A Crumpled Shirt Made Me Break a Habit I'd Held for Years
A few days ago, I met a client in the hotel elevator.
He looked at me, and his first words weren't about the project, but a smile as he asked, "Did you just arrive last night too?"
I nodded.
"How could you tell?"
He said, "Only someone fresh off a red-eye would be grinding through emails with a coffee in hand before even checking into their room."
He was absolutely right.
Over the past few years, I've visited nearly every major and minor airport in the United States. Many people think running a tech company is pretty cool. In reality, most of the time I'm either in a meeting room or at an airport, either in an Uber or in a hotel room.
Sometimes, I can't even tell whether I'm on a business trip or just working in a different place.
I've always thought that when it comes to clothes, good enough was good enough.
In my twenties, I never bothered about a wrinkled shirt.
Since I'm a programmer by background, and everyone at the company wears hoodies anyway, who's going to pay attention to your clothes?
Later, as the company gradually grew, life changed along with it.
In the past, when we had meetings, engineers sat across from me.
Nowadays, it's more often clients, investors, partners, or the media on the other side.
Once, when the company was preparing to launch a new product, I flew to New York early in the morning.
We arrived at the hotel less than an hour before the meeting.
I opened my suitcase and saw the shirt I had planned to wear, and couldn't help letting out a sigh.
It's no longer just "a little wrinkled."
More like being squeezed by suitcases all the way, and incidentally getting caught up in a wrestling match.
I stood by the bed, staring at it for about ten seconds.
Standing there by the bed, I felt my heart sink—staring at that crumpled mess, the only question that haunted me wasn't about the meeting, but simply: how on earth was I going to fix this in under an hour?
Hotels really love to test people.
My first instinct was to hunt for an iron, but the thought was quickly abandoned; a quick call to the front desk confirmed what I already feared—they were completely out of them, leaving me with nothing but a steaming bathroom and a dwindling sense of hope.
Alright.
I tried the method everyone recommends online—hanging the clothes in the bathroom, turning the shower on full blast, and letting the steam smooth out the wrinkles.
Twenty minutes later, I got a bathroom hot as a sauna.
And the shirt had hardly changed at all.
Looking back now, the funniest thing that day wasn't the clothes.
There I was, standing there waiting for steam, still replying to Slack messages.
Looking back, it seems that adults' breakdowns are always rather quiet.
I've realized that what truly drains you isn't work, but those little things.
Many friends assume that my biggest daily stress comes from the board or quarterly performance.
Actually, it's not.
What truly drains people are often the smallest things.
The hotel key suddenly won't unlock the door.
Leaving my charger in the meeting room.
The departure gate changes at the last minute.
Also, every time I open the suitcase, I never know what the shirts inside will end up looking like.
These things won't ruin your day.
But it will slowly steal your patience.
I used to think that efficiency meant getting things done faster.
Later I realized that efficiency actually comes from handling fewer of those minor issues that could have been avoided in the first place.
My travel checklist hasn't changed much in many years.
I'm someone who tends to avoid trouble.
Once you find something that works well, you're reluctant to change it.
My friend laughed at me, saying I'm like an apple—updated just a little each year.
I actually thought this was a compliment to me.
So my travel gear is pretty much set.
Computer.
Charger.
Noise-canceling headphones.
Spare glasses.
There is also a clothes steamer.
Interestingly, it's not the most expensive item inside, yet it's something I always check to make sure I've brought along.
Because I don't want to keep wondering whether the hotel has an iron anymore.
To be honest, I've lost too many times.
Entrepreneurs always end up talking about strange topics when they chat.
A while ago, several of us entrepreneurs had dinner together.
Just starting to talk about AI.
Later, we talked about hiring.
Later on, someone suddenly asked,
"What do you usually forget to bring when traveling for business?"
Someone said computer.
Someone said their passport.
When it was my turn, I said, "clothes steamer."
The entire table fell silent for two seconds.
Then began to laugh.
And the next second, the other two people actually nodded.
One of my friends said that when he traveled to Europe, he first realized that changing the plug and adjusting the voltage are not the same thing.
He said, "I brought everything I was supposed to bring, except for this one thing."
Later, when he bought travel gear, the first thing he checked was whether it supported global voltage.
At this point, he casually mentioned that he had been carrying Nesugar all along.
No one continued discussing the brand.
They were talking about those little frustrations only people who travel frequently can understand.
This feeling is quite interesting.
You think people will talk about business.
In the end, we talked about nothing but life.
When I was young, I always thought these were overblown matters.
Now I realize that it's the small things that are most worth resolving.
Because truly important meetings never get canceled because your shirt is wrinkled.
But if you've been secretly adjusting your collar all morning or constantly worrying about whether your sleeves have creases, your attention has long been diverted.
Work is already complicated enough.
I don't want to make life any harder.
Now, before every trip, my packing ritual has become almost superstitious. I go through the same routine: the laptop and headphones have to be in their designated slots, my passport needs to be in the side pocket, and I always do a quick final check for that steamer—wedged tightly in the corner. If it's not there, I feel like I'm heading into battle without my armor.
It’s not going to close the deal, speed up the flight, or make my clients any more amenable. But it does save me from that hollow, defeated feeling of staring at a wrinkled shirt five minutes before a meeting.
But it has spared me from standing in my hotel room, staring blankly at a wrinkled shirt.
If you only travel for business once a year, you might not think much of it.
But if you're like me, spending half the year on the road, you'd probably understand.
What truly brings relief is never solving some big problem.
But those minor troubles that kept recurring are finally no longer something you need to worry about.
