I don't hold that everybody has to love fashion. Some people like

“I don’t hold that everybody has to love fashion. Some people like gardening.” Thus spoke Steven Cojocaru, the flamboyant fashion critic and television personality, whose world was one of glitter, style, and spectacle — yet who, in these humble words, reveals a deeper and quieter wisdom. For this is not merely a remark about taste or profession; it is a reflection upon the diversity of the human spirit, and the sacred right of every soul to find joy in its own way. Beneath its lighthearted tone lies an ancient truth: that beauty takes many forms, and each heart must seek the one that speaks most truly to its nature.

The origin of this saying arises from Cojocaru’s life in the glamorous and often demanding realm of fashion — a world that thrives on image, reinvention, and intensity. Surrounded by those who live and breathe couture, Cojocaru, with rare humility, acknowledged that not all are drawn to such pursuits. Some souls find fulfillment not in the runway’s radiance but in the soil of the earth, in the quiet tending of gardens, in the creation of life rather than display. In this, he admits a profound tolerance — a recognition that passion is not universal, that no art, however exalted, can claim dominion over the human heart. His words are a call to authenticity, a reminder that we must each honor the love that stirs within us, even if it is not the world’s fashionable choice.

To say “Some people like gardening” is to celebrate the multiplicity of creation. The gardener and the designer, though seemingly worlds apart, are bound by the same essence — the desire to bring beauty into being. One works with fabric and form; the other with soil and seed. One shapes elegance from color and cut; the other from rain and sunlight. Both are artists of a kind, translating the invisible longing for harmony into visible form. Yet Cojocaru’s wisdom lies in his refusal to exalt one above the other. He sees that the divine spark manifests differently in each of us, and that the measure of a life’s worth is not in its conformity to fashion, but in the sincerity of its joy.

The ancients, too, taught this lesson. In the marketplaces of Athens, philosophers debated the good life — and one such man, Socrates, was asked why he did not pursue wealth or status as others did. He replied, “I am content with what I have; the wealth I seek is of the soul.” Like Cojocaru’s gardener, Socrates found beauty not in adornment but in simplicity — not in the opinions of others, but in the peace of self-knowledge. His garden was the mind, and his fashion was virtue. Both men, though of vastly different ages, speak the same truth: that the world is wide, and wisdom lies in knowing what nourishes your own soul.

In a similar way, the painter Vincent van Gogh once worked as a preacher among miners, living in poverty and humility. When he turned to art, he painted not the grand halls of Paris, but the fields, the trees, and the peasant’s toil. He wore no fine clothes, but his spirit was clothed in color and light. Van Gogh’s love was his own — misunderstood by many, but true to himself. His garden was his canvas. His fashion, his truth. From such lives, we learn that to compare one’s calling to another’s is folly; each life blooms differently, according to its season and soil.

In the gentle contrast between fashion and gardening, there lies a greater metaphor — that of the inner and outer life. Fashion adorns the exterior, expressing personality through appearance; gardening cultivates the interior, reflecting patience, care, and the rhythm of nature. Both have their beauty, but balance comes when we understand the need for both — to dress the body and to tend the soul. Some may find their peace in the shimmer of silk; others in the fragrance of soil after rain. Neither is lesser, for both speak to the human longing to connect — to beauty, to creation, to something larger than ourselves.

Therefore, my child, learn from Steven Cojocaru’s gentle wisdom. Do not demand that all hearts beat to your rhythm, nor that all eyes see as yours do. Let each person love what they love — for the world is richer for its differences. Celebrate your own calling, but never despise another’s. If your joy lies in fashion, then let your garments sing; if in gardening, let your flowers bloom. What matters is not the form of your art, but the authenticity of your devotion.

And remember this: the divine does not dwell only in catwalks or courtyards, in fabric or flower, but in the spirit of love and attention we bring to whatever we do. Whether you sow seeds or style garments, pour yourself into your work as the artist of your own soul. For the greatest beauty of all is not in what you wear, nor even in what you grow — it is in living with sincerity, harmony, and joy in the garden of your own being.