Yohji Yamamoto speaks the way he designs, with precision, with pauses, with an undertone of defiance. At eighty, his words carry the calm gravity of someone who has walked through anger, chance, and creation, and returned with nothing to prove.
For System, Tim Blanks sits across from the legendary designer in a filmed conversation that unfolds like an intimate meditation. Yamamoto reflects on the fury that shaped his youth, on the fate that led him from law to fabric, and on the enduring tension between Tokyo and Paris, two cities that taught him how to listen to silence.
He speaks of chance and destiny, of life and its rehearsal for death, of beauty as resistance rather than ornament. His voice carries the soft weariness of someone who has seen the century turn and refused to be dazzled by it. For over five decades, Yamamoto has built an empire of shadows, garments that move like whispered arguments, that insist on the dignity of imperfection, that let silence be a form of speech.
Tim Blanks listens, not as a journalist chasing answers, but as a witness to an evolving philosophy: how anger can ripen into clarity, how rebellion can become tenderness. Together, they trace the slow arc of an artist who has made peace with uncertainty, and who, even now, designs as though every cut of fabric could redeem a fragment of the human condition.
This film is not about fashion. It is about what remains when all the glitter fades: a man, his questions, and the quiet revolution that begins when beauty refuses to obey.
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