Alright, so let’s talk about this “barbie three six” adventure. It sounds a bit silly, right? Well, it kinda was, and it also kinda wasn’t. I had this idea, you see. I was going to finally tackle my insane collection of digital art assets. We’re talking years of downloads, random sketches, textures, you name it. A digital hoard of epic proportions.
My brilliant plan? The “three-six” system. I even called the main folder “Barbie” for a laugh because I used some ridiculously bright pink folder icon I found. Don’t judge. The “three-six” was supposed to be this super-efficient categorization method: three main categories, each with six subcategories. Simple. Elegant. Or so I thought. I figured, I’ll just sit down for an afternoon, drag and drop, and boom – digital zen.
Famous last words, honestly.
I started off, all optimistic. Made my “Barbie” folder, created the initial three. Felt good. Then I started opening the actual asset folders. Oh boy. It was like opening Pandora’s Box, but instead of evils, it was just endless variations of “button_final_final_*”. My neat “three-six” structure started to bulge. Suddenly, I needed more than six subcategories. Or a sub-subcategory. Or maybe a whole new dimension of categories.
It quickly turned into one of those projects where you’re an hour in, your desktop looks like a bomb site, and you’re wondering if just deleting everything and living off the digital grid is a viable option. This “barbie three six” thing was supposed to be simple, a quick win. But it was becoming a proper time sink, a digital quicksand pit.
This always happens, doesn’t it?
It’s like that one time I decided to “quickly” repaint the guest bathroom. “Just a weekend job,” I told my partner. “Slap on some paint, new towels, done.” Next thing I know, I’m watching YouTube videos on how to re-grout tiles at 1 AM, there’s paint in my hair, on the dog, and the bathroom looks worse than when I started. We ate takeout for three days straight because the kitchen counter was covered in paint cans and brushes. My partner just silently handed me a beer on the third night and said, “Maybe call a professional for the kitchen backsplash idea?” Point taken.
That’s the thing with these “simple” projects. They have a way of exposing all the little underlying complexities you conveniently ignored. And “barbie three six” was no different. It wasn’t just about folders; it was about decisions. “Is this ‘vintage floral’ or ‘retro pattern’? Does this ‘slightly shiny orb’ go into ‘3D primitives’ or ‘abstract elements’?” My brain was melting.
So, what happened with “barbie three six”? Did I achieve digital nirvana? Not quite. I sort of… abandoned the strict “three-six” part. It became more like “barbie three-ish, six-or-more, with a-couple-of-miscellaneous-panic-folders”. I got a chunk of it done, the most important stuff anyway. The rest? Well, it’s still in a folder called “Sort Later (Definitely This Year)”. We all have one of those, right?
But here’s the thing I actually recorded from this whole mess. Sometimes, the grand, perfect system you dream up isn’t the one that works. Sometimes, “good enough” and “somewhat organized” is way better than “perfectly planned but never actually finished”. “Barbie three six” wasn’t the elegant solution I imagined. It was messy, a bit frustrating, and ultimately, a compromise. And you know what? That’s usually how real practice goes. It’s not always neat. It’s learning to live with the slightly wobbly bookshelf because, hey, at least it’s holding books.