[Reflection] #18 What Craftsmanship Taught Me: Life Lessons on Discipline, Quality, and the Value of Time
After 20 years of working alongside French and Vietnamese artisans in a variety of trades (jewelry, sewing, leatherworking…), here are some reflections and lessons I’ve learned.
Craftsmanship teaches discipline
I’m someone who likes to use my time and money wisely, so when I choose a teacher, I want THE best, the most meticulous, the most demanding, to learn as much as possible, but I also suffer a lot from it. Before meeting them, I thought I was a perfectionist, but after getting to know them, I realize I’m still light-years away from perfectionism.
What’s funny is that when you walk into their workshop, you don’t necessarily think they are, because tools are everywhere, everything seems messy, their hands are filthy… but there’s no dust in the workshop. But when they start teaching me the trade, it all makes sense: the tools are actually arranged in an order optimized for use. My leatherworking teacher arranges his tools by height; whereas I’m used to arranging by tool type. So when he needs a 10cm ruler, he’ll spot it immediately among the 10cm tools, instead of searching like me among the ten rulers between 5 and 50cm. As for the dirty hands, at the end of the day in jewelry making, I too end up with black hands. And in leatherworking, as soon as I’m painting edges, I also get paint on my hands, but also regularly paint drops on my clothes.
The common thread among my teachers is the prohibition against wasting raw materials. My jewelry teacher makes me work on silver right away (whereas normally you’re supposed to start with brass), so that I pay attention from the very first seconds and don’t waste as much silver (no pun intended) with sloppy work. I still remember how I overheated the metal (10 seconds too long) and left a fire stain (silver oxidation). Instead of turning a blind eye, my teacher made me file away that stain. 10 seconds of inattention turned into an hour of filing. Since then, I haven’t made a single fire stain. In sewing, if I ever have the misfortune to sew crookedly, my teacher never lets me throw away the fabric, even if it’s just a small collar that could be quickly recut and resewn. No, it’s off for 10 minutes of seam ripping. The worst is when she asks me to redo the overlock stitch. Nightmare! Any inattention is severely punished. And every mistake is remembered for life because each time, I had between 30 minutes and 1 hour to fix my error, thinking about the time I’d waste in the future if I made the same one again. To be honest, each mistake, in each discipline, happens only once in my life.
Whereas in business school, frankly, I don’t remember at all the mistakes I might have made (maybe just a badly done business plan). Because a mistake = a bad grade among 36,000 grades, but in the end I still get my diploma. There was a math teacher in high school who deducted 1 point every time because I always turned in poorly written homework (to be able to do as many exercises as possible), but what difference does it make to get 17 instead of 18? It slides off me and has no impact. Whereas spending 1 hour filing, that leaves a mark!!
It’s also hard to see my teachers always dissatisfied. I often come home from the workshop completely discouraged, convinced I’m terrible, because truly, everything is criticized: a tiny 0.1mm asymmetry, a stitch line not perfectly parallel, a metal cut not straight enough… The most frustrating part? Even when I do my own quality control beforehand – I’ve learned to spot my mistakes and self-criticize on my own – they still find flaws. I even have to ask several times ‘but where’s the problem?’ because I can’t see it, and especially, I can’t understand how I made that mistake.
I felt really terrible for a long time – how could I not when I never received a compliment? And then one day, I accidentally find out, through another student, that my teacher speaks of me with pride, of my progress… I was stunned! Actually, I understood later, in my professional life, that constructive criticism is reserved for those who can take it and use it to improve. People who get defensive at the slightest negative feedback? You end up leaving them alone; nobody wants to create conflicts. Result: they stagnate and end up sidelined without understanding why.
This is what craftsmanship truly taught me: humility. For someone like me, used to good grades in school, it was hard at first to be constantly criticized. But now, I understand. That’s how you progress.
I’m aware that, just like the bac, the CAP (which artisans take) has a success rate that’s too high. However, after going through the curricula and talking with teachers, it’s clear that the content is extremely dense if you really want to learn in depth. Honestly, in comparison, my master’s degree in business school seems far less demanding than a CAP Tailleur (with honors) or a CAP Maroquinerie (with honors). French craftsmanship remains a benchmark envied worldwide, for example in fields like haute couture, which embodies exceptional savoir-faire, or in the world of menswear, as evidenced by works such as Parisian Gentleman Hugo Jacomet’s (shown in this article’s illustration), which highlight this excellence.
Craftsmanship loves quality
For a long time, I thought restaurants served us dishes with low-quality ingredients out of ignorance. Until I met Chef Jérémie on Koh Phangan, who has worked in several fine dining restaurants. He told me that in culinary school, even to open a regular restaurant, chefs all learn to recognize good ingredients and know where to find the best oysters, the best Camembert… it’s basic training. I had a very enlightening experience with him where, when I showed him how to make nems (according to my family recipe), I made a nem sauce with my supermarket ingredients, and the chef gave me his quality ingredients; and the two sauces are NOTHING alike.
It’s the same for other crafts. Everyone knows how to recognize and find quality, then it’s just a matter of cost. Fast fashion will give you 100% acrylic, 100% polyester, and the Savile Row bespoke tailor will give you 100% wool, 100% silk, 100% vicuña…
My teachers always opt for the best because they’ve learned after all these years of test & learn that you can’t make beautiful things with poor-quality tools and low-grade raw materials. Even if you have the best technique in the world, on leather that cracks, or on faux leather made of plastic, the product ends up tearing very quickly. In their studios, you can touch and admire tools that cost a fortune, and that they’ve spent a lifetime hunting down. Female artisans use very high-quality tools, but male artisans have a thing with knives. Oh my, they love knives and buy them endlessly. In multiple copies. It’s their thing, I’ve never understood the appeal of knives. Sure, I also have very beautiful handmade Japanese knives and scissors, and I appreciate the quality, but I can’t collect them.
How is it logical to work with low-grade tools? If the result isn’t satisfactory, how do you know if it’s us being clumsy or the tools being faulty? At least, with quality equipment, you know exactly what’s wrong – it’s definitely our technique that needs improvement. No excuses, no ambiguity.
Take this striking example: I recently took an online course with a seamstress who worked in haute couture. Her stitching lines were frankly mediocre, unworthy of her level of expertise. But was it really her fault? Not at all! She was given a simple home sewing machine, whereas she was used to working on a professional flatbed machine. If she had been judged solely on those stitches made with low-grade equipment, she wouldn’t even have been hired at H&M, even though she’s proven herself in haute couture! That goes to show how much the tool makes the difference. It’s important to save money in life because money doesn’t grow on trees, but give yourself quality tools: an ergonomic chair, an ergonomic mouse, a table at the right height… it changes everything!
Notice how real artisans value their time and materials. In jewelry making, my teacher insists that I work directly with silver rather than brass – “why waste hours on a metal that will oxidize and smell bad?” he says. If I could afford it, he would even have me work with gold directly. It’s the same in leatherworking, where my teacher refused a student who only wanted to use low-grade leather. For him, it was a waste of time – why compensate for the poor quality of the material with harder, less satisfying work? Bookbinders also follow this philosophy: they only work with quality books, systematically refusing works with yellowed, damaged pages, unless they have exceptional sentimental value.
So when I see those YouTube videos of ‘sewing reviews’ where amateur sewists obsessively try to replicate clothes from brands like Sézane, Balzac, Sandro, Maje by seeking out the same low-grade synthetic fabrics, it disheartens me. These brands use a mix of natural fibers with polyester, viscose, and acrylic to cut costs – why would you want to imitate that? How is it logical to devote so much time and effort to reproducing a garment in a low-grade fabric? It’s as if the time invested had no value.
I recently saw an interesting comment on this subject. The person questioned the common belief that sewing at home allows you to save money. Of course, you spend less on fabric, but have we really taken into account everything that entails? The time spent training, the hours devoted to the sewing itself? In fact, this belief reflects a deeper problem: the systematic devaluation of women’s work. When we say a woman sews or stays home to “save money,” we completely overlook that she is actually providing skilled labor. There’s no real saving – there’s real work that deserves to be recognized as such. Time cannot be bought with all the money in the world, every second must be used more wisely, and artisans have understood this very well.
Artisans need entrepreneurial knowledge
Opportunities for artisans are often bleak. Talking to several of them, even in the luxury sector, I discovered that workshops increasingly resemble factories due to production constraints. They are assigned to best-selling models over and over, making the work repetitive and mechanical. Gradually, the artisan becomes a mere worker (and is paid as such). In some privileged cases, an artisan can work on a product from start to finish, but even then, a form of Taylorism eventually takes hold. For example, they might perform the same operation on 6 bags before moving to the next step, which can lead to entire days of saddle stitching without a break – a terrible practice for the joints. In an ideal world, an artisan should alternate tasks: after two hours of stitching, they could switch to another operation to spare their body.
An independent artisan is not entirely immune to becoming a worker if they are not careful. Clients often demand bestsellers, and catering to this demand can prevent developing new models. Some artisans find a balance by creating loss leaders: quick-to-make pieces that fund more complex projects aimed at a discerning clientele. To avoid the monotony of work (producing the same object thousands of times), others limit the number of units per line, a smart strategy to preserve diversity and creative enthusiasm.
What I often reproach independent artisans for is their excessive focus on the technical aspect. They live only for their craft, neglecting everything else: marketing, dealing with URSSAF, accounting, etc. Their ideal? Spending their days in front of their work, then a wealthy client comes along, admires their work, pays a hefty sum, and leaves. But reality is far less idyllic.
While I was quietly sewing in a “sewing café” in Rouen, I overheard an interesting conversation. A woman showed up for an interview, hoping to get one of the 8 spots available this year in a training program offered by Pôle Emploi. Sitting in the next room, I could follow the entire exchange. She explained that she had applied the previous year without success and was returning to try again. I quickly understood why she had been rejected and why she probably would be again: the program includes 75% practical work, but also 25% administrative theory (like learning to set up and manage a business). She, for her part, wants to open a sewing association in her village and has no interest in the administrative side. Unfortunately, even for an association, you need to know how to run it: fill out creation forms, organize an annual general meeting, and prepare financial statements, even simplified ones.
This is often where artisans hit a wall: they are reluctant to invest in these entrepreneurial aspects. It’s also why many are not very good at marketing. Those who excel on Instagram, for example, are often amateurs: they master the art of showcasing their low-end products but lack technical skill (cf. those horrible quilted bags on Instagram). Conversely, truly talented artisans are often absorbed in their work and have neither the desire nor the reflex to put down their work to adjust a camera, take a photo, or check the perfect angle. When you’re deep in creation, it’s hard to break that flow to manage a device. In crafts like bookbinding or leatherwork, videos often focus on very specific steps, like stitching headbands or saddle stitching, because these are moments when you can set up a fixed camera without interrupting the creative process.
Venturing into e-commerce is no small feat either. The tailor Scavini, for example, quickly realized the challenges when opening his e-commerce site. Without expertise in IT development, marketing, or after-sales service, every step requires delegating: developer, community manager, customer service manager, returns manager, etc. Each intervention requires dipping into his pockets, which significantly eats into his margins.
It’s precisely for this reason that career changers with solid professional experience often fare better. Christine Charles is a perfect example: after managing projects of over 10 million euros in a large company, she successfully set up her sewing school Rêve à Soi. She created her website, organized online and live classes, and developed partnerships across France, leveraging her transversal skills and strategic vision, without having to pay.
Often, the best way for artisans to reconcile passion and profitability is to pass on their know-how through classes. My jewelry teacher used to say that his ideal student is “a woman in her fifties, with purchasing power, some dexterity, and a passion for craftsmanship.” These students easily become loyal customers, because after spending a lot of effort cutting a metal plate more or less straight, they realize the huge amount of work and expertise required to create even a simple ring. They become aware of the cost of materials and end up thinking that 1000 euros for handmade is entirely justified. My teachers often leave their small ads in supplier stores (leather, jewelry findings, haberdashery), and I frequently tell them: “Those who know where these shops are may already have a teacher. Also target your 50-year-old student in the places she frequents (craft fairs and shows, cultural centers and community centers, local cafés, specialty bookstores, decor and furniture stores, second-hand listings, etc.”
However, for somewhat more accessible trades (like sewing), the risk lies in training your own competitors. Fortunately, there is such a shortage of independent artisans in France that there is still room for everyone. It’s not about getting rich, but there are enough clients to live decently on a small salary. Believe me, whenever I take an interest in a trade, I start by drafting a business plan. Based on my calculations, reaching the minimum wage is entirely possible, but to aim higher, considerable effort is required. Leverage is created by hiring other artisans. That’s not easy, which is why, more than ever, having entrepreneurial skills is essential.
Craftsmanship is not just a trade; it’s a true way of life. It teaches humility, rigor, and respect for a job well done. Working alongside master artisans, I delved into a world where every detail matters, where every mistake becomes a lesson, and where every material has a story to tell. Their passion is contagious, as is their talent for blending tradition and modernity to create unique pieces. But I also became aware of the challenges they face: preserving their health, finding their place in a market that chases after convenience and purchasing power, or juggling creativity and management.
With a bit of hindsight, I see how much these lessons go beyond the realm of craftsmanship. Being meticulous with oneself, valuing your time and efforts, stepping out of your comfort zone, expanding your skills, and taking an interest in diverse disciplines. Being able to dabble in everything, understand different aspects of a project or a trade, and connect knowledge—that’s what allows one to move forward and adapt. Whether you’re an artisan or not, there’s incredible richness to discover in this world, provided you take a moment to observe and listen to those who shape it.
