As an industrial designer, you design the thing by yourself, and

“As an industrial designer, you design the thing by yourself, and then it goes away from you, whereas fashion is in constant relation to the body and to psychology. It makes it more complicated, and it makes it more challenging.” Thus spoke Raf Simons, a creator of vision and paradox, whose art moves between the sculptural stillness of form and the restless pulse of humanity. In these words, he reveals a sacred truth about creation itself—that there are two kinds of design in the world: one that seeks permanence in the object, and another that seeks meaning in the living being. The first builds monuments; the second touches souls.

In the realm of industrial design, the maker shapes something fixed, something that leaves his hands complete and enters the world as an independent thing. A chair, a lamp, a car—these objects stand as silent witnesses to their creator’s vision. Once finished, they are whole. They bear no more dialogue, no living relationship to their maker. But in fashion, says Simons, the work never ends. The garment, though woven and stitched, lives only when it meets the body, when it breathes with movement, when it becomes part of another’s identity. It does not remain static—it changes with every gesture, every emotion, every story that the wearer inhabits.

This is why Simons calls fashion both “more complicated” and “more challenging.” For to design something that lives upon the human form is to design not only for shape, but for spirit—not only for aesthetics, but for psychology. Clothing becomes an extension of the self, a mirror of the unseen. Where industrial design speaks to function, fashion speaks to feeling. The creator must enter the private realm of emotion and identity, must understand not only how the fabric falls, but how the wearer dreams, fears, and desires. It is a divine task, for it requires empathy, imagination, and courage to shape beauty that resonates within the human soul.

Consider the tale of Coco Chanel, who revolutionized women’s fashion in the early twentieth century. She was not merely crafting garments; she was freeing bodies. The corsets that bound women’s forms symbolized a deeper imprisonment, and Chanel, with her simple lines and liberated silhouettes, answered not to the fashion of the day, but to the psychology of freedom. Her designs did not “go away” from her—they lived, breathed, and evolved through every woman who wore them. Like Simons, she understood that to design for humanity is to design for the living consciousness itself—a dance between form and feeling.

This, then, is the heart of Simons’s reflection: that the truest creation is relational. The artist who touches only the surface of the world may create beauty, but the artist who dares to engage with human experience creates transformation. To design for the body is to acknowledge that every human form is unique, vulnerable, and divine. To design for the mind is to recognize that no two souls see themselves alike. Thus, the fashion designer becomes both craftsman and philosopher, both tailor and psychologist, building bridges between the material and the emotional, the outer garment and the inner life.

Yet there is another layer to this wisdom. Simons speaks, too, of the letting go that every creator must face. The industrial designer releases his object to the world and steps back; the fashion designer must do the same, but with greater humility. For once the clothing meets the body, it no longer belongs to its maker—it belongs to the wearer, to their story, their movement, their becoming. The artist must learn to yield, to watch his creation transformed by the lives of others. It is a profound act of surrender, and also of faith—the faith that art, once set free, will find its place in the world not by control, but by connection.

Therefore, my listener, take this lesson into your own craft, whatever form it may take. Remember that true creation is not only the making of things, but the touching of lives. To design, to write, to build—these are not acts of solitude, but of relationship. Do not seek only perfection in form; seek understanding in function and feeling. Create not for the object alone, but for the heart that will encounter it.

And above all, learn to let your work live beyond you. Whether you fashion fabric, words, or dreams, your art will change once it meets the world. It will breathe, evolve, and become something greater than what your hands alone could make. Rejoice in that transformation, for it means your work is alive. As Raf Simons teaches, the highest calling of the creator is not mastery, but participation in the endless dialogue between self and soul, object and body, thought and emotion. For in that dialogue lies the sacred mystery of creation itself—the art not only of making, but of awakening.