For anyone approaching this discipline out of curiosity, safety is usually one of the first concerns that comes up.
On one side, newcomers see the outrageous things—sometimes impressive, sometimes downright reckless—that people share online, and naturally start wondering whether they would walk away unharmed if they tried to recreate what they see in photos or videos.
On the other side, there is the endless repetition of “safety” mantras promoted by instructors or communities: a collection of reassuring principles that, more often than not, rarely survive contact with actual practice.
To better understand the broader landscape, it helps to look at three underlying forces—lack of knowledge, good intentions, and bad intentions—across three different groups: beginners, organizers and promoters, and finally instructors or public figures within the scene.
A beginner’s lack of knowledge is completely natural.
They are curious, looking for information, and likely to trust sources that appear credible for one reason or another.
And that is where things get tricky.
Verifying the accuracy of information circulating around shibari is far from easy.
Supposedly “reliable” sources often repeat the same mistakes, oversimplifications, and questionable claims over and over again, with little interest in revisiting or challenging them.
It is the classic illusion of truth: repeat something often enough, and people start accepting it as fact.
Ignorance becomes more problematic when it comes from organizers or promoters, because they actively shape the environment where others learn, practice, and make decisions.
You see it all the time: an event space trying to turn a profit organizes a shibari workshop and fills the description with fantasy references to Asian princesses and samurai warriors as the “origin” of the art.
Things become more serious when the lack of understanding comes from the people teaching. And the euphemism of “sharing knowledge” does not magically erase the responsibility that comes with instructing others.
Teaching flawed techniques, oversimplified ideas, or practices that are not fully understood does not just put people at risk in the short term—it also shapes bad habits that become much harder to unlearn later on.
As the saying goes, it is harder to fix a bad habit than to learn properly from the start.
Reaching a level where you can competently explain shibari to someone else takes time. Time to practice, and even more time to process and truly understand each concept and technical detail.
A polished speech, a carefully curated aesthetic, or a visually striking presentation can hide a lack of understanding for a while—but genuine curiosity cuts through that quickly.
Asking why, how, for what purpose, or what a technique actually achieves remains one of the best tools for learning responsibly.
Again, this is something you see often: instructors responding to questions or difficulties with “because that is how it is done,” or worse, reacting with arrogance, hostility, or comments like “maybe you are just not cut out for this.” That kind of behavior has no place in any learning environment.
Which brings us to intentions—what actually motivates people to do what they do.
We tend to assume everyone means well, but good intentions alone guarantee neither competence nor responsibility.
The international shibari scene has more than enough examples of deeply irresponsible behavior: predatory dynamics, manipulative conduct, and toxic attitudes across nearly every role imaginable.
That said, not everyone involved in shibari is reckless or malicious.
Fortunately, most people genuinely mean well. But there is an old saying worth remembering:
The road to hell is paved with good intentions.
Because even with the best intentions in the world, risk can escalate into danger, and danger can lead to consequences.
Good intentions alone are never enough. They need to be backed by knowledge, time, critical thinking, and a constant sense of personal responsibility.
Let us look at a few common “safety recommendations” that help illustrate the issue more clearly.
Safety 101: Keeping Rope Off the Joints
Ever since the very first workshop I attended more than twenty years ago, one phrase has been repeated like a sacred mantra:
Leave at least 3–4 inches of rope-free space around the joints.
The usual explanation is simple: joints contain many delicate structures that can be damaged. And that is true. The connective tissues that make up joints are relatively easy to injure and notoriously slow to recover.
A more technical explanation is that joints are designed to stabilize the body and redirect force toward muscles. They are not built to absorb direct loads themselves, nor do they create efficient kinetic chains when force is applied directly to them.
Whether we are talking about an acrobatic suspension or a gentle floor tie, protecting the joints should always be a priority.
That means stabilizing them and keeping them within a reasonably safe range of motion—something much harder to achieve when they are directly compressed or loaded.
In theory, this applies to every joint in the body, which does not leave much room for rope if we strictly follow the rule everywhere.
Fingers, toes, neck, elbows, knees, cervical spine, lower back—these are all particularly sensitive areas, and the risks are easy enough to imagine: broken fingers, unintended choking, spinal injuries, inflamed nerves.
But what about wrists?
A small area packed with veins, nerves, tendons, ligaments, cartilage, and bone. It is hard to argue that they are not especially vulnerable.
Open your preferred platform and scroll through shibari photos and videos. Look at the wrists. How often do you see rope, a single-column tie, or worse, a double-column tie wrapped tightly around them? How many images show joints—wrists, knees, elbows, shoulders, hips—bearing significant force or load?
Before anyone starts objecting, a quick clarification: photographs can be staged, dramatized, or carefully framed to tell a specific visual story. They are not always reliable representations of real practice. Guided, real-world practice is a much better reference point.
And yet, in actual practice, it is surprisingly rare to find shibari that does not rely heavily on wrist ties. Whether that comes from ignorance, carelessness, or misplaced confidence depends on the situation.
But the outcome remains the same: the tied person is exposed to increased physical risk because of how the technique is being applied.
At the end of the day, intentions matter far less than responsibility and understanding.
Safety 102: The False Sense of Safety
Safety sells. Search algorithms place it among the top queries related to shibari. And that creates a strong incentive to reduce safety discourse to a collection of comforting phrases that sound good on paper but fall apart in practice.
Let us say your venue is “safe” and there is someone present with first aid training—great, that is never a bad thing.
But do we actually know how to handle a serious shibari-related accident if one occurs?
A few months ago, someone sent me the dossier for an event. It proudly mentioned that medical personnel would be present in the room during class. Which raises a fair question: what exactly are they expecting to happen during that class?
Let us be clear about something: causing an immediate severe injury in shibari usually requires a dangerous combination of recklessness, excessive force, and very bad luck.
The greater physical risk is often not catastrophic injury in the moment, but cumulative damage over time.
Poorly applied “safety practices” rarely cause instant disability. What they tend to do instead is gradually wear down tissue. Depending on a person’s age, physical condition, and daily habits, recovery may be quick, slow, or sometimes nonexistent.
And that damage does not come exclusively from shibari. Poor posture, repetitive strain, poorly executed physical effort, and unrelated injuries all accumulate in the same structures. Eventually, the body begins to show the consequences.
It is equally concerning when spaces claim to be “safe” from predatory behavior simply because they say so in their advertising. The word safe deserves more careful consideration and a more critical perspective.
A space promoting shibari and chemsex side by side on the same poster is unlikely to inspire confidence as a particularly safe environment. This is not a condemnation of either practice, but they operate under very different dynamics and require very different levels of responsibility.
Safety shears have become another sacred object. Like ritual totems, their mere presence in the room seems to reassure everyone that nothing can go wrong.
But do people actually know how to use them?
Can they cut through a three-rope takate quickly and cleanly? Do they know the correct order for an emergency release? Could they safely free someone experiencing convulsions during suspension? And once the ropes are removed, what happens next?
Another real case: someone teaching shibari classes every week who, when a student reported numbness in their hand, could not identify which nerve was affected based on the symptoms—let alone explain the underlying cause or how to prevent it in the future.
And since I tend to step into uncomfortable territory, let us talk about consent and pre-session negotiation as another potential source of false security.
For starters, we are trusting that the other person will act responsibly and in good faith. But as we have already seen, good intentions alone do not automatically create safe outcomes.
And this goes both ways.
Shibari, in the right context, can generate intense emotional and physical arousal. Those states affect judgment. Things that seemed unreasonable ten minutes earlier can suddenly feel entirely acceptable in the heat of the moment.
And even having “everything discussed beforehand” does not magically account for every possible outcome.
Another firsthand example:
A self-employed person whose livelihood depends on manual labor participates as the tied partner in a shibari session. Everything had been discussed beforehand. Boundaries were clear. Agreements were in place.
Even so, they suffered a nerve injury that affected mobility in one hand.
The next day, the rigger sent a message:
“Hey, how are you feeling?”
“Still cannot move my hand properly.”
“Have you seen a physiotherapist? Try arnica.”
“If it is not better tomorrow, I will go.”
And that was the end of the conversation.
Meanwhile, the tied partner spent weeks unable to work—without social protection, without income, and dealing with the consequences alone.
Do your pre-session agreements include what happens if someone becomes unable to work after an injury? Or do they only address what happens to bodily orifices?
Safety 103: The Forgotten Risks
In other articles, we have already warned about the danger of confusing spasms, reflexes, and involuntary movements, but it is worth repeating.
When the body is in a highly activated state and wrapped in rope, spasms can become one of the most serious risks involved. If they appear, the safest response is immediate release.
“But I have seen well-known masters use that technique…”
It does not matter who they are. At best, it reflects a deeply questionable understanding of risk and consequences.
Obviously, this is not intended to be an exhaustive guide.
These are simply a few reflections meant to highlight that shibari safety goes far beyond a handful of isolated recommendations.
Risk will always be present. What ultimately helps us navigate it is judgment, responsibility, and the willingness to think critically about what we are doing.
And if an incident ever does occur—hopefully it never will—the only meaningful response is to face it responsibly, acknowledge what happened, and work toward the best possible resolution.