The base color of my kimono is selected. The next step is to decide on the kimono design. And an expert’s advice is crucial at this stage if you don’t want to screw up.
In Western culture, there is certain dress code depending on the occasions. As a mother, you don’t wear jeans for your child’s wedding reception, but choose a dress, maybe a long one.
With kimono, such a dress code exists also, only more complicated.
What determines the formality of a kimono? There are several factors.
Material
Among different types of material, silk is the most formal. Kimono made of cotton, linen, or wool, is considered casual and not to be worn on formal occasions.
Number and method of crests
Among silk kimono, the ones with crests, either five, three, or one, are more formal. The more crests, the more formal. Crests are either dyed or embroidered, and the dyed one is more formal than the embroidered one.
If the kimono has five or three crests, all the crests are dyed. If the kimono has only one crest, the crest can be either dyed or embroidered. The dyed one is more formal.
Design pattern
A silk kimono with five or three crests has an elaborate design only on the bottom.
A silk kimono with one or no crest can have design all over. If the design continues across the seam lines on the left shoulder and the bottom, it’s more formal. If the design is cut off on the seam lines, the kimono is less formal.
Tea gatherings are not as formal as weddings, but they are still considered pretty formal. Even for the summer kimono, the fabric should be silk, not cotton or linen. For my kimono, Mamiya-san suggested having one crest dyed on the back, with connected designs on the left shoulder and the bottom.
This type of kimono is called Homongi 訪問着.
Mamiya-san, my retailer, sent me a rough design he sketched. It reminded me that Mamiya-san majored in art in college.
In the US, the first Monday in September is Labor Day. Everybody enjoys the three-day weekend. My husband flew to New York City to spend time with his college friends.
Alone at home, I picked two pairs of pants. Both of them had a tear on the left knee.
In the past weeks, I have gone shopping, searching for new pairs. I couldn’t find anything I liked. Nothing was the right style, the right color, or the right texture. Maybe I was hoping to find exactly the same kind as the torn pants, which were already out of fashion a long time ago.
Alone at home, I picked two pairs of pants. Both of them had a tear on the left knee.
I have no idea why only on the left knee, but the tear clearly indicated how much I liked to wear them.
Left alone at home on the Labor Day weekend, I picked up the torn pants, thread, and needle, and started stitching. Did I know how to do it? Not quite, but there were more than enough YouTube videos instructing where to start, what to do, and how to do it.
The only colors of the tread I had were black and white, so I chose black for my jeans and white for the other pair.
For several hours, I simply stitched. I zoomed in so close that I could see how each warp and weft were woven on top of each other. I even counted how many threads of weft I should skip before poking the needle for the next stitch.
The outcome may not look appealing, but I don’t care. With my labor of love, these pants have been resurrected. Instead of being trashed, both pants will continue to give me protection and comfort for several more years.
From now on, when everybody else celebrates Labor Day, I will celebrate my own Sustainability Day!
After choosing the obi design, Mamiya-san moved on to selecting the base color of my kimono. In order to keep harmony with the kimono and the obi, Mamiya-san suggested using the kimono’s base color as an accent in the obi also. I agreed.
Which color do I want?
Blue is my favorite color, and my last three cars were all in cobalt blue. So should be my summer kimono!
“OK, I will send you several sample fabrics via physical mail,” said Mamiya-san. Why physical mail? Why doesn’t he simply take a photo of the fabrics and send it to me electronically? I asked.
“Well, look at the photos of your kimono on the screen. The same kimono looks quite different from one photo to the other. It’s too risky to choose the color without seeing it on the real fabric,” said Mamiya-san.
By then the pandemic situation already started to affect the mail delivery schedule. We were nervous, but Mamiya-san mailed the sample to me anyway.
The color samples took exactly three weeks to reach me in Seattle, while in a normal situation it would take less than a week.
Seven pieces of cloth were glued on a sheet of white paper, with the numbers 1 through 7 written next to each piece. All the pieces looked like the leftovers from rolls of kimono fabric. Numbers 5, 6, and 7 looked to be the edge of the roll because part of them was left undyed.
These seven colors were quite different to the naked eye even though they were more or less the wisteria color. Numbers 1-3 were much brighter than 4 and 5. Numbers 6 and 7 were dull compared to #1-3. Number 1 was the most brilliant.
Once I received the sample fabrics, I chatted with Mamiya-san online. He asked about Seattle summers. How does the sky look compared to Japan’s summer sky?
“The blue is much clearer than the sky in Japan”, I replied.
Then let’s go with No. 1, he said.
“I wouldn’t recommend this color to a customer in Japan, but it would be suitable under the blue sky in Seattle,” he said.
I took a photo of the color sample with my iPhone, uploaded it on my computer, and looked at it on the screen. Where did the wide variety of shades and shines go? On my computer screen, most of them look the same! How could I possibly choose the right color?
Mamiya-san was right. I appreciated that he sent me the physical sample.
By the way, Mamiya-san mentioned that one of the colors is called “Fuji Nando藤納戸.” Fuji means wisteria, and Nando means storage room. The color that wisteria flowers would look like in a dim storage room… Such an intriguing expression to describe a color, isn’t it?
Although Mamiya-san has produced hundreds of kimono and obi during his long career as a kimono retailer, the We Love Kimono Project was a new challenge for him.
Previously, Mamiya-san either produced a kimono to match an existing obi, or a new obi to match an existing kimono. With this project, however, he would produce both a new kimono and a new obi simultaneously. Where to start? How to communicate with both the obi maker and the kimono maker? Mamiya-san had many things to explore.
I really wanted the obi to be made by Katsuyama-san. Although he was not willing to make any more summer obi due to the lack of demand, thanks to Reiko-san’s persuasive pitch, Katsuyama-san agreed to make one for me, utilizing one of Rakufulin‘s designs.
The starting point was choosing the obi design.
Reiko-san sent me photos of two obi designs, recommended by Katsuyama-san.
One was called Shippo七宝. Four oval shapes overlap one another. With the literal meaning “seven treasures”, the design is one of the traditional Yusoku 有職 designs, cherished by Japanese aristocrats for more than a thousand years.
The other one was called Islamic Flower, an original design of Rakufulin, created from Horie-san’s fabric collections.
I like both! How can I choose one? That’s when Mamiya-san came to rescue me.
After seeing several photos of me in a kimono, he recommended the second one. “The first one would look a little too soft on you. The second one is more impactful and better suited for you.” OK, Mamiya-san. I will follow your suggestion. One decision was made.
Documenting how my summer kimono and obi were made
As soon as the year 2020 began, I started planning my next spring trip back to Japan. One of the itineraries was a visit to Mamiya-san, my new kimono retailer, in his store in Osaka.
Although my kimono collection grew thanks to my mother and her friends handing me down their old ones, I was still lacking a summer kimono formal enough to wear for tea ceremony gatherings. Since our tea ceremony group in Seattle was planning a special gathering to celebrate its 50th anniversary in the summer of 2021, I convinced myself to get a new one for this occasion.
I emailed Mamiya-san about my plan. He was excited. Let’s discuss it over dinner! He would contact Reiko-san of Rakufulin so that she could join. I was looking forward to meeting them again in Japan.
Then COVID-19 hit the world…
I had to cancel my trip. Early April Mamiya-san closed his store. All of a sudden, business just halted, and Reiko-san had to put her employees on furlough. Let’s talk, I suggested, and we scheduled for a video chat.
I asked Mamiya-san and Reiko-san if they could choose a summer obi and kimono for me. Preferably Katsuyama-san’s summer obi. Reiko-san’s response was shocking. Katsuyama-san was unlikely to make any more summer obis. There is just not enough demand any more. Oh no! Reiko-san also said this lockdown would push more craftspeople to retire. No no! That can’t happen!
“Before it’s too late, please make both kimono and obi for me,” – Akemi
“Why not have both the kimono and the obi custom made so that they match perfect?” – Mamiya-san
“Let’s document and post the process, on Mamiya-san’s blog in Japanese, and on my blog in English! So that many more people will be interested to have their own kimono custom made” – Akemi
“Rakufulin doesn’t have a website, but it’s time to communicate what we do directly to end customers.” – Reiko-san
“I can help you make a simple website.” – Akemi
“Let’s call this We Love Kimono Project!” – We all agreed.
Since my program was quite popular, Frye Art Museum asked me to come back at their Community Day event earlier this month. I was more than delighted!
This time the event had no particular theme as to which color to stick with, so I chose the color on my own: Blue! That’s because I wanted to wear my favorite summer kimono and obi. All the flowers, although in a variety of kinds and shapes, should be either blue or white in color to match my kimono!
Just like I did last October, I made a smaller arrangement on my own, just to show the visitors as an example.
For the main arrangement for each visitor to collaborate upon, I only created a platform with branches and a couple of flowers. My intention was to maintain the basic structure of the arrangement (horizontal), and the focal point (a large hydrangea).
The event started at 11 am. The door opened, and visitors came in. Just like I did last October, I asked each visitor to pick one flower and add it to the platform. Which flower to pick, where to place it in which direction… I left it all to each visitor. I merely helped them whenever they had difficulty in placing it.
Nobody said no to my offer. Everybody picked one flower (sometimes two!), contemplated for a moment (sometimes a long time!), and placed it on the spot they thought the most appropriate.
By the time the event was over at 2 pm, the bare platform was filled with so many flowers. About 100 people collaborated to complete the arrangement. Thank you and congratulations, everyone!
Can you tell the similarity between the collaborative arrangements last October and this month?
When I prepared the platform, both in October and this month, I intentionally placed the two branches so that the whole structure would be asymmetric. The overall structure is horizontal, but one side is shorter than the other side. The horizontal line is a little tilted, from down left to upper right.
The basic structure I intended, however, gradually disappeared. The wide space initially created with two branches, was evenly divided by long lines of flowers. White flowers and blue flowers were distributed evenly. The overall shape of the arrangement looked more and more symmetric.
By a majority of the people, symmetry and even distribution in the space seem to look most comfortable. No wonder the two arrangements ended up looking alike.
When I create a flower arrangement, on the other hand, symmetry and evenness are the last thing I want to see, because they look boring. Break the symmetry, break the evenness. Can I still create something beautiful? That’s the challenging, and fun part of Ikebana.
The Ikebana arrangement I created by myself lacks that smooth, evenness. The rough angle, and the asymmetry, might intrigue some but tick off others. But I dare push to the limit. That’s my creativity.
The collaborative Ikebana, gradually smooths out the edge, and eventually becomes a work that the majority of people admire with ease.
There is nothing wrong with the collaborative work. But if you want some breakthrough, you might want to work alone first…
Though I’ve been to Ballard Locks so many times, I have never seen as many large King Salmon swimming through the fish ladder as this summer!
Whenever we have guests from out of state, we take them to Ballard Locks. Why? There are a couple of reasons. First, it’s only about a mile from our house. We don’t have to worry much about the notorious Seattle traffic. Second, it’s visually entertaining. Many boats move up and down while being locked in the canal, after they sail in and before they sail out, between the seawater in Puget Sound and the fresh water in Lake Union.
My husband, being an engineer, is eager to show the guests how the locks work to accommodate the different water levels between the seaside and the freshwater side. The greatness of civil engineering; the ingenuity of human beings, is the highlight in his views.
What awes me more, however, is salmon, this natural creature!
They were born in the hatchery upstream, miles away from here. When they were tiny smolts, they swam from the lake, through this fish ladder, which was built alongside the locks, to Puget Sound, and to the vast ocean.
After living in the vast ocean, now with such a large body, they make a long journey back to where they were born. They trace back to the same route that they took when young, with no GPS or map. Once they reach their birthplace, the females lay eggs and the males fertilize them, and they all die shortly after that.
Salmon have been doing this for many millennia. A century ago humans altered the journey routes with this concrete ladder. A century from now, who knows if human beings will be still maintaining this “engineering wonder.” But I’m sure that salmon will be continuing this journey. The route might be altered again, but they will somehow figure out the way.
It’s kind of an irony, but in this man-made window, I see the majestic power of nature. Go salmon!
As I wrote in my previous post, buying a kimono is quite different from buying a sweater off the shelf. Selecting the kimono and obi fabrics is only part of the process. There are more components to be added and complex processes involved.
The kimono fabric needs to be sewn. The correct measurement is critical, and depending on how the kimono is used, the measurement varies.
In my case, for example, I mainly want to wear the matcha-color kimono for tea ceremonies. In tea ceremonies, I often sit on my knees, stand up and sit down, and move around while kneeling down. The overlapping part of my kimono, therefore, needs to be kept wider than the usual size.
Depending on the season the kimono is worn, a lining fabric that matches the color and the material needs to be added.
Depending on the formality of the kimono, the crest design needs to be added. How large the crest design should be, whether it should be dyed or embroidered… More choices to make.
A set of kimono and obi needs more accessories, such as obiage and obijime. The color and the texture of those accessories are critical for giving a sophisticated finishing touch.
The process of making a kimono itself is a project. You need a project manager, like a general contractor, who oversees the whole process. Such a person shouId have a network of experts like sewing specialists and crest embroyders. The kimono retailer plays that role.
The kimono retailer’s job doesn’t end witht the completion of making a kimono.
Once the kimono is completed, you need someone to help take good care of it, including cleaning up, repairing, or resewing if needed. If you want another obi to match that kimono, you might want to tap into the kimono retailer’s knowledge of which type of obi is appropriate for which occasions.
So you want to build a long-term relationship with your kimono retailer.
It was Marusudi-san who introduced me to Katsuyama-san and Rakufulin. Once I selected the matcha-color kimono fabric, Marusugi-san took over the rest of the process. I assumed that my first kimono retailer would be Marusugi-san for some time.
I had to change course, however. Marusugi-san had decided to shift her business focus from kimono retail to sericulture in Laos! Now she and her company spend significant parts of each year in Laos growing silkworms and producing silk not for kimono fabric but for medical use.
How and why Marusugi-san made this huge shift itself deserves a separate blog post, and I admire their decision. As a result, I had to find another retailer for my kimono collection. I needed another reliable retailer who has an account with Rakufulin, and who was accessible.
At Rakufulin’s annual show, when I was about to leave, Reiko-san stopped me to introduce me to a person who just came in. “Akemi-san, this is Mamiya-san, one of our long-time retailers. Mamiya-san, this is Akemi-san, who lives in Seattle but is now back in Japan for a week.”
Mamiya-san was with his customer, whom I was intrigued by her kimono and obi coordination. She wore an off-white haori (jacket), a beige kimono, and an obi with a similar color base. Quite a harmonious, soothing tone. The kimono had vertical stripes with color gradations. It was not eye catching, but I liked the sophisticated look.
Mamiya-san has been doing business with Rakufulin since Shodai, Reiko-san’s grandfather’s days. He said he is delighted to see the Horie sisters (Reiko-san and Aiko-san) keeping on with the tradition and at the same time challenging conventions of this centuries-old industry.
Which part of traditions is it important to keep, I asked. Mamiya-san said, “handcrafting.” Machine-made fabrics are nice, but they don’t have the same soul. He told me about his daughter’s experience. She was an apprentice of a well-known potter in Kyoto and now has her own practice. The plates and cups that she makes may not be in perfect shape when compared with machine-made products, but they have warmth that no machine-made items would give you.
How are the Horie sisters challenging the industry convention, I asked. Mamiya-san said he was referring to Katsuyama-san’s way of making silk. More than ninety percent of silk used for kimono making is imported. Growing silkworms on their own itself is challenging convention.
Mamiya-san pointed out another challenge of the Horie sisters, which surprised me. The fact that Rakufulin now sells not only obi but also kimono fabrics. The convention of Nishijin has been that an obi maker sells only obi, and a kimono fabric maker sells only kimono fabric. When Rakufulin started selling Katsuyama-san’s kimono fabric, it was a big deal, almost a scandal.
I asked where Mamiya-san’s shop is located. Turned out it is very close to where my mother lives in Osaka. Great!
I didn’t tell Mamiya-san right away. I first had to talk to Marusugi-san. But in my mind it was already set. Mamiya-san will be my new retailer.
Ever since I met her for the first time in the spring of 2016, it became my routine to see Reiko-san, the CEO of Rakufulin 洛風林, whenever I went back to Japan. For a couple of years, I never had a chance to be in Japan during Rakufulin’s annual exhibition. In the spring of 2019, I finally was able to visit Kyoto in time for their annual exhibition.
The theme of that year’s exhibition was “kissako喫茶去.” Like all the other Zen phrases, it’s not easy to translate it into English. A literal translation is “Why don’t you have a bowl of tea?”
The venue was a Japanese-style building. At the entrance, I took off my shoes, placed them on the large shelf on the wall, and stepped up onto the raised floor. I saw an old wood sign with the company name 洛風林(Rakufulin) hand-carved into it together with a vegetable or flower design with vines.
Then I turned right and followed the narrow, hardwood-floor hall. At the end of the hall were two rooms with tatami mats.
On the right side of the corridor, half of the room was staged as the study of Mr. Takeshi Horie, the founder of Rakufulin and Reiko-san’s grandfather. The very low desk and the round low table that Horie-san used to sit at were brought in. Several sample books and fabrics that Horie-san had collected from his trips were displayed alongside the desk, as if he were still working there.
According to Reiko-san, Horie-san used to sit at the round table with his partner weaver, and discuss the design details of the Obi. Katsuyama-san’s father or grandfather would have sat around this table as well.
I asked Reiko-san and Aiko-san, Reiko-san’s younger sister and Rakufulin’s chief designer, to take seats in front of the table. Reiko-san was wearing a dark-colored Kimono. She told me that she had her father’s kimono remade.
I noticed that when Reiko-san and Aiko-san talk about their grandfather, they mostly refer him as “Shodai初代,” which means “first generation.” Likewise, they would most often refer to their father as “Sendai先代,” meaning “previous generation.” Although biologically they are their grandfather and father, when it comes to talking about business, calling them Shodai and Sendai sounds more appropriate and professional.
When Reiko-san uses the word Shodai, I see and feel the huge responsibility that she has chosen to carry on her shoulders. I look at her not only as my friend Reiko-san but also as Todai当代, the current generation of Rakufulin.
When Reiko-san took over the family business, the kimono industry was no longer the same as when Sendai was running it. Japan’s economic bubble had already burst, and Kimono’s glory days were in the past. She had to make some major changes to the business operation.
Streamlining the sales channel was one thing. She had to review the existing retailers and sever relationships when necessary. She also had to deal with copycats sold as Rakufulin’s products in the market. Reiko-san must have gone through difficult situations, but her smile and soft-speaking voice made it hard for me to imagine her tough negotiation battles.
On the opposite corner of the toom, older Obi that Shodai and Sendai designed were displayed. Some of them must be half a century old. They were all gorgeous, with so many different colors and complex patterns. Some of them can no longer be replicated because no weavers with such high skills are remaining.
Two sides of the other tatami-mat room were filled with the newer Obi. Some formal; some casual. Some with design patterns all through; some with designs only on the spot. Each Obi design had its own name. Some were typical Japanese names like “Ancient Flowers.” Some had exotic names like “Silk Road” or “Sarasen Circle.”
I looked at each Obi closely with the intention of selecting one to get. The Obi should match very well with the matcha-color kimono I was wearing, but it should also be versatile enough to match some of my other kimonos as well.
In order to match as many different colors as possible, I thought the base color of Obi should be white or a very light, neutral color. Why only one, you may ask. Of course I wish I could get many more! But my wallet was saying no.
My choice was a whitish obi, called Sarasen Circle. It has a big spot design on the back, and a smaller circle is placed on the front. Blue is rather dominant, but there is a little yellow in the middle of the circle. The shape of Obi, called a fukuro obi, is formal enough to be able to wear on different occasions including tea gatherings.
After I kind of made up my mind, I asked Reiko-san her opinion. As an all-purpose obi, which one would she recommend for me?
Reiko-san’s answer was far from my choice. She took me to the one I most overlooked.
Called Ichimatsu, this obi’s base color is black. Gold and silver squares are placed alternately. This design is not a new one, but one of Shodai’s original designs inspired by a fusuma painting in Katsura Imperial Palace in Kyoto.
Such a simple design, with timeless beauty.
Reiko-san also told me that this obi was a collaboration of Katsuyama-san and Saito-san. The real gold and silver. How can I say no to this obi?
…
I’m glad that I followed Reiko-san’s advice! Here in Seattle, I now wear this Ichimatsu obi most often. Thank you, Reiko-san! Now I’m convinced. My kimono and obi are my jewelry.
I was in the first grade then. One day I asked my mother one of the questions I was to answer in my homework. She gave me the answer, and I wrote it down as she said.
The next day at school, I found out the answer was wrong. Furious and shameful, I swore to myself that I would never ask my mother to help me do my homework again. Nor would I depend on anybody for any answer blindly.
If I thought it through, came up with the answer, and turned out to be wrong, I could take full responsibility for the outcome. But the answer was not mine, but somebody else’s. I just couldn’t take that humility.
I was 16, just arrived in the US from Japan as an exchange student. One day my host mother mentioned a girl as being smart, although she was not good at math.
A student can be smart although not good at math? The concept was totally foreign to me. In Japan, a student was not considered as “smart” unless s/he was good at math and all the other subjects.
That’s when I learned that there is more than one yardstick to evaluate a person. Or ultimately, I can create my own yardstick to evaluate myself.
Two important lessons that positively, profoundly impacted my life, one from each Mom.
