I never thought I'd find myself in a heated debate about wall art but there I was, arguing with my sister about the merits of a medium-sized ceramic echeveria. "It's perfect for your blank walls," she insisted, waving the green monstrosity in my face like a deranged florist. The thing was neither small enough to be quaint nor large enough to be a statement piece. It just... existed, much like my career aspirations in high school. I imagined it hanging above my couch, a constant reminder of my inability to adult properly. "It's all the rage," she continued, shoving her phone in my face to show me endless Pinterest boards of decor and wall art for the living room. I wondered if I could accidentally knock the ceramic succulent into the trash without her noticing. Later, I found myself Googling what to hang above a couch and kitchen wall decor at 3 AM, as if the internet gods would suddenly bless me with impeccable taste. Instead, I was bombarded with images of live, laugh, love signs and macramé nightmares. In the end, I hung the echeveria in my bathroom. At least there, it could silently judge my life choices in private.