HOST_A: Welcome to Clawd Talks! I'm Emma, and today we're getting our hands dirty — literally — because we're talking houseplants.
HOST_B: And I'm Ryan, and I want you to know that I have thirty-two plants in my flat right now, so I am extremely qualified to speak on this topic. Possibly too qualified. My partner has opinions about this number.
HOST_A: Thirty-two. Ryan, that's a whole ecosystem.
HOST_B: It's a lifestyle, Emma. A lifestyle.
HOST_A: Okay, so here's the thing — I have plants. I have maybe six plants. And I have killed probably twice that number. So I feel like I represent the average listener here. People who want plants, who keep buying plants, and who keep watching them slowly die despite their best efforts.
HOST_B: And that's exactly why we're doing this episode. Because most plant death is completely avoidable. People don't have a black thumb — they just have bad information. Or they have too much love. Which, ironically, is the number one killer.
HOST_A: Too much love?
HOST_B: Overwatering, Emma. It is responsible for more plant deaths than anything else. People water their plants the way they show affection — consistently, enthusiastically, maybe a little too often — and the plants drown.
HOST_A: Right, because the roots literally can't breathe.
HOST_B: Exactly. Roots need air as well as water. When the soil is constantly saturated, the air pockets fill up, the roots suffocate, and then rot sets in. And root rot is basically a death sentence if you catch it late. The plant looks sad, you think it needs more water, you water it more, and then it's gone.
HOST_A: So how do you actually know when to water? Because "water when it needs it" is the advice I always get, which is completely useless.
HOST_B: Right, so there are three methods I swear by. First: the finger test. You stick your finger two centimetres into the soil. If it feels damp, don't water. If it feels dry, water. That's it. Simple but so many people skip this step.
HOST_A: Because we water on a schedule. Like, "it's Sunday, water the plants."
HOST_B: And plants do not care what day of the week it is, unfortunately. Method two: lift the pot. A dry pot is noticeably lighter than a wet one. After a while you just know — you pick it up and go, "yep, needs water." Method three, if you want to get slightly nerdy about it: a soil moisture meter. You can get one for a few quid, stick it in the soil, and it tells you exactly what's happening down there.
HOST_A: Okay, and light. I feel like light is where I've gone wrong more than water, honestly. Everything says "bright indirect light" and I had no idea what that meant for years.
HOST_B: Oh, "bright indirect light" is the most misunderstood phrase in all of horticulture. Here's the actual translation: near a window, but not sitting in a beam of direct sunlight. You want the room to be genuinely bright — like, you could comfortably read a book without turning a lamp on — but the sun isn't hitting the leaves directly.
HOST_A: Because direct sun through a window can actually burn the leaves?
HOST_B: It can, yeah. Especially afternoon sun through south or west-facing windows. The glass intensifies the heat. You'll get these pale, bleached, crispy patches. The plant equivalent of a sunburn.
HOST_A: And then there's the opposite problem — thinking your plant is fine in a dark corner.
HOST_B: Most plants are not fine in a dark corner. They're surviving. There's a difference. A few plants will genuinely tolerate low light — we'll talk about those — but most of what's sold as "low light tolerant" really means "can cope with less light than ideal, but please don't put it in a windowless bathroom."
HOST_A: Okay, drainage. This is one I learned the hard way. My first pothos died in a ceramic pot with no drainage hole because I thought it looked prettier.
HOST_B: And this is so common! Those gorgeous decorative pots — no holes. They're essentially buckets. The water has nowhere to go, it pools at the bottom, the roots sit in it, and rot sets in. Always, always use pots with drainage holes. If you love a decorative pot, use it as a cachepot — put your plant in a plastic nursery pot with holes inside the decorative one. Best of both worlds.
HOST_A: What about water quality? I've heard some people use filtered water for their plants.
HOST_B: So in hard water areas — which is a lot of cities, by the way — tap water can be problematic. You get calcium and limescale building up in the soil over time, which affects nutrient absorption. And the chlorine in tap water can bother more sensitive plants. The easy fix: let your tap water sit in a jug overnight before using it. The chlorine dissipates. For really sensitive plants or if you live in a particularly hard water area, filtered water or collected rainwater is genuinely better.
HOST_A: I would never have thought of that. I just fill the watering can straight from the tap.
HOST_B: Most people do. It's fine for most plants most of the time, honestly. It's when you're struggling with a fussy plant that it's worth considering.
HOST_A: And temperature and drafts — because I definitely had a plant on a windowsill that just kept deteriorating over winter.
HOST_B: Winter windowsills in cold climates are tricky because the glass gets cold, and the air right next to it can be significantly colder than the rest of the room. Most houseplants are tropical — they really don't want to be below fifteen degrees Celsius. And air conditioning vents in summer are just as bad, blowing cold dry air on plants that want warmth and humidity. Check where your plants are relative to any vents, radiators, and cold windows.
HOST_A: Right. Okay, let's move on to part two — the things even slightly more experienced plant people get wrong. Starting with repotting.
HOST_B: Repotting. People see a plant that's struggling and think, "I'll give it more room!" And they put it in a massive pot. And then it dies.
HOST_A: Why does that happen?
HOST_B: Because a huge pot holds a huge amount of soil, and that soil holds a huge amount of water, and a plant with a small root system cannot drink it all fast enough. So the soil stays wet for weeks, the roots sit in dampness, and — you guessed it — root rot. The rule is: go one pot size up. If it's in a ten centimetre pot, move it to a twelve or fourteen centimetre pot. Not a thirty centimetre pot because you thought it looked nice.
HOST_A: When should you repot?
HOST_B: Spring is ideal — when the plant is waking up and about to enter its growing season. Signs it's time: roots coming out of the drainage holes, roots circling the bottom when you unpot it, or the plant just looking really cramped and struggling despite proper care.
HOST_A: Fertilizing — I basically never fertilize. Is that bad?
HOST_B: It's not catastrophic, but you're definitely leaving growth on the table. Plants need nutrients, and potting soil gets depleted over time. The key thing to know: fertilize in spring and summer only, when the plant is actively growing. Never in winter, when the plant is basically in rest mode. Feeding a resting plant is like trying to force-feed someone who's asleep. It doesn't go well — you get salt buildup in the soil, potential root burn.
HOST_A: What fertilizer do you use?
HOST_B: A balanced liquid fertilizer — something like a twenty-twenty-twenty formulation, meaning equal parts nitrogen, phosphorus, and potassium. You dilute it, apply it to damp soil. I do it every two to four weeks from March through September-ish, then stop completely.
HOST_A: Humidity! My flat is so dry in winter and I feel like my plants notice.
HOST_B: They absolutely notice. Most tropical houseplants want somewhere between fifty and sixty percent relative humidity. The average heated flat in winter can be as low as thirty percent. You'll see it in brown, crispy leaf tips — that's almost always low humidity.
HOST_A: What can you do about it?
HOST_B: A few options. Bathrooms and kitchens are naturally more humid from showers and cooking — good spots for humidity-loving plants. You can put pots on a pebble tray with water in it — as the water evaporates, it raises humidity around the plant. Misting is popular but honestly not that effective — it raises humidity for maybe twenty minutes. The best solution if you have a lot of plants: a humidifier. I have two.
HOST_A: Of course you do.
HOST_B: They're small! They're discreet! The plants love them.
HOST_A: Seasonal changes — this is something I genuinely didn't understand for years. My plant wouldn't grow and I'd panic and try to fix it.
HOST_B: Plants slow down significantly in winter. Less light, cooler temperatures — they go into a kind of low-energy rest mode. Growth stops or slows to almost nothing, and that is completely normal. The worst thing you can do is respond by watering more or fertilizing to try to "wake it up." Water less, don't fertilize at all, and just wait for spring. I promise it comes back.
HOST_A: Cleaning leaves — okay, this one I genuinely didn't know was a thing until recently.
HOST_B: Dusty leaves can't photosynthesize as efficiently. The dust blocks light absorption. Just occasionally wipe the leaves with a damp cloth — especially big-leafed plants. It makes them look better and actually helps them function better. Two-for-one.
HOST_A: Pests. Let's talk pests because I feel like this is where a lot of people just give up.
HOST_B: The three you're most likely to encounter: fungus gnats, spider mites, and mealybugs. Fungus gnats are those annoying little flies hovering around your soil — they're a sign of overwatering. The larvae live in damp soil. Fix your watering, let the soil dry out more, and they go away. Spider mites are tiny little critters — you'll see fine webbing on the undersides of leaves. They love dry conditions, so improving humidity helps. Spider mites spreading to multiple plants is a genuine problem, so deal with them fast.
HOST_A: And mealybugs?
HOST_B: The ones that look like little white fluff blobs in leaf joints and undersides. They are annoying but manageable if you catch them early. Dab them with rubbing alcohol on a cotton swab, or spray with neem oil. The key with all of these is early detection. Check your plants when you water — turn the leaves over, look at the stems. A small infestation is easy. A full-blown infestation on a plant that's been neglected for three months is a different conversation.
HOST_A: Right. Okay, part three — beginner plants. What should someone buy if they're starting out?
HOST_B: Pothos. Full stop. If you are a beginner, get a pothos. It tolerates low light. It tolerates irregular watering. When it's thirsty, the leaves droop slightly — it literally tells you when to water. And if you want to propagate it, you just stick a cutting in a glass of water and it grows roots. It's a teaching plant.
HOST_A: I have a pothos and it's honestly the most satisfying plant I own because I can see it visibly thriving.
HOST_B: That's the joy of a plant that actually suits your conditions. Next I'd say ZZ plant. ZZ stands for Zamioculcas zamiifolia, which is a mouthful, but the plant itself is completely chill. It has these thick rhizomes — basically underground water storage — so it can survive serious drought. Put it in deep shade, forget to water it for six weeks, it does not care. Architectural, glossy leaves. Basically indestructible.
HOST_A: Snake plant?
HOST_B: Absolutely. Sansevieria — or Dracaena trifasciata as it's now classified, which upset a lot of people. Tolerates almost everything, has this really graphic, architectural look, and it does actually do a bit of air purification — though the effect in a normal room is modest. Great for bedrooms. And spider plants! Fast growers, produce all these little baby plants on runners that you can propagate, and they're non-toxic to cats and dogs which matters to a lot of people.
HOST_A: What should beginners avoid?
HOST_B: Fiddle leaf figs. I know they look incredible in interior design photos. They're dramatic, they're fussy, they hate being moved, they hate drafts, they drop leaves if you look at them wrong. Not a beginner plant.
HOST_A: What else?
HOST_B: Calatheas. Beautiful patterns on the leaves, yes. But they are humidity drama queens. They want high humidity, consistent moisture, filtered water, and they will curl up and go crispy the moment anything isn't perfect. And orchids — people think they're easy because supermarkets sell them everywhere, but getting them to rebloom requires really specific conditions. Start with the unkillables, build confidence, then graduate to the fussy ones.
HOST_A: Okay. And now we have arrived at the part of the show that I know Ryan has been waiting for since we started planning this episode. The Monstera segment.
HOST_B: I have strong feelings.
HOST_A: We know. Walk us through it.
HOST_B: Right. So first — why do Monsteras have holes in their leaves? Those holes are called fenestrations. And they're not a defect or damage — they're an evolutionary adaptation. The leading theory is that in dense rainforest canopies, Monsteras grow huge leaves to catch light, but a solid leaf the size of a dinner plate would block light from reaching lower leaves. The holes let light filter through to the rest of the plant. There's also a wind resistance theory — a leaf with holes is less likely to get shredded in a storm than a solid sail of a leaf.
HOST_A: That's genuinely fascinating. I had always just thought they looked cool.
HOST_B: They do look cool! Evolution did something functional and it happened to be spectacular. Now, the species. The most common is Monstera deliciosa — the classic. It gets large. I mean, in the wild it gets enormous, but even as a houseplant it can have leaves the size of your torso. Then there's Monstera adansonii — smaller, more compact, but with even more dramatic hole coverage. Swiss cheese plant, people call it.
HOST_A: And the expensive ones?
HOST_B: Oh, here we go. Thai Constellation and Monstera albo variegata. These are the Instagram plants. The ones that sell for hundreds, sometimes thousands of pounds or dollars for a single cutting. They have this stunning white or cream variegation — creamy splashes across the leaves. And the reason they're so expensive: variegation is a genetic mutation that affects chlorophyll production. These plants can't be grown from seed reliably. They have to be propagated by cuttings — and they grow slowly. Really slowly. Supply is genuinely limited, demand is enormous. So the prices are insane.
HOST_A: Are they worth it?
HOST_B: As a plant? Honestly, a regular Monstera deliciosa is equally beautiful and costs about a tenth of the price. But as an object of desire, as a statement piece — I understand the appeal. I don't have one, I'm not spending three hundred quid on a cutting, but I understand.
HOST_A: Okay, so light for Monsteras?
HOST_B: Bright indirect light is the sweet spot. They'll survive in lower light — they're pretty adaptable — but here's the thing: the holes. The fenestrations. They develop much better with good light. A Monstera in low light will produce smaller, less fenestrated leaves. More light equals more holes, bigger leaves. So if you want that dramatic look, give it good light.
HOST_A: And direct sun is a problem?
HOST_B: Afternoon direct sun through a window will burn the leaves. You'll get bleached or scorched patches. Morning sun is generally fine and actually lovely for them. But keep them out of harsh afternoon sun.
HOST_A: Watering?
HOST_B: Let the top two to three centimetres of soil dry out between waterings. In summer this might mean watering once a week-ish. In winter, significantly less — maybe every two weeks or more. Yellow leaves are almost always overwatering or root rot. Brown, crispy tips are underwatering or low humidity. The difference matters because the solutions are opposite — you don't want to water more when the problem is already too much water.
HOST_A: Moss poles. You keep talking about moss poles. What's the deal?
HOST_B: In the wild, Monsteras are hemi-epiphytes — they start on the forest floor and then climb trees. Their aerial roots latch onto bark and they climb upward toward the light. In your home, without something to climb, they kind of flop around and the leaves stay smaller. Give them a moss pole or a coir pole, and suddenly they grow vertically, the leaves get bigger, and the whole plant looks more impressive. Also — and this is the slightly nerdy part — the roots grow into the moss pole, and if you keep the pole damp, it adds humidity directly where the aerial roots are absorbing it. The plant loves it.
HOST_A: How do you propagate a Monstera?
HOST_B: This is important because a lot of people get this wrong. You cannot propagate from just a leaf. I know it's tempting — you have a beautiful leaf, you stick it in water, nothing happens. That's because you need a node. The node is the little bump or joint on the stem — it's where the leaf attaches. That's where the roots come from. Ideally you also want an aerial root on your cutting, because it speeds things up. Cut just below the node, pop it in water, bright indirect light, and in four to six weeks you should have roots. Then pot it up.
HOST_A: What about fertilizing?
HOST_B: Every two to four weeks in spring and summer, a balanced liquid fertilizer — twenty-twenty-twenty is good. Apply to damp soil. Don't overdo it — over-fertilization gives you salt buildup and the first symptom is brown leaf tips. Which is the same symptom as underwatering, so people water more, which makes it worse. Start with half the recommended dose if you're unsure.
HOST_A: Common problems?
HOST_B: Okay: yellow leaves — overwatering, root rot, check your soil and drainage. Brown edges — low humidity or inconsistent watering, think about a humidifier or pebble tray. No holes on new leaves — this one gets people worried, but it's often just that the plant is young. Monsteras don't develop fenestrations until they're mature enough. They also need adequate light to produce good holes. If your established Monstera is producing solid leaves, give it more light. And root bound — if it's really struggling despite good care, unpot it in spring and see if it's root bound. Repot into the next size up.
HOST_A: And the fruit. You have to tell them about the fruit.
HOST_B: The fruit! Okay. Monstera deliciosa — deliciosa is literally in the name. It produces fruit. A proper edible fruit that looks like a green corn cob covered in hexagonal scales. And it tastes — I've had it, this is not made up — it tastes like a combination of pineapple and banana. It's genuinely delicious. The catch: it takes twelve or more months to ripen on the plant. And you have to let it ripen fully because unripe Monstera fruit is actually mildly irritating to eat due to calcium oxalate crystals. But ripe? Worth it. You're very unlikely to get fruit on a houseplant in a normal home — it needs the right conditions and maturity — but it's a fun fact that makes people look at their Monstera differently.
HOST_A: I need to see this fruit.
HOST_B: Look it up. It looks surreal. Like something from a video game.
HOST_A: Okay, let's wrap up. What's the number one takeaway you want people to leave with today?
HOST_B: Stop watering on a schedule. Use the finger test. Let your plant tell you when it's thirsty. That single change will save more plants than anything else I've mentioned today.
HOST_A: For me it's the light thing. Understand what "bright indirect light" actually means, find the right spot in your home, and so many problems just disappear.
HOST_B: And if you're starting from scratch — pothos, ZZ plant, snake plant. Build your confidence before you try to keep a Fiddle Leaf Fig alive.
HOST_A: And if you want a Monstera — which you probably do now — give it a moss pole, let the soil dry out a bit between waterings, and be patient. The holes will come.
HOST_B: The holes always come eventually.
HOST_A: That's going to be a weird thing to say out of context.
HOST_B: Worth it.
HOST_A: Thank you so much for listening to Clawd Talks. If this episode helped you save a plant — or inspired you to buy one — we'd love to hear about it. We'll be back with more soon.
HOST_B: Keep your leaves clean, your drainage holes clear, and your watering cans dry for a few more days than feels comfortable. You've got this.
HOST_A: Bye everyone!
HOST_B: Cheerio!