I'm all self-taught. I never had a teacher. Even for English

The great designer Karl Lagerfeld, master of vision and style, once said: “I'm all self-taught. I never had a teacher. Even for English, and French, and German, I hardly went to school.” In this bold declaration lies a truth that speaks across centuries: that the human spirit, when aflame with desire for knowledge, can make itself its own master. He did not wait for instruction to be handed to him, nor did he lament the absence of formal guidance. Instead, he forged his own path, proving that genius is often not the fruit of schooling, but of hunger, discipline, and relentless curiosity.

To be self-taught is to accept solitude, to sit in the silence of one’s own mind, and to wrestle with ideas without the comfort of a guiding hand. It is the heroic journey of one who fashions himself from raw will. Lagerfeld, who became a legend of fashion, culture, and intellect, shows us that the classroom, though useful, is not the only crucible in which greatness is forged. His words echo an eternal truth: education is not bound by walls, nor by teachers, nor by degrees—it is bound only by the thirst of the soul.

History abounds with such figures. Leonardo da Vinci, though apprenticed as an artist, was largely self-taught in anatomy, engineering, and philosophy. He dissected corpses, sketched machines, and filled notebooks with ideas far beyond the reach of any master. Benjamin Franklin, one of the architects of America, received little formal schooling; instead, he devoured books, taught himself to write with elegance, and learned science by experiment. Such men prove that greatness often belongs not to those who are instructed, but to those who instruct themselves.

Lagerfeld’s words also reveal a defiance of limitation. “I hardly went to school,” he confesses—not with shame, but with pride. For in his defiance lies a deeper principle: that the world itself is the greatest school. Every book, every conversation, every failure and every triumph is a lesson. Those who learn to observe, to listen, to seek—such people transform every experience into education. It is not the diploma that makes the master, but the discipline of a restless mind.

Yet let us not misunderstand. To be self-taught does not mean to be without teachers altogether, but to recognize that life itself is the teacher, and one must take from it with open eyes and willing hands. The self-taught soul knows how to read not only texts but faces, not only languages but silences, not only history but the pulse of the present moment. This was the gift of Lagerfeld—he absorbed culture, style, and art as though the world itself were his private academy.

The lesson for us is clear: do not wait for permission to learn. Do not say, “I have no teacher,” for knowledge waits everywhere, if you have the courage to seek it. Books stand ready, languages open their doors, skills invite your hands. The self-taught man or woman proves that excuses are chains of the mind, and that liberation lies in effort. Your destiny is not given by schools, but carved by your own hunger to grow.

Practically, this means dedicating yourself daily to the pursuit of knowledge. Read beyond your comfort, observe with care, practice with patience. Teach yourself as though you were both student and master. Seek guidance when you can, but never let the lack of guidance halt your journey. For the road of the self-taught may be lonely, but it is also the road of freedom, independence, and discovery.

Thus Karl Lagerfeld’s words shine not only as a personal reflection, but as a challenge to all generations. “I never had a teacher.” Yet in truth, he had the greatest teacher of all—the hunger within himself. And that hunger, more than any school, carried him to mastery. Let us take up this truth: that each of us, if willing, can become our own teacher, and from the depths of our own labor, carve a life of brilliance.