If you have total freedom to design, you won't get anything

“If you have total freedom to design, you won’t get anything interesting. So I give myself restraints in order to push myself through, to create something new. It’s the torture that I give myself—the pain and the struggle that I go through,” spoke Rei Kawakubo, the enigmatic visionary behind Comme des Garçons. In her words lies a truth that the ancients themselves would have understood well: that creation is born not from comfort, but from constraint. The flame of genius does not spring from the still air of ease, but from the friction of resistance, the narrowing of possibility, and the deliberate forging of self-discipline.

To the untrained ear, her words may sound strange. How could freedom, that most celebrated of conditions, lead to emptiness? Yet those who have walked the path of creation know the paradox: when all paths are open, none seem worth walking. The human soul, boundless as it is, finds its highest form not in endless liberty, but in the choosing of limits—in the decision to wrestle with form, material, and meaning. For in the struggle against boundaries, the imagination sharpens itself like a blade against stone. Without the weight of restriction, the mind drifts; with it, it learns to fly.

Rei Kawakubo, a designer who has long defied the fashion world’s expectations, built her empire upon the art of constraint. She rejected the easy beauty of symmetry and the safety of trends. Instead, she imposed on herself impossible rules: garments that distort the body, shapes that refuse flattery, colors that evoke discomfort. In doing so, she birthed not just clothes, but philosophy—beauty through rebellion, form through struggle. Her process is not indulgent creation, but creative battle, and her words echo the eternal truth: that pain and discipline are the midwives of originality.

We see this principle not only in art, but across the vast scroll of human history. Consider Michelangelo, who once said he carved not from marble, but “released the angel imprisoned within it.” The block of stone—the ultimate restraint—was his teacher. Each strike of the chisel was an act of liberation through limitation. Or think of the poet Homer, whose verses sang within the fixed patterns of meter and rhythm, yet within those boundaries wove worlds of gods, heroes, and destiny. Their greatness did not bloom in freedom, but in form; their creativity was not unleashed by absence of rules, but by the mastery of them.

This truth reaches even into the heart of life itself. For is not growth the child of resistance? The tree grows tall only because the wind tests its strength. The muscle gains power only through strain. The spirit matures only through struggle and restraint. Those who flee from difficulty may taste freedom, but they will never know creation. Kawakubo calls this her “torture,” yet she embraces it as sacred—knowing that only through wrestling with the impossible does one glimpse the divine spark of innovation.

Her words are a lesson for all who seek to make or to become something meaningful. Do not fear limitation; seek it. Do not curse the struggle; honor it. Set yourself challenges that feel unbearable. Deny yourself the easy path, and the mind will awaken new strength. For it is in the narrowing of choices that vision becomes sharp; it is in the pressure of resistance that brilliance is born. True creation is an act of endurance as much as inspiration.

Therefore, let this teaching pass to every artist, thinker, and dreamer: freedom without discipline leads to emptiness, but discipline forged through struggle leads to transcendence. The wise do not seek an easy road; they build walls only to learn how to climb them. So embrace the pain that polishes, the constraint that shapes, and the torture that teaches—for in these lie the secret of creation, and in creation, the meaning of life itself.