Aeonium Alchemy: Trials, Errors, and the Dark Art of Succulent Seduction

When I first started collecting Aeoniums, it was a love-hate relationship. I’d see those stunning photos online—deep purple rosettes stacked like gothic roses—and think, *I need that.* But reality hit fast. Mine would stretch out like lazy sunbathers, their leaves splaying open like they were wearing pajamas two sizes too big. And the color? More like grocery-store lettuce than moody, dark elegance. Then came summer, and one overzealous watering session later—*squelch*—the stem turned to mush. Rotted from the inside out.

Aeonium Alchemy

Turns out, Aeoniums are drama queens. They’ll fake thirst with limp leaves just to trick you into drowning them. Give them too much sun, and they crisp up like bacon; too little, and they stretch into awkward, leggy messes. And root rot? Silent but deadly. One day, the plant seems fine—the next, you’re holding a bare stem like a failed magic trick.

The breakthrough came when I repotted a dying one. The original soil was basically clay, suffocating the roots in a soggy grave. So I mixed my own—70% grit, volcanic rock, pumice—stuff so loose you could hear it breathe. Watering became a strict “toothpick test”: if it came out damp, no drinks. Summer? Full drought mode. I’d shove them in a shady corner and ignore them like bad exes. And somehow, they thrived.

Color was another puzzle. Grow lights, temperature swings—I even tried sticking them outside overnight for a “cold shock.” Big mistake. Woke up to slimy, waterlogged leaves. Finally figured out autumn was their time to shine. Blistering days, near-freezing nights, and boom—wine-dark edges appeared, like they’d been dipped in ink.

Now, my windowsill Aeoniums aren’t Instagram royalty, but they’re getting there. Tight rosettes, that faint red blush on the leaf tips—like they’re whispering, “See? You’re learning.”And every time a new pup sprouts, I swear I hear them laugh:”Humans. So easy to mess with.”

——Everly