As I start writing this article, I have to wonder: was the magic keyboard dupe for my iPad that I am typing this on really something I needed? (I have a completely functional laptop, FYI.)

Or did I just see a lady on a plane using one and think she looked incredibly cool? Did I NEED this keyboard extension to significantly increase my productivity? Or did I need it to make myself FEEL productive enough to sit in a coffee shop and write, hoping to look as cool as the lady on the plane?

I think we all know the answer.

Which brings me to a question I have been thinking about a lot while building Nine to Dine:

Can you build a meaningful business around something people don’t need, but really want?

There are, of course, businesses solving very obvious needs: food, healthcare, transportation, housing, financial services.

And then there are businesses built around wants: fashion, beauty, travel, entertainment, luxury, experiences.

Things that make our lives a little better, a little easier, a little more beautiful, or sometimes just a little more fun.

Nine to Dine very clearly falls into the second category.

I am not going to pretend that having a capsule wardrobe ecosystem is a basic human necessity.

Nobody is going to wake up tomorrow and think, If only I had a beautifully tailored outfit that could take me from a meeting to dinner, I could finally survive. (Or would they?)

You can absolutely live without it. (Or can you?)

You COULD skip that late-night call with your long-distance bestie so you can wake up early enough to decide what to wear. You COULD leave the party early and miss out on all the drama just so you have enough time in the morning to stand in front of your wardrobe and stare into the abyss.

Pardon my humour. I am just kidding.

But the point stands. I am not building a business that solves a fundamental human need.

And I think there is something quite interesting about admitting that. Because the distinction between a need and a want isn’t always as clear as we think.

You don’t need a beautifully tailored outfit.

BUT

You might, however, need to feel confident walking into a room.

You don’t need a wardrobe ecosystem.

BUT

You might want one less thing to think about on a busy morning.

You don’t need a ₹20,000 coffee machine.

BUT

You might want your morning coffee to feel like an achievement that is yours.

A customer doesn’t buy a dress simply because they need a piece of fabric to cover their body. They might be buying confidence. Convenience. Identity. The feeling of looking like the person they want to be.

And I think this is where a lot of consumer businesses actually live.

My keyboard is a perfect example.

Technically, it does the same thing my laptop does.

But somehow, sitting in a coffee shop with my iPad and keyboard makes me feel like I am a person who has her life together.

Is that rational? Absolutely not.

Did I still buy it? DUH.

And perhaps that is the point. People aren’t always rational consumers. We make emotional decisions and then use logic to justify them afterwards.

We tell ourselves the keyboard will improve productivity. The dress is an investment. The expensive coffee machine will save money in the long run.

Sometimes all of those things are true. But sometimes we just wanted the thing. And I don’t think there is anything wrong with that. In fact, I think that is what makes building a consumer business so fascinating.

If you are solving a need, the problem already exists. If someone is hungry, they need food. If someone needs to get from Delhi to Mumbai, they need transportation.

But when you’re solving a want, your job is different.

You have to understand why someone would want it badly enough to choose it over everything else they could spend their money on. That is a much harder question. And one I am still figuring out.

With Nine to Dine, I don’t want to convince someone that they need another outfit. I want to make them wonder how they ever managed without one created by us. I want the pieces to make a stressed out freelancers mornings easier. I want that working mother of a 4 year old to put on our jacket and feel a little more put together. I want that scared intern to look at her wardrobe and know that whatever her day throws at her, she has something that works.

Is that a need?

Probably not.

But if it makes someone’s life 15 minutes easier every morning, or makes them feel even 10% more confident walking into a room, maybe the distinction doesn’t matter as much as we think.

Coming back to my keyboard, I still don’t think I needed it. But I like it. And I use it. And every time I open it in a coffee shop, a very small part of me still thinks:

Damn. I look cool.

Let me start this article by declaring that this piece was a product of boredom.

Take a moment to think about what boredom means to you.

If it’s sitting in an office meeting, getting distracted by a traffic jam of completely unrelated thoughts while the voices of your co-workers blur into the background, that’s not the kind of boredom I mean.

If it’s sitting across from someone on a date you don’t particularly connect with and secretly eavesdropping on the conversation at the next table, that’s not it either.

I’m talking about the kind of boredom that comes when you have no options left to distract yourself with.

The boredom of sitting on a three-hour flight with no downloaded movies and no one to talk to.

The boredom of being awake at 2 a.m., staring at the ceiling, but refusing to enter a three-hour reel spiral.

The boredom that leaves your brain with nowhere to go.

And that, I think, is where things get interesting.

Because when your brain has nothing to consume, it starts producing.

It wanders. It connects unrelated things. It revisits old conversations. It notices things. It creates imaginary scenarios. It asks questions you weren’t consciously trying to answer.

It runs wild.

And sometimes, somewhere in that mess, there’s an idea.

When we focus on something with a very specific goal in mind, our thoughts tend to follow a fairly predictable path. But when we’re sitting idle, with no particular destination, the possibilities are much wider.

Which brings me to something I often think about:

I’m slightly jealous of people who grew up before technology became so good at keeping us occupied.

People had to observe. They observed people. They observed places. They noticed inconveniences. They noticed patterns.

And maybe, out of a thousand completely ordinary observations, one would stick.

And sometimes, that question became an idea worth pursuing.

Look around you.

So many small innovations are essentially observations turned into solutions. An elevated footpath. A different way of opening a package. A particular colour combination on a product. A better-designed chair.

Someone was bored enough to notice.

Many such boring times led me to make observations that eventually made Nine to Dine.

I was a bored college student sitting in a local café, watching professionals rush to work and then to post work drinks.

Years later, I found myself in a school as an educator, watching working parents during morning drop-offs and pick ups followed by birthday parties and social events.

Different places. Different people. But somehow, I kept noticing the same thing.

People were busy.

And getting dressed for that busy life seemed unnecessarily complicated.

Those observations eventually made me think that maybe a wardrobe ecosystem; clothes that could work across different parts of the day and could be mixed and matched without requiring an entirely new outfit every time could make someone’s life just a tiny bit easier.

Now, is this a problem that is going to change the world?

Probably not.

But maybe it doesn’t have to.

When you collect a small inconvenience from the lives of one person, then another, then another, eventually it becomes something worth solving.

And maybe that is what boredom gives us.

Not necessarily the next big idea.

Just the space to notice the little ones.