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.
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.
Several days after we visited Katsuyama-san’s studio, I paid a visit to Rakufulin’s office in the center of Kyoto. Reiko-san greeted me with a warm smile and led me to the tatami-mat room where some of Rakufulin’s Obi were displayed and many more stacked.
She first told me a story about her family business, then began spreading Obi one by one.
Many of the Obi designs were traces of the fabrics that Reiko-san’s father and grandfather gathered from all over the world, especially in central Asia. Aiko-san, Reiko-san’s younger sister and the chief design officer of Rakufulin, adds her own interpretation to the original designs and creates new Obi.
Let me share with you some photos I took!
Below are examples of color magic. The two Obi shown side-by-side are the same design. By applying different colors, each Obi gives you quite different impressions.
The following two Obi employ the fukure ori ふくれ織 technique. The flower part is a little puffier than the rest, giving you a three-dimensional impression.
Aiko-san also designed these Obi. Her color selection reflects the contemporary trend.
Among more than 30 Obi that Reiko-san showed me on that day, this one was my favorite.
The orange flower looks like Dahlia, is it? Is the flower with the purple outline Iris? How about the bluish flower with five petals? You can’t make out which flowers exactly, but each gives you a whimsical impression. Various shapes of leaves and vines are dancing all over. And the background has also various patterns including large horizontal stripes and smaller vertical stripes.
How many colors are used in total? So many. Each color is inviting, looking so sweet. I almost want to put it in my mouth like candy. I can’t find any dominant color or pattern, but this Obi definitely gives you a sophisticated, overall harmony.
The problem I had, however, was I couldn’t think of any of my kimono that would match this Obi.
You know, Obi is only one component for dressing. It’s rather an accent. You need the main foundation, which is Kimono. What kind of Kimono will have enough significance that can treat this Obi as a mere accent? I couldn’t find any in my humble Kimono collection. A big sigh.
After spreading the Obi to show it to me, Reiko-san kept laying one on top of the other. By the time she showed me close to thirty, the pile of Obi fabrics formed a beautiful pyramid. At Rakufulin, even how Obi are shown on the tatami-mat floor becomes artistic!
I was intrigued by Reiko-san, the CEO of Rakufulin. For me, “Nishijin” was equivalent to “tradition.” My image of CEO of a Nishijin Obi company was a serious-looking, older man. Reiko-san is far from it, must be at least 15 or 20 years younger than I am. Why is such a young, beautiful woman running a Nishijin company?
Here is her family history that Reiko-san told me when I visited the Rakufulin office for the first time. It started with her grandfather.
Reiko-san’s grandfather, Takeshi Horie, was born in 1907 in Fukui Prefecture, which borders Kyoto to its south and faces the Japan Sea. Horie-san’s family was a kimono retailer, so it was a natural career path for him to be apprenticed to a prominent Obi maker in Kyoto when young.
He was well-trained there, and when he became independent in 1952, he named his own company Rakufulin 洛風林. His former employer as well as his mentor had a nickname Rakuen-o 洛園翁, and allowed Takeshi-san to use one of the characters for his new company name.
When he started Rakufulin, Takeshi-san introduced two unique aspects to his business.
First was his Obi designs.
When very few Japanese traveled abroad, Takeshi-san visited so many countries, especially Asian countries such as Iran and Afghanistan, retracing the ancient Silk Road. He collected various old textiles made in those regions. Inspired by the patterns of those ancient textiles, he created new designs for Obi.
Takeshi-san was also involved in the Mingei Movement with people like Kawai Kanjiro and Yanagi Soetsu. The Mingei Movement found beauty in ordinary crafts and functional utensils.
Most Nishijin Obi makers in those days had constant orders from the Imperial Court and other upper-class customers for traditional designs. Although Takeshi-san was considered an outlier in Nishijin, he never hesitated to pursue new designs. His motto was “A truly beautiful thing is always new.”
Second was how he collaborated with weavers.
Takeshi-san chose not to hire weavers as his employees, but carefully selected a handful of weavers with different skills, and formed a team of what he called Dojin 同人.
Takeshi-san played a role of a designer and a producer. Depending on the Obi design, he collaborated with the weaver on a certain technique that would best fit that particular design.
Takeshi-san as a producer and the weavers were equals. This horizontal relationship made it easier for both parties to bounce off their ideas and create new things.
When Tetsuo-san, Takeshi-san’s son and Reiko-san’s father, took over Rakufulin, he founded a private museum called Orient 織園都 to archive all the textiles that both his father and himself collected over time.
When her father’s health deteriorated and passed, Reiko-san succeeded as CEO. Her younger sister, Aiko-san, also joined the family business as a designer. The middle sister, Mayuko-san, takes care of the back office including accounting.
The three sisters take pride in keeping the business philosophy of Rakufulin, “a truly beautiful thing is always new.”
In this quiet countryside surrounded by rice fields, Katsuyama-san’s father, the fourth-generation Obi maker, opened this hand-weaving studio about 50 years ago. While machine weaving became mainstream even in Nishijin, the father’s move seemed against the tide.
In the studio, several veteran weavers were working. The studio had a hardwood floor, but directly underneath the loom where the weaver sat and worked, the earth was exposed. When asked, one of the Obi weavers explained to me that having enough humidity coming from the earth helps maintain a favorable silk condition when weaving.
The punctual sound of the loom’s movement was soothing.
One of the weavers opened a flat sheet of paper. Inside were gold threads, ready to be woven into the Obi. How can these thin threads be made into Obi fabrics, I wondered.
Back in the Tatami-mat room, Reiko-san showed me several Obi woven by those ladies. These Obi were all designed by Katsuyama-san. Some of Shimura-san’s silk yarn was brought here from Nagano to be made into Obi. The gold threads were meticulously woven together with the silk weft, one by one.
The first batch (photo above) was all hand-woven in Nagano, where Shimura-san lives and works, then brought here.
Ancient Japanese used to describe an extremely soft and light fabric as “Tennyo no Hagoromo 天女の羽衣,” as if a nymph would wear it. Their lightness and softness… These fabrics reminded me of this expression.
Photo by Author Akemi Sagawa
The second group in a sample size (photo above) was housed in smaller boxes. They were also made from Shiomayu (salted cocoon) silk. The difference from the first group was: they were machine-woven, and they had woven patterns.
Reiko-san let me look at, touch, and feel all the fabrics, even allowing me to drape them over my shoulders as if I were wearing them.
As much as I wished to feel like a nymph by wearing the first group, I selected the second group. Why?
My utmost purpose of having my own kimono made, was to wear it at the tea gathering scheduled in Kyoto.
On November 19 every year, Urasenke, the headquarters of our tea ceremony group, holds a gathering commemorating the passing of the third-generation grandmaster Sotan 宗旦 (1578 – 1658). Following this event, one of the Urasenke overseas groups has the privilege to participate in a full day of special training sessions taught by master teachers in Kyoto. In 2016, it was the Urasenke Seattle group’s turn. Such an opportunity would come maybe once in a decade at most.
If the tea ceremony training sessions were like garden parties, the first group of kimono fabric would have been ideal.
The reality is far from it. All day long, you stand up, walk, sit down, and keep sitting on your knees for minutes – and you repeat them again and again. You may also kneel forward or backward, depending on how large the tea room is.
For my tea training sessions, I also needed durability as well as beauty, and the second group’s fabrics were more suitable. Also, the woven pattern hides possible spots or stains better.
Photo: Property of Author Akemi Sagawa
Out of many colors, my natural choice was, Matcha green!
Photo: Author in Shiomayu Kimono, in front of Kabuto-mon. Property of Author Akemi Sagawa
The training session was an unforgettable experience. Ever since then, this kimono has accompanied me in various special occasions, such as the New Year’s tea gathering this year.
On a sunny day in February, at the rotary of a train station in Kyoto, I met Katsuyama-san, a fifth-generation Obi maker in Nishijin, and Reiko-san, for the first time. Marusugi-san, the person who introduced me to Katsuyama-san, also showed up. We all got in a van and drove off.
Marusugi-san is a third-generation kimono and silk fabric retailer. She had traveled to Seattle in the previous year in an attempt to promote their new product lines that use ultra-thin silk fabric and gold film. I had helped her host a series of trunk shows in several places in Seattle. We agreed to meet again on my next trip to Japan, hence this reunion in Kyoto.
Katsuyama-san’s van headed north. Kyoto is bordered on three sides by mountains, so the further we went, the road became narrower and more winding.
The conversation in the van was mainly me talking.
“You know, the fabric you (I meant both Marusugi-san and Katsuyama-san) are selling is too expensive for clothing,” I said. “Why don’t you position the fabric as art? Why don’t you frame it and sell it through interior designers? American homes are large and they’ve got huge walls, which they have to decorate anyway.”
“Why stick to only kimono and obi? If you want to expand the market outside of Japan, expand the category. Wealthy Americans spend far more money than Japanese for their home decoration. I’ve seen so many Americans hanging vintage kimono or obi as a tapestry on the wall.”
Katsuyama-san nodded but didn’t say much.
The van stopped in front of a one-story building in the middle of a rice field. We all got out of the van and followed Katsuyama-san into the building. On the left there was a tatami-mat room, maybe twelve tatami mats in total. On one side of the room there were wall-to-wall shelves and drawers. On the other side of the room, there were stacks of flat boxes.
Katsuyama-san took out two bundles of thread and let me touch both. The first one was softer and less shiny, but depending upon the angle, it reflected the light differently. It felt ideal in my palm. The threads of the second bundle looked all even, but didn’t have that rich texture.
The woman in the black jacket was introduced to me as Reiko Horie, CEO of Rakufulin洛風林, the company that sells Katsuyama-san’s obi.
While I was still enjoying the softer texture of the first bundle of silk threads, Reiko-san (I use her first name because we are now good friends) started to explain what I was touching. It was the silk thread made by Katsuyama-san’s company based in Nagano Prefecture. In 2003 Katsuyama-san obtained property there and started growing mulberry trees to raise silkworms.
Katsuyama-san used to use imported silk (the bundle I liked less). One day he was asked by a national museum to work on the restoration of the fabric made in the fifteenth century. The silk fabric was nothing like he had ever seen before. Soft, light, graceful — ever since then he couldn’t forget that fabric.
When he visited Milan, Katsuyama-san encountered the same type of silk fabric in a men’s handkerchief. Quite impressed, he asked the shopkeeper where the fabric was made. Not in Italy, but it was made in Japan, was the answer.
Katsuyama-san did further research and found the person who made the handkerchief fabric, Shimura-san. After a lot of persuading, Katsuyama-san successfully invited Shimura-san to be the co-founder of his silk farm. Shimura-san moved from Okinawa to Nagano.
What is the difference between Katsuyama-san and Shimura-san’s silk and other silk? It’s in the kind of mulberry they grow. In their farm they grow two kinds of mulberry trees. They feed the silkworms only the younger, softer leaves. Shimura-san found through his years of research that it helps silkworms to produce thinner but stronger silk.
Once the silkworms create cocoons, their lives end before they come out of the cocoons. Today’s main method of taking the lives of silkworms in the cocoons is to blow extremely hot air into the cocoons. The hot air eliminates humidity, making it easy to store the cocoons. The silk’s natural texture, however, is somewhat lost.
Shimura-san found a more natural and time-tested alternative: to salt the cocoons. Shimura-san places cocoons in a wooden barrel and salts them for two weeks. This way the silk’s natural texture and strength is maintained.
Making silk yarn as well as dissolving the sericin is done by hand at their farm.
In the same farm where they grow mulberry and silk cocoons, they make silk yarn and weave the kimono fabric. Shimura-san uses mostly natural dyes extracted from local plants. The main reason Shimura-san decided to join Katsuyama-san in Nagano is because he can be involved in the whole process in one place, giving him complete quality control of his products.
Katsuyama-san quietly said, “I’m making fabric that is to be worn.” I felt ashamed of what I had said in the van.
The literal translation into English is “the Western Base,” a military jargon.
During the civil war called Onin no Ran 応仁の乱 (1467 – 1477), then the capital of Japan Kyoto became the battlefield of the two major samurai warlords. The neighborhood where the west squad placed its base was called Nishijin. The Onin no Ran and the wars that followed in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries left Kyoto in ruins. Many people fled Kyoto during that period.
When the series of civil wars ended, people who had fled Kyoto gradually returned.
Skilled weavers and other craftsmen in the textile making who used to serve the imperial court and aristocrats also returned, settled, and resumed their crafts in the district where the Western Base was once located. Hence the word “Nishijin” became equivalent to Kyoto’s textile district, as well as meaning kimono and obi textiles that were woven in this district as a whole. Weavers in Nishijin district formed a tight-knit industry community, which also became identified as Nishijin.
During the Edo Era (1603 – 1868), Japan enjoyed more than 260 years of peaceful time under the Tokugawa Shogunate. With its exquisitely sophisticated techniques and high quality, Nishijin textile was sought after by the ruling samurai clan as well as by the imperial court and aristocrats. Nishijin flourished by providing them with top-of-the-line textiles for their luxurious attire.
The beginning of Meiji Era (1868 – 1912) was a challenging time for Nishijin. All of a sudden, its most prominent patron, the samurai clan, lost power because of the regime change, and the demand from the clan tanked.
That was when Nishijin sent three people from its weavers’ community to France to learn the newest technology, Jacquard Loom. Previously Nishijin used to employ a technique that required two people to handle one loom. Jacquard Loom, on the other hand, required only one person to handle it.
By implementing Jacquard Loom, Nishijin was able to boost its productivity as well as diversify its product lines to meet the need of a wider audience, the general public.
With the rapid expansion of Japan’s economy after World War II, Nishijin enjoyed high growth. Nishijin became a synonym for high-quality obis among common people like my mother. She didn’t have to ask further if the retailer indicated that the obi was “Nishijin.”
In the late 1980’s. Japan’s economy was having its hay day. So did Nishijin. “Gacha-man” is a word I learned from a friend of mine who grew up in Nishijin. “Gacha” imitates the sound of a Nishijin weaver moving the loom to add one weft. “Man” is a short form of ichiman, or ten thousand yen, roughly a hundred dollars. According to my friend, a weaver would earn a hundred dollars each time s/he moves one weft. This expression depicts how prosperous Nishijin once was.
During the economic bubble, national kimono chain stores started to appear and soon became dominant, replacing many smaller independent retailers. Many such stores took advantage of the ignorance of their customers, rather than taking time to educate them. Hiring many salespeople who didn’t have much knowledge of kimono, such chain stores employed aggressive sales tactics. They manipulated gullible customers to purchase a grossly marked-up, expensive kimono of questionable quality.
A set of kimono and obi would often be priced as much as a brand-new car. And just like buying a car, many customers were obliged to pay in installments. The aggressive sales tactics of kimono chain stores became so notorious that even TV channels created documentaries about their practice to warn people.
I was recently out of college and working for an investment bank in Tokyo around that time. Purchasing business suites was my top priority so I paid little attention to kimono. Even if I was slightly interested in trying out kimono, having heard of horror stories, I was too intimidated to enter those big kimono stores I found here and there in downtown Tokyo.
Then the economic bubble burst in 1990. Japan’s so called “Lost Decade” became “Lost Decades” and is now stretching over three decades. Kimono production plunged over the years, and so did textile production in Nishijin. Many such national chain kimono stores went bankrupt. Also there were far fewer independent kimono retailers left.
The chart above is what I found on the Nishijin Textile Industry Association website. The production of Nishijin’s textile is less than 10% of the hay days. In such a dire situation, can Nishijin survive?
In the course of pursuing my favorite kimonos and obis, I have met several people in Nishijin who are doing everything they can to survive and thrive. I will keep on writing about what I encounter…
I still remember the day my mother and I chose my first kimono and obi. Over 40 years ago. I was in junior high. The process was totally different from the way I buy a sweater today.
Once my father gave my mother a go for purchasing my first kimono, my mother called the kimono retailer that she had known for a long time. The person was working in Namba Store of Takashimaya, a major department store.
Over the long history, many different types of kimonos emerged with various dying and weaving techniques. Conventions and unwritten social rules of what type of kimono and obi to wear for what kind of occasions developed as well. Not everyone was knowledgeable about such dos and don’ts of kimono protocol. Especially my mother, who grew up in a backward country village, didn’t consider herself sophisticated enough. Consulting an experienced kimono retailer in a big city like Osaka was a safe bet.
The retailer first asked questions like for what occasion and in which season I would be wearing my kimono. The retailer then asked more personal questions like how tall I was or what my favorite color was.
A few days later, the retailer came to our house (by taxi!) with several roles of kimonos and obis. None of them had been sewn yet. Based on our previous conversation, she had picked candidates for me, taking various factors into consideration.
By spreading each kimono and obi fabric in front of me and my mother, the retailer explained how formal it was ranked and how the fabric was dyed or woven. Out of all the kimonos, this black one with colorful patterns of flowers and leaves stood out. “This one!” I said. Why I picked black? Maybe others looked too girlish to me.
“Nice choice!” said the retailer. “With this kimono, you first have long sleeves. When you get older, you can cut the sleeves shorter and still wear it.” Cut the sleeves and keep on wearing it for years? I felt the concept intriguing.
So we selected the kimono fabric. The next step was to pick an obi to go with it. The retailer again laid out several candidates. “The obi is Nishijin,” she said. “Good!” said my mother. The word “Nishijin 西陣” was a stamp of approval for her. (What is Nishijin? I will write about it soon later.)
After putting the kimono fabric onto my shoulder and obi around my belly to see how it looked on me, finally my mother and I selected the one in the picture. The retailer took the measurement of my body so that the fabric would be sewn to fit me perfectly, then left.
In about a month or so, the retailer came back with the sewn kimono and obi. The Kimono had lining in matching color. The retailer picked matching accessories such as sandals also.
This was the typical process of having a kimono made back then. No kimono off the rack. Every kimono was custom-made.
