I wish you didn't have to design so often. Try to do quality and

Vivienne Westwood, the rebellious oracle of fashion and the voice of authenticity amid the noise of the modern age, once declared: “I wish you didn’t have to design so often. Try to do quality and cut down on quantity. I think fashion is very, very important.” In this brief but powerful reflection lies a truth that transcends the world of garments and enters the soul of creation itself. For what Westwood speaks of is not merely the making of clothes, but the making of meaning — the eternal conflict between quantity and quality, between the hunger for more and the yearning for the lasting. Her words are both lament and lesson, a cry for depth in a time of excess, and a call for creators to remember that the truest beauty is not born from haste, but from purpose and care.

The meaning of this quote reveals itself like a thread woven through time — a plea to slow down the restless rhythm of creation, to resist the temptation of endless production for the sake of profit or novelty. When Westwood says, “I wish you didn’t have to design so often,” she is not scorning the act of design itself; she is mourning how commercial speed has corrupted its sacredness. In her world, the artist has been turned into a machine, the visionary into a vendor. Fashion, once an expression of identity, rebellion, and thought, has become enslaved to the calendar of consumption. Thus, her counsel — “Try to do quality and cut down on quantity” — is not only practical but profoundly moral: a reminder that greatness is not measured by volume, but by value.

The origin of her wisdom is rooted in her own life as a designer who defied every convention. Rising from the fiery counterculture of 1970s London, Westwood carved her path not through obedience, but through audacity. She did not follow fashion — she redefined it. Yet even she, who thrived on reinvention, came to see that the ceaseless churn of the fashion world was hollowing its soul. In an industry that demanded four or more collections a year, she began to preach the radical idea of slowness — of designing fewer garments, but with deeper meaning. “Buy less, choose well, make it last,” she often said. Through this philosophy, she stood not only against fast fashion, but against the deeper disease of modern civilization: the belief that more is always better.

To understand her wisdom, we may look beyond fashion, to the very heart of human endeavor. In ancient Japan, the potters of Bizen would labor for months over a single clay vessel, their art guided not by time or trend, but by devotion. They believed that perfection was not found in flawlessness, but in patience and imperfection embraced. Their work, fired in wood kilns for weeks, emerged scarred by flame — yet each mark became a testament to authenticity. Like Westwood, they understood that quality demands time, humility, and love, and that every act of creation should bear the fingerprint of the soul, not the stamp of efficiency.

Westwood’s declaration that “fashion is very, very important” may seem at odds with her call for restraint, yet in truth, it completes her meaning. For she does not see fashion as mere vanity — she sees it as a language of ideas, a mirror of culture and conscience. To her, fashion is the armor of individuality and the poetry of society. But when fashion becomes shallow, when it races endlessly to feed appetite instead of imagination, it loses its sacred role. True fashion, she insists, must educate, inspire, and awaken — it must help people express who they are and what they stand for. Thus, by calling for less design but better design, she is urging the world to restore integrity to beauty and purpose to creation.

In her lament, there also lies a warning for all creators. The modern world worships speed — the faster we produce, the more we believe we progress. But this is a false faith, for the soul cannot flourish at the pace of machinery. Art cannot breathe when it is rushed, and the heart of craftsmanship dies when it is commodified. Westwood’s wisdom calls us back to the rhythm of nature — the rhythm of seasons, of contemplation, of evolution rather than explosion. She reminds us that slowness is not weakness, but strength; that doing less, with intent, is the mark not of laziness, but of mastery.

The lesson, then, is timeless and universal: create less, but create better. Let every work you make — whether a design, a word, a gesture, or a life — carry the weight of meaning. Resist the pressure to produce endlessly, and instead, honor the sacred pause between acts of creation. Reflect, refine, and remember that excellence is not born from quantity, but from depth. Be like the old artisans who built cathedrals, carving every stone with reverence, even for walls no one would ever see. For their reward was not fame, but fulfillment — the knowledge that their work would endure beyond their lifetimes.

So, my children of creation and craft, hear the voice of Vivienne Westwood as a prophetess of purpose in an age of waste. She teaches that the true measure of art — and of life — lies not in how much you make, but in how much meaning you give to what you make. Let your hands move with care, your mind design with integrity, and your heart beat with patience. In this way, your work shall outlive the seasons, and your creations, like her own, will whisper to future generations: that beauty, when born of thought and soul, is eternal.