Imagine you want to do a magic trick. Like pulling a predetermined card out of a shuffled deck. And you get the gist of how to do the trick, and you usually pull it off, but it feels inelegant. And sometimes your sleight of hand gets noticed. Meanwhile, everyone else seems to pull it off consistently and with style.
And in a week, you're scheduled to be at an elite high-class gathering, like otakufest, where you're planning to do this magic trick. And these people will probably be much harder to fool, what with their glowing-white glasses. And if you pull it off well - just once - on a group of people there, you get a random Kuromi sticker. You may or may not already have that Kuromi sticker, since you already have loads of them, but it's worth a shot.
But you really don't want to embarrass yourself, especially more than once, to do it, even though it won't cost you much time. So you sit down and read up on different materials cards can be made out of, their properties, intricacies of the anatomy of the human hand, exercises to boost your finger dexterity, food that will help your mind and your relevant bones and muscles... And at this point the time you've spent researching this could've just been spent brute forcing your way through different crowds and you'd succeed quicker.
And when the big day comes, and after you do the trick well, you realize that you weren't really doing anything that different than usual anyway. And you realize that you've probably wasted all that time. But you cope by saying that now that you know the theory, you will be able to do the trick more consistently, and with more confidence, and the things you learned along the way were actually interesting, and some (finger dexterity) will probably be useful in other areas of life. And the brain exercise did feel good by itself, too.
And you won't even be too mad if you get another sticker of Kuromi eating extremely spicy mapo tofu for all that trouble.
