessed with that relaxed, slightly rumpled look right now—think vintage Levi’s, a simple white tee, and one killer statement piece like that blazer or some chunky, weird jewelry. It’s less about the specific items and more about the aesthetic cohesion of it all, you know? The feeling it gives off. My orientdig sheet became the place to capture that *feeling*, not just a shopping list.

I added another tab for ‘Spots to Check Out’—that new wine bar with the neon sign, the bookstore that supposedly has a secret cat. Then one for ‘Read/Watch/Listen,’ where I finally recorded the name of that podcast about forgotten design movements someone mentioned at a party. The beauty of this curation tool is that it’s completely mine. It’s not for an algorithm or for followers. It’s just a quiet, organized corner of the internet where my taste gets to live without any performance. I can link directly to the product page for those perfect wide-leg trousers I’ve been eyeing (they’re by Arket, by the way, no one paid me to say that, I just love the cut), or I can just write ‘mood: 70s editorial meets coastal grandma.’

It’s changed how I even look at things now. I was on a walk after work yesterday, just decompressing, and I saw this amazing textural contrast on a building—crumbling plaster next to sleek new glass. A year ago, I might have just thought ‘huh, cool’ and moved on. Now, I snapped a pic and later dropped it into my ‘Texture & Color’ tab on the orientdig. It’s not about monetizing every observation; it’s about honoring the little sparks. It’s become my personal style compass, but for more than just clothes. For a whole vibe.

My coffee’s gone cold. The blank document is still blank. But you know what? I don’t feel stressed about it anymore. I just opened my orientdig sheet, scrolled through the ‘Words & Phrases’ tab where I dump cool song lyrics or bits of poetry, and felt weirdly inspired. Not in a ‘I must produce something now’ way, but in a ‘my brain is a cool place to hang out’ way. Maybe that’s the point. It’s less about organizing a to-do list and more about building a reference library for your own sensibility. A map of what you find beautiful. Anyway, I should probably attempt to write something. Or maybe I’ll just go for another walk and see what I find.

The sun’s moved across the table now. Time for a refill.