Paris, March 2026
“What has driven fashion through the ages is, at the bottom, the way it plays with danger,” wrote YOHJI YAMAMOTO in the book My Dear Bomb (2010). Since then, the world has changed. It has become a more dangerous place, but also, paradoxically, a more cautious one. Culturally, comfort has become a dominant value. Nostalgia is weaponised for consumption; trends are optimised for predictability.
For Yamamoto, however, the unknown remains essential. “I have to find a way to surprise myself; otherwise I can’t create,” he tells me on a sunny afternoon at his headquarters in Paris. We are sitting around a wooden table in a quiet room beneath a slanted ceiling on the top floor of the building. At 82, Yamamoto makes a point not to speak of the past. Creativity is ahead, not behind.
He won’t, but we will. Yamamoto is one of the most influential designers of the past half-century, a figure whose impact on fashion is difficult to overstate. Since arriving in Paris in 1981, he has challenged conventional ideas of beauty through a vocabulary of black, asymmetry, oversized silhouettes and garments that privilege emotion over glamour. What was initially received as radical – even shocking – would go on to reshape the language of contemporary fashion.
And yet, his legacy doesn't excite him; only possibility does. Throughout our conversation, he repeatedly returns to the same themes: luck, surprise, instinct. For Yamamoto, creation begins precisely where certainty ends.
Do you think creativity is infinite?
Not really. We need some hot tension to create the next one, so if I don't have a chance to get new excitement, I cannot make.
Where do you find excitement?
It's very funny when I'm driving in my car in Tokyo. When people are passing by, they give me their essence. Even if it’s just a small moment, I can catch it like this [he raises his hand and motions himself capturing something falling].
You've described making clothes as something that's not enjoyable for you…
It’s 50% enjoyable. Otherwise, I couldn’t continue to make it.
Is that 50% enough? Or is there something else that motivates you to create garments?
Well, very frankly, as far as I'm breathing, as far as I'm alive, I repeat the same thing.
How do you think fashion differs from other creative practices?
[Fashion] is not real art. There are a few chances I can think of it as art. When I see a strong, charming lady wearing my outfit in the street, I get surprised. It means creation. Just making clothing doesn’t have surprises. Only when I make clothing that finds a strong match with a person can I be shocked.
You’ve described music as something that makes you very happy. What is it about music?
I like music. But first of all. I love sad music, not upbeat music. When I listen to sad music, it makes me happy. Do you understand this? It’s a very strange connection. As you know, happiness and sadness are always like this [flips the palm of his hand]. From my long time creating outfits, I’ve noticed that sadness can create happiness and happiness can create sadness.
Do you design thinking of the world?
Very often I think about the world, yes.
Do you use fashion to communicate?
Not really, because creators, like a painter, singer or fashion designer, cannot be too involved in the world. But recent wars make me so sad and sometimes angry. Recently, I became angry about religion. I have no religion; I have nothing. I just respect nature.
Are you spiritual?
I don't think so. I'm very normal, man. Old and normal, boring man. [Laughs]
You’ve distanced yourself from the term fashion designer, but do you feel companionship within the fashion system?
Very important question. I am losing that because so many of my favourite designers are gone. We have young and cheap designers who make boring outfits. Don’t you think so? I became very close to Azzedine Alaïa, Alexander McQueen and Mr Armani; the others I don’t care [about]. I was very close to Azzedine. I was surprised by his cutting, unbelievably nice. At the same time, he cooked very delicious food. I was invited by him very often, but he could only speak French. My French is not very good, but when he spoke, I understood everything. When he started talking, I kept laughing and laughing. He was a genius at making people laugh.
Do you think of death?
I don’t care.
You’ve mentioned that you admired Mr Alaïa for his ability to preserve pleasure in his clothing. What do you think you preserve in yours?
Our purpose of duty is very different. But every time I looked at one of his outfits, my heart became hot. He was very kind to me when I started the men's line show in Paris. I had no space at the beginning, and he rented me his space twice for a show. “Yohji, you can do your show in my space.” Can you imagine? How high was his gentleness, his kindness, his sweetness. I was shocked. He was so charming.
We talked about companionship in the industry. Do you feel any sense of competition with other designers?
Year by year, I'm losing competitors. Very strong creators are fading out. It's quite lonely.
You’ve said fashion moves forward due to a sense of danger. In a world that feels increasingly dangerous, do you still feel that way?
I’m trying not to become too political because when you become political, you cannot be a free creator. If you are too political, you become someone who talks to people. I don’t want to talk. I just want to cut and drape.
You famously do everything by hand; that’s not necessarily the norm anymore…
Do you think AI can create fashion?
Not at all.
[Laughs] Creation is not logical; it’s always about passion, anger. You need to be a little mad, crazy.
Speaking of technology, in your shows, you place a card on everyone’s seats, encouraging them to see the collection through their eyes, not their phones…
I prefer direct excitement. [Points at my phone sitting on the table] Don’t use it… Can I smoke?
Of course, go ahead.
[Knocks a pack of cigarettes and one juts out, he lights it] You let me smoke, you are a gentleman.
We’re in your house. Your work heavily subsidises Japanese factories and ateliers. Do you feel a responsibility to preserve traditional craftsmanship?
Craftsmanship is disappearing year by year. Weaving and sewing companies from Japan and Italy are disappearing. Sometimes I think creating fashion is disappearing, I am afraid. But if I account for what will happen in 20 or 30 years, I won’t be here. I’ll be gone somewhere else; I don’t know where. The real fashion creative system is disappearing on Earth.
Is there any hope for it to be preserved?
I'm hopeless. But I become strong for right now; it’s this feeling that gives me power and luck. I’m a very lucky man.
Do you feel like your life is marked by luck, by fate?
I think so. When I look back at my life, I feel I have been lucky.
Do you look back often?
I get very old, so I look back often. But, for creating a new collection, I never look back. The spirit to look back is in me, so I have to find something I don’t know to be able to create.
You ended your last collection with prints from the artist Hokusai, an artist remembered in the West for his influence on Western painters. What do you think has been your impact on Western fashion?
Very frankly, I don't care.
Has your relationship with clothing changed?
I just wanted to create something that didn’t bother people’s eyes. When I create something with a very strong colour or print, they bother. When I was young, I decided I was going to wear black T-shirts to not disturb people’s eyes. In the same way, I started creating. We need surprises to create, but this kind of feeling is disappearing, so I surprise myself by doing many things. I can catch some idea that falls down, which makes me a hard worker.
You spoke of both luck and hard work as the reasons for your success. Do you think you have an ego?
This kind of ego invites luck. My luck comes from my spirit; it’s what excites me, it’s what makes me cut and draw and drape. If you don’t have ego, you can’t catch luck as it’s falling down.
Interview by Pedro Vasconcelos
Photography by Yaël Temminck