At some point, rules became unbearably uncomfortable.
To be precise, I became uncomfortable with how rules and systems operate among capable people. Rules are mostly designed with the worst-case scenario in mind. Someone might make a mistake, so we require approvals. Someone might misjudge, so we create manuals. I don't deny the intention behind this. However, the friction that occurs when those same rules are uniformly applied to people who won't make mistakes, who won't misjudge—this has troubled me for a long time.
This has been the point where I've constantly clashed with colleagues and leaders in organizations, seeking balance. I've always taken a critical stance against adding rules and defining individual limitations within organizations, advocating for broader areas of autonomy. This wasn't mere stubbornness. It was an answer I arrived at after intense contemplation on 'In what environment do I perform best?' and 'What kind of organization must we create to finally produce thrilling results?'
The Paradox of Ford
What struck me most while watching Ford v Ferrari was that none of the characters were villains. Instead of asking who was ethically wrong, the film excels in showing the conflicts and tensions between characters over the difficult question of 'Who will win in the right way?' amid enormous uncertainty. Leo Beebe, Ford's racing executive, wasn't simply an antagonist or obstacle. He was someone who had never once set foot on a racetrack. A thorough manager hired for 'organizational capability' rather than technical expertise. The anecdote about him carrying Henry Ford II's four-word business card—"You better win"—in his wallet for life speaks to his essence. He merely made perfectly rational choices as a manager who had to operate a massive organization and protect brand interests. Yet it was precisely that rationality that robbed Ken Miles of his true victory at the finish line.
What I noticed in this narrative was a great irony. What Ford ultimately had to do to beat Ferrari was abandon its own system. The logic of mass production couldn't solve racecar aerodynamics. The initial GT40s, dependent on manuals and boardroom data, suffered repeated disasters—taking off on the track or having their gearboxes destroyed. The problem was only solved when Ken Miles employed primitive, inefficient methods: attaching yarn to the car body and observing wind flow with the naked eye, measuring the car's limits through his body's senses rather than computers.
The fact that Goliath had to borrow David's methods to beat David. That it was the intuition and tenacity of one human being, not massive capital, that saved the system. Yet Ford suppressed that autonomy again at the last moment for the sake of a single photograph. This contradiction and tragedy repeats itself daily in organizations, perhaps even close to me.
Who Are Rules For?
A leader's attempt to control an organization through rules doesn't inherently contain malice. It's a traditional management instinct to protect the important values of systemic predictability and risk minimization. We cannot diminish the hard work that drove manufacturing-based growth in the past.
But I think we should periodically ask this question: 'Who are those rules protecting right now?'
This contradiction is starkly revealed in Ford v Ferrari as well. When Shelby discovered mechanical flaws in the car and requested fixes, reports had to pass through countless middle managers' filing cabinets. While papers moved from desk to desk, precious time needed to prepare for Le Mans was wasted meaninglessly. Hidden from executives but actually eating away at organizational efficiency were unnecessary informal procedures. MIT calls this phenomenon the "hidden factory." I felt great catharsis and empathy when Shelby finally put Henry Ford II in the passenger seat for a violently intense racing experience, then broke through the bureaucratic approval system with a direct line. This was because the very efficiency that rules claimed to protect was being devoured by the rules themselves. When rules and surveillance replace trust, members end up spending energy on avoiding control rather than pursuing essential goals.
Perhaps the more serious problem is the psychological departure of exceptional talent. For people who want to demonstrate overwhelming capability, the best benefit is working with excellent colleagues. But when an organization signals that it tolerates mediocrity and chooses control over autonomy, the hearts of those who would truly lead the organization leave first. The attempt to control risk through rules creates the most fatal risk of driving away the organization's finest minds.
When Context Replaces Control
The reason Netflix's No Rules Rules philosophy resonates deeply with me is that it's not laissez-faire.
What Reed Hastings designed wasn't the absence of rules, but a replacement for rules. Netflix's expense policy is one sentence: "Act in Netflix's best interests." The vacation policy is just two words: "Take vacation." This works because it's designed to make each member ask themselves questions. "Can I confidently explain to my boss why this expense benefits the company?" If they're reluctant to explain, they stop or consult. It's a structure where ownership takes the place of departed rules.
When Netflix says "Lead with context, not control," the leader's role changes from giving orders to transparently providing context. Industry trends, strategic goals, available resources. After pouring all this context into the field, judgment is left entirely to practitioners. Don't try to please your boss; do what's best for the company. Even if it's a project your boss opposes, you can bet on it if you're convinced.
This is the approach I aspire to. Not a leader who directs and approves, but one who lays out context and steps back. An organization where people with field sense make field decisions.
Prerequisites for Autonomy
There's something crucial I must address here. All of this only works when prerequisites are met. Netflix could eliminate rules because they filled their organization with people so excellent that rules were unnecessary. Talent density. This one thing is the foundation of everything. Of course, autonomy cannot be given unconditionally. Autonomy granted without sufficient context or preparation becomes neglect. But I fundamentally start from trusting the colleagues I work with. I believe trust comes first, and autonomy should be the default until that trust is proven wrong.
Netflix's Keeper Test is ruthless. "If this person said they were leaving tomorrow, would I fight tooth and nail to keep them?" If you don't feel compelled to fight, you send them off with a generous severance. It seems harsh, but after this process, those who remain gain confidence that they're surrounded only by colleagues equal to or better than themselves. That confidence becomes the foundation of autonomy. And what keeps people on track where supervisor approval once existed is ruthless feedback based on colleagues' complete honesty. Even new hires should be able to directly challenge the CEO, and superiors should accept subordinates' criticism as advice to improve work completeness.
Jazz Band, Not Symphony Orchestra
I pursue organizations that race toward thrilling goals and visions. Organizations where the leader's role is not control and surveillance, but like a "jazz band" that puts excellent musicians on stage and throws them just the basic theme.
In traditional symphony orchestras that conventional leadership pursues, the conductor distributes sheet music, and it's considered beautiful when all musicians follow without an inch of deviation. Improvisation isn't allowed. Mistakes are disasters that break the entire harmony. A symphony orchestra would have been right for a mechanical industry-based mass production system.
But the world we live in now is different. We exist on uncertainty greater than ever before, never knowing when or what melody might emerge. While playing by the sheet music, competitors are turning the stage upside down.
Jazz band leaders don't hold batons. They fulfill their role by selecting skilled musicians, putting them on stage, and throwing them just the basic theme. Excellent talents create unprecedented melodies in real-time without sheet music, exchanging breath and sensibilities with each other. Within that seemingly loose and relaxed performance, the most dramatic disruptive innovation blooms.
Tools That Don't Define the Limits of Imagination
This philosophy of autonomy doesn't stop at people and organizations. I'm also someone who creates tools for in-house makers. Whether design systems or editors, tools easily become rules in service of the value of consistency. And tools that become rules confine makers' imagination within that scope.
The tools I dream of aren't tools that force something, but tools that provide context. Just as Netflix replaced its expense policy with one sentence, good tools should be able to tell users "Create what you want to create." Not defining the limits of makers' imagination. This has always been my ideal, and I've worked toward it.
Conclusion
I hold strong beliefs about autonomy while repeatedly experiencing those beliefs colliding with reality. What I've realized through these collisions is that perhaps my role isn't to argue for autonomy itself, but to first create the foundation where autonomy can work.
Contributing to increasing talent density. Transparently sharing context. Not fearing honest feedback. Without these three things preceding it, arguments for autonomy are merely neglect.
Rules and control can prevent the ignorant and irresponsible from committing terrible errors, but they cannot push those with excellent capabilities to break through limitations. All great innovations weren't born from thick manuals filled with rules. They always began in the seemingly most inefficient obsessive immersion, in the senses of one human being who tried to smell the track and feel the temperature of the tires.
Ultimately, the one who crosses the final finish line in competition won't be the one who followed discipline best, but the one granted the freedom to challenge limits without fear.