To Virgil, The Architect Who Gave Us the Cheat Codes
I have had many teachers in my life. I studied at Parsons. I learned from the greats of fashion history. But the most important syllabus I ever received was not in a classroom. It was a YouTube video of a lecture you gave at Harvard eight years ago.
You walked onto that stage at the Graduate School of Design, turned off your WhatsApp so the notifications wouldn't drown us out, and proceeded to do something radical. You didn't just show your work. You gave us the source code.
This is a love letter to you, Virgil Abloh. You are the mentor who taught me that I didn't have to choose between being an architect, a designer, or a founder. You taught me that I could be all of them at once.
The 3% Rule and the Art of the Edit
In a world that demands we constantly invent the "next big thing," you gave us permission to stop straining. You introduced the 3% Rule.
You argued that to create something iconic, I don't need to reinvent the wheel. I only need to edit it by three percent. You took the Nike Air Force 1, a perfect object, and simply cut it open with an X-Acto knife to reveal the foam. You wrote "AIR" in Helvetica. That was it.
That lesson changed how I build everything. It taught me that true innovation is often an act of restraint. It is about looking at a classic form, whether it is a business model or a sneaker, and twisting it just enough to make it yours. It is the ultimate "Tech Chic" philosophy. It is about taste, not just engineering.
The Tourist and the Purist
I have always felt like an outsider in the boardroom and an insider in the art world. I felt like I had to pick a side.
But you refused to choose. You identified the Tourist, the wide-eyed enthusiast who just wants to see the sights. And you identified the Purist, the historian who knows every reference.
Your genius was that you loved them both. You operated in the space between them. You made high-concept art accessible to the kids on the corner, and you brought street culture into the hallowed halls of Louis Vuitton. You taught me that if I am not speaking to real people, if my work is just for the academics or the critics, then it is ultimately self-serving.
There Is No Aha Moment
During that lecture, a student asked you about your defining "aha moment."
Your answer was the most relieving thing I have ever heard. You said, "There is no aha moment."
You explained that waiting for a lightning bolt is a trap. You admitted that failure is as real as "Halloween ghosts." It does not actually exist. You taught me that the only reality is the work. You just put it out there. If it is good, it works. If it is bad, no one notices, and you try again.
The Open Source Legacy
Most mentors hoard their secrets. They want to be the only genius in the room.
You were different. You operated with endless generosity. You open-sourced your brain. You shared your files, your logic, and your process so that the "17-year-old version of yourself" could find a shortcut.
You are the reason I believe in the power of sharing knowledge. You are the reason I believe that a founder can be an artist.
Thank you, Virgil. For the cheat codes. For the shoes. And for showing us that the most sophisticated thing you can do is leave the door unlocked for the person coming up behind you.
