Who Can Wear Upcycled Kimono?

I say “everyone” because wearing modern styled clothing recreated from upcycled textiles is not cultural appropriation. Especially *if and because* the clothes are being recreated by a person from the culture where the textiles originate.

This is merely scratching the surface of a large and complex issue of cultural ownership that I have been unpacking for myself and writing about, since the launch of Made by Yuki.

Simply put, as a Japanese person, especially woman, I feel triggered when I see sexualized and commodified images of Kimonos in the context of western capitalism. That applies to clothing mislabeled “Kimono”; suggestive advertisements with such garments worn by non-Japanese; and images of (historical) people in Kimonos identified/ labeled as sexual objects.
It also applies to non-Japanese and privileged groups of people profiting from selling cultural assets that are not their own.

The clothes I make are intentionally modern, simple and designed to feature the textiles. I purposefully create silhouettes that do not resemble the Kimono, with the purpose of drawing your attention to the textiles instead of the often misconstrued image of “Kimono.”

So yes, a person of Japanese heritage may feel a particularly strong attachment to these pieces due to their ancestral history. But if you are someone who loves textiles (like I do!) I honor your appreciation of our crafts as well. When you wear my apparel, your intentions is not to wear a Kimono, but to appreciate the history and wonderfulness of Japanese textiles.

AANHPI Heritage

Although I am now living in Japan, I identify as Asian American. Taking some time to jot down thoughts at the end of a very difficult month to celebrate AANHPI (Asian American Native Hawaiian Pacific Islander), because it is important to honor our heritage this month, and every month. Like many others, my Asian pride is relatively new, but I believe we can collectively give energy to the community by sharing our stories.

When my parents and I arrived in Brooklyn in the mid-1980s, we settled into an apartment at the border of Prospect and Crown Heights. At that time, the block we lived on was majority Black, and poor. After the relative success my parents had with ceramics in Japan, we entered a new phase of economic hardships upon arriving in the US, like many immigrant families. There weren’t other Asians in the neighborhood, except at the corner store, and I remember kids on the block taunting me. It would take me decades to understand racial dynamics in the US but I was already being played in a system that would keep us apart, distracted and powerless.

In the first weeks at the apartment, I heard a loud commotion outside the door and opened it to find a police squad with shields and guns drawn. They yelled at me but I didn’t understand English. I shut the door and hid in the room farthest away from our door. In some ways I was fortunate to attend a public school in Manhattan, but the subway rides could be perilous. More than once, I was touched inappropriately by strangers, and once witnessed young men chase each other from car to car, shotgun in tow. I learned from an early age that being in America meant being in danger.

Many of us have not chosen the path ourselves, but were brought to the US by parents, grandparents or many generations ago, in search of “a better life.” In my case, my parents wanted to be artists in New York City. But after five years of money problems and not being to cope with family life, my mom went back to Japan. My dad followed a few years later. By the time I was a sophomore in high school, they were gone and I was living with a roommate.

I lived in survival mode for many years, which meant being in denial when racial slurs were flung at me; and trying to ignore/ erase my identity by only associating with white people. Even though most of my friends were good people, they could never fully relate to my experience as a non-white person in America. Undeniably, there were few, who looked down at me because I was Asian.

Eventually I reconciled the relationship with my parents, and began visiting Japan. But those trips could also be confusing, as I didn’t have great language skills, nor understanding of Japanese society to fully fit in. I still struggle with this, but have come to accept it is my life journey to straddle both parts of my identity. Thankfully my hometown has always had a sprinkling of people from other parts of the world, which makes the people here a bit more open-minded.

For many years, many of us faced the pain of a bisected identity alone—the feeling of neither belonging here nor there. But by finding each other, we can provide comfort in the collective confusion, pain, and celebration of the blessings of being both.

I’m proud of us for upholding Asian beauty through the lens of our own eyes (especially acknowledging sexy Asian men). I’m proud of us for breaking boundaries of what Asian women should be, as told to us by our families, as well as America. I’m proud of us for standing up to represent our own culture. I’m proud of us for using our wits to survive in America, and then revising our tactics to form better allyship with other Black and Brown people.

Image description: Yuki is sitting in her Engawa, which is a hallway on the outside of a traditional Japanese home, looking outside on a rainy day. She is wearing a green top and Monpe (loose pants) made from a Komon Kimono featuring Kiku (chrysanthemum flowers).

Cultural Appropriation & Race

If you have been following a while, you know that Made by Yuki developed, in part, as a response to non-Japanese people appropriating our culture for profit. Most of the time, I’ve found the people doing the appropriating to be white. But it is not always, and I want to share some more complex ideas I have around race, geopolitical dynamics, and history. To be honest, I’ve been thinking about writing about this for months, but it has been daunting for many reasons..

Last year, a very talented Black designer contacted me by DM to discuss cultural appropriation. Alissa makes beautiful, classical clothing often using bright, bold prints. Her Instagram feed is full of her beautiful daughters modeling the clothing, in gorgeous outdoor settings. Her designs and images are nostalgic, inspiring and downright beautiful.

She specifically wanted to know my feelings about if she, were to hypothetically use Japanese prints in her work. I honestly expressed my initial feeling of discomfort, and asked how she would feel if a Japanese designer were to use African prints in their products. As soon as I hit “send,” I had a sinking feeling. Alissa replied that since she’s Black, and her ancestors were forcibly brought from Africa, she had no direct connection to her heritage. It was then, that my heart sank.

The journey of reconnecting to my heritage, was not something Alissa could ever do or enjoy—at least not in the same way. My next feeling was: “OK, I’m not 100% comfortable with it, but please go ahead and use Japanese prints. I want you to make money!” But I wasn’t quite clear why I felt that way…

Over the next few months, we continued to exchange thoughts as they arose. As I thought way back into history, a perspective revealed itself from deep within. As a Japanese-born person, I’ve enjoyed the relative wealth of my birth country, which has been bolstered by U.S.-led efforts to create a successful capitalist nation in Asia after World War II. Later, as an American, I’ve benefited from an economic system that was built on the backs of kidnapped and enslaved people from Africa.

Did I benefit from these systems? Yes. Do I approve of these systems? Absolutely not. But my privilege can never be separated from this history.

What can we do to dismantle the systems of slavery and racism that still exists today? One way, is to give economic power to Black people.

Perhaps a needless caveat, but Japanese people are not a monolith, and we have differing views shaped by our individual life experiences and reflections. For me personally, after decades of being conditioned by two societies that put white people first, I’m finally starting to see things a little bit more clearly. It’s an imperfect process, and I am still learning and this is where I have arrived, for now.

So yes, Alissa. I have finally reached a conclusion. I want you to use all the tools available so that you can grow your business, and thrive. Not just for yourself, but for your beautiful daughters. Thank you so much for inspiring me to grow, even just a little.

こんにちは (konnichiwa)

It’s been a while so I thought I’d say hi, hello, こんにちは, 初めまして!👋😊

My name is Yuki. I was born in an artist community in rural Japan. My formative years were spent in a creative and raucous community of hippies and artists. When I was 8, my parents and I moved to pursue their dreams of living as artists in NYC. But it was tough, and they ended up leaving. I stayed on to pursue my own creative endeavors in photography and filmmaking.

I had always been interested in making clothes and took some construction classes in undergrad. I dabbled for years, until 2018, when I went off the deep end and began sewing like mad. In the fashion/ sewing world, I came across a lot of appropriative Japanese terms, especially Kimono. It brought back all the repressed anger at seeing images of “Kimonos” being sexualized, and commodified by non-Japanese in the U.S.

Made by Yuki was created out of a strong desire to reclaim ownership of my cultural heritage. An important part of my business model is education, and reorientation of what people have been told about Kimonos. (It’s a bathrobe, it’s lingerie, it’s only worn by Geisha, etc.) Instead, I want the world to recognize the beauty of Kimono textiles and appreciate the superb skills that have been passed down for generations.

Upcycled Kimono allows people to appreciate the beauty of Kimonos without putting on an actual Kimono. For Japanese diaspora, upcycled Kimono can provide a powerful way to connect to heritage. For non-Japanese, it's a way to appreciate and wear Kimono textiles without crossing the boundaries of cultural appropriation.

And it’s sustainable. 🌏

If you love Japanese goods please do your best to find out who is behind the product. If you want to learn about appropriation, please check who is writing. Lately, I’ve crossed paths with a growing community of like-minded Japanese-diaspora proudly representing our culture @little_kotos_closet @miagabb @makikohastings @sashikostory @oilandlumber @akashi_kama To me, they are like the calm at the center of all that can feel so jagged regarding cultural ownership. And that center is growing…

Thank you so much for being here, and appreciating my culture. ❤️

Buy From BIPOC Interview

So excited to share my recent interview by @buyfrombipoc. It is an honor to be featured, and to be included in such a talented community of BIPOC makers!

Q: What inspires your work?

A: Made by Yuki was inspired by a strong urge to reclaim ownership of my Japanese heritage. I was born in Japan and moved to the U.S. with my parents at the age of eight. I spent 30 years in the U.S., mostly in New York City, before moving to Okinawa in 2017.

I had always been interested in making clothes and began sewing in earnest around 2018. As I began purchasing sewing patterns, I discovered a disturbing number of them were named after Japanese words, places and names. Each of these encounters was a painful reminder of the countless times I saw Japanese culture being commodified and sexualized in the U.S., and the resulting disconnect I felt to my heritage.

The most prominently misused Japanese word in the sewing and fashion industry is “Kimono,” which prompted me to examine Kimonos that were passed down to me from my paternal grandmother. I wanted to see if there were actual construction similarities, or any reason to warrant the appropriation of the word—and found there were none. This growing indignation inspired me to begin speaking out about it online, where I discovered a few others who had already begun doing so, including @little_kotos_closet.

At that point, I was receiving custom clothing orders from friends who urged me to start a business. At the same time, I had begun transforming some of my grandmother’s Kimonos into modern clothing for myself. Thus, I decided to create a clothing line that combines my passion for making clothes, with my love of Kimono textiles.

The Kimono textiles themselves provide me with endless inspiration. So much skill and wisdom go into creating the textiles, with designs that are richly infused with meaning. A big part of my platform is dedicated to explaining different types of Kimonos, as well as terminology, production methods, and symbolism of designs.

Q: What is your favorite piece in your collection and why?

My favorite piece is the Zero-Waste Kimono Dress, which was my first design. Traditionally, Kimonos are constructed from narrow bolts of silk that are cut into seven rectangular pieces, then folded and overlapped to fit the body. At any time, the pieces can be taken apart and sewn back together to accommodate weight fluctuations, or if the Kimono is passed onto another person with different height. This method does not produce any waste. As a nod to this zero-waste philosophy, the Zero-Waste Kimono Dress is made using the main body of the Kimono. The belt is made from the longest piece that makes up the collar. The boxy shape of the dress lends itself to a loose fit, highlighting the beautiful drape of silk. It’s also size-versatile and fits most bodies up to US 16. As a person whose weight fluctuates, I love being able to wear the dress at any time without feeling self-conscious about how it fits on my body.

Q: What’s something you love about your heritage?

As a former colonial empire, Japan’s history is riddled with atrocities. When I meet fellow Asian people, I am keenly aware of the relationship that existed between our ancestors. I do my best to live with respect towards history, and an awareness of my position in the imbalance of power that still exists in the geopolitical sphere today.

For me, the bright spot of Japanese culture is its unique aesthetics and rich history of traditional crafts. Both of my parents are artists and ceramicists, and many relatives on both sides are/ were artisans. Being able to work with traditional Kimono textiles fills me with so much pride.

Q: What is the size range of your pieces?

Most of the ready-made garments fit up to US size 16. I always keep a stock of plus size tops (2x/3x) and offer custom orders for extended sizes.

Q: Any styling tips for your pieces?

Mix and match colors, patterns, and eras! I love to wear traditional Japanese patterns with jeans or sneakers. Most of my pieces have minimal and modern silhouettes that lend themselves to be integrated with contemporary fashion.

Q: What is a social justice cause that you are passionate about that you hope people will get more activated in?

I believe that climate change is the biggest challenge confronting our planet today. Capitalism has resulted in depleted resources, wars, slavery, racism, and a world filled with mental illness. We need to deeply reexamine our values and habits so that we can begin consuming less materials and resources. I also think it’s important to uplift and learn from the voices of Indigenous leaders across the world. They urge us to realign our thinking to recognize that we (humans) are only one member of the family of creatures. There is an urgent need to begin treating Mother Earth with care and respect before it’s too late.

My Story

Having spent most of my life in the U.S., I didn’t feel connected to my roots. Thinking back, I lacked sense of ownership of my own identity. Partially, this is due to conditioning I received as a young girl in Japan, seeing only beautiful white people in magazines and TV commercials. I learned from a young age that whiteness was beautiful, and that I didn’t fit the mold.

Things didn’t get much better when I arrived in NYC at the age of eight. Kids constantly made fun of my lack of language skills, and worse, poked at my low nose bridge asking, “Where is your nose?” In high school, a neighbor downstairs opened the door every morning when I walked past to go to school, yelling, “Go back to where you came from!” before slamming it shut. Countless taunts of “Chink!” “Jap!” “ching-chong” etc. yelled at me on the streets. Insidious microaggressions, aimed at me by mostly white men, who I exclusively dated. The perpetual incidents of racism were lashes to the psyche.

I’m ashamed to admit it now but I spent much of my thirty years in the U.S. pretending/ living like I was a white person and ignoring all the issues brought on by my true identity.

In the wake of the 2011 Japanese earthquake disasters, I had my first awakening about my Japanese identity and began cultivating friendships with the Japanese community in NYC. Yet, with those friends, we never talked about racism that surely, all of us dealt with.

It was only since my arrival in Okinawa five years ago that I started to unpack all that I had suppressed—both the trauma inflicted on me by others, and those that I had inflicted upon myself in my own denial. Nowadays, I try to be softer to myself, and remind myself that I was only trying to survive. And with anti-Asian hate finally being recognized as real, the communal healing has begun.

For too long in the U.S., I deferred to non-Japanese people as “experts” on Japanese culture, but times are a changing! Now I, and many others, are taking a stand on who should represent us.

Upcycling Kimonos is a part of my healing, to reconnect with and reclaim my Japanese roots. It gives me so much joy to touch these materials, and to learn about the history of Japanese textiles. Through this project, I’ve been able to connect with so many likeminded and inspiring Nikkei Folx out there. I’m not only grateful, but I’m also filled with pride.

Today, I am practicing Kitsuke 着付け (the art of wearing Kimono). I chose a true Indigo-dyed Kimono and a Fukuro-Obi, both with the Asa-no-ha pattern. 麻の葉 Asa-no-ha is an ancient Japanese motif representing the hemp leaf. Hemp is a resilient plant that grows very quickly, and the motif represents growth and resilience. It took me a joyful six hours to put on this Kimono outfit today. I know it’s not perfect, but I continue to grow, evolve, and thrive.

That is not a Kimono

This is a Kimono.

Specifically, this is a Houmongi Kimono #訪問着 which is worn on formal occasions. The design is adorned with Noshi #熨斗模様, dried strips of seaweed or fish bundled as offerings, along with chrysanthemums and plum blossoms.

Made by Yuki began as a reaction to life experiences I’ve had as a Japanese woman who spent most of her life in the U.S. All of the jumbled confusion of being subjected to ideas of submissiveness, taunts of being called “Geisha” and normalized use of Japanese words used to describe things made and sold by non-Japanese people.

Here, I will share what I’m learning about real Kimonos. Maybe you are of Japanese heritage and/or have an interest in the culture. Or maybe you just love textiles like I do. My goal is to share this special part of my culture with you, and steer you away from the commodified, sexualized, misinterpreted image of the Kimono.

The clothes I make celebrate the craft, history and traditions of Kimono textiles. They are simple and modern in design and can be worn casually or dressed up.

If you are chasing an imagined allure of the Geisha, the clothes I make are not for you.

In the west, images of Kimono are informed by Western imperialism and ideas of white sexual dominance over Japanese (Asian) women. It began in Japan’s defeat of World War II, which resulted in the U.S. occupation of Japan that lasted from 1945 to 1952. The country was in tatters after losing estimated 3 million people in battle, that ended with the only two atomic bombs ever dropped on… humans.

Utter annihilation of Japan’s economy, industry and farms, forced many Japanese women into sexual servitude. Images of women in Kimonos made their way back to the States, where it continues to take on new forms in the popular culture, especially in fashion.
The silky bathrobes made by that western designer is not a Kimono. Neither are the dropped shoulder jackets that you may be buying a sewing pattern for.

Please stop using the word Kimono to describe things that are not.

If you’re not of Japanese heritage, please stop using all Japanese words to sell products. If you make a cloth bag, don’t call it a Bento bag. If you make tie-dye cloth, don’t call it Shibori. Don’t name things after Japanese women or cities. When you appropriate our words, it perpetuates the exploitation of our culture, people and spaces.

Stop using philosophical terms like Wabi-Sabi and Mottainai if you are not Japanese. There are reasons why these words do not exist in the English language. They are concepts steeped in our culture and should not be thrown in willy-nilly into marketing campaigns. They are not your words to use.

When you normalize commodification and exploitation of cultures, the result is racism, violence, murder.

Donate @stopaapihate @hateisavirus @advancing_justice_atl
Learn @little_kotos_closet @denshoproject @sashikostory

What Gives Me Joy

I was born in Japan and moved to the U.S. as a child. I spent 30 years there, mostly in NYC, before relocating to Okinawa four years ago. My background is in documentary film and photography, and my move here had a lot to do with a film I’m working on about the indigenous people of Okinawa and how they continue to be trampled by the Japanese government and the huge U.S. military presence and accompanying atrocities.

Other reasons I moved here are because I wanted to live a lifestyle that is more in line with what I believe is the correct way—to live more in tune with nature and extricate myself from the extremely capitalistic lifestyle that is required in a place like New York City. In NYC, the produce section in the supermarket looks the same year-round because everything is flown in. In Okinawa, I walk through the neighborhood farms and drop 100 yen into a box in exchange for a head of cabbage or whatever is growing. In NYC, I scrambled to make ends meet, sometimes unable to—constantly earning and spending. In Okinawa, I work minimal hours, and dedicate my free time to creative endeavors or playing in the sea. I’m more whole here. But as a Japanese and U.S. national, I am aware that I’m borrowing space on indigenous land, so I try to be humble and respectful.

Participating in the clothing industry has always bothered me, so a few years ago, I decided to learn how to sew my own clothes. It was then that I came across so many sewing patterns named “Kimono,” “Haori” or Japanese names and places. This bothered me intensely.

In the U.S., there were more than a few Halloween parties where I encountered girls dressed up as “Geishas,” mostly in skimpy bathrobes, inevitably accompanied by whorish and exaggerated behaviors that were supposed to resemble “Japanese Woman.” Sometimes, these offenses were committed by people who were friends at the time. When I protested, I was told not to make a big deal. Silenced. So I internalized the hurt and anger I experienced every time I saw bathrobes, shirts, jackets and even underwear incorrectly labeled “Kimono” by Western designers. Or when people said things like, “I thought Japanese women were supposed to be more [fill in the blank]” or asked, “Why are you so opinionated?”

As I continued to sew and be irked by the pattern names, I started going through a box of kimonos that used to belong to my grandmother. At first, just to confirm that these sewing patterns did not resemble real kimonos. Then I began taking kimono-wearing lessons, which is incredibly complicated but fun. Then I took one of my grandmother’s kimonos apart and made a jacket that I now wear frequently. This action spoke to me in many ways. 1) Extricate myself from fast fashion 2) Recycle used material 3) Honor my heritage. And that’s when I had the idea to create @made.by.yuki.

During this journey, I came across @little_kotos_closet. Reading her honest, thoughtful words and sometimes outrage about cultural appropriation, freed me in many ways. It’s empowering to have someone brave in my corner, who speaks up against something that hurt me for a long time.

Some make the argument that people in Japan don’t mind if foreigners wear kimonos, and they’re mostly right, because people in Japan have not experienced CA or racism like those of us who live(d) in the West. Others say that Japan is also guilty of colonialism. True, and I would never dress up in the traditional clothing of the Ryukyu Kingdom (former name of Okinawa) or other cultures we have colonized in the past.

But I don’t want to hide the kimonos away from the world. I want you to appreciate it, not appropriate it. Unravel the false connections that have been made around Kimonos = Geishas = Japanese Women. All societies have had courtesans/ entertainers/ prostitutes but that does not define us, or the Kimono. It’s written 着物 and literally translates to “thing you wear.” They were worn for working in the field, in the home, for meeting friends, coming of age ceremonies, weddings, and funerals. It was the clothing of all Japanese, before we lost the war and became Americanized.

Here, I will introduce you to the craft that went into making kimonos. If you love textiles like I do, I hope you will find this interesting. I intentionally make simple, modern styles that are easy to wear, and can fit a wide range of sizes. I will also provide some information about different types of kimonos for different occasions. But I do not have deep expertise in kimonos. I just want to make clothing that gives people an opportunity to appreciate the craft and real heritage of Kimonos. This is what gives me joy.

Thoughts on cultural appropriation (2019)

This is not a random historical image of Japan in the Taisho era, nor is she a geisha from Kyoto. This is a photo of my grandmother at a young age. She was less than 5 feet tall but stood so straight, her presence towered over me as a child. She was a proud, powerful woman who raised three sons, and looked after her sweet but alcoholic husband who sometimes wandered off, and often cried drunkedly at New Year’s parties that she organized to bring the family together. She was my rock, and still inspires me today to be a strong and proud woman.

The cultural appropriation of kimonos has been on my mind a lot, ever since I came across posts by @little_kotos_closet, and it’s been more on my mind since I began working with kimono fabrics to make clothing. I’ve had this conversation with some friends in private, and I’ll share some thoughts here, in case you are curious to hear my perspective. To be clear, I’m not interested in educating but this is an offer to share a piece of myself. As in real life, I will choose to interact with some and not others so I may not reply to everyone.

As a single human being, my life experience is unique, and is the foundation of how I see the world, and what feelings arise, and how I make decisions so, a little background. I was born in the countryside of Japan to two artists. My father is a painter, who came of age in the post-war era, enamored of the powerful America, a country that had conquered his own, when he was only three years old. He went to a very prestigious art school, which at the time was split between traditionalists (those practicing Japanese art) and the avant garde (those who aspired to modern, Western art). My father was in the latter group, and looked up to artists like Jackson Pollock, Jasper Johns and the like.

Because of my parents’ idealisation of America, we moved to New York City when I was eight, which was a major culture shock for me. I was put into a very mixed and liberal elementary school, where we were taught about equality, and even sang “Imagine” at our graduation. This was an amazing experience and represents the idealism and goodness of the melting pot of New York City, but it was also the beginning of my forgetting of my cultural heritage. My parents often took me to see American/ European art, and my father at times discouraged my interest in traditional Japanese things. In one memory, he made fun of me for liking Japanese gardens, and said English gardens were better. He was only passing on his own view, which formed in the traumatized state of post-war Japan.

Looking back, I realize that for a long time, I tried to discard my Japanese identity in order to fit in. Japanese people sometimes appeared in my life, but they never stuck. Maybe unconsciously, I avoided them in order to blind myself from my own heritage, which felt like “otherness” in America. I surrounded myself with white friends, and dated mostly white men. I lived like a white person and pretended I didn’t notice the particular kind of racism faced by Asians in America.

As I started dating, I began to notice that there were certain kinds of men (mostly white) who took particular interest in me because of my heritage. Sometimes I felt a suffocation with these men, like I was supposed to be smaller, more dainty, more subservient. But I could not be, because obvi, I am a product of my grandmother! And then perhaps I started to notice that my white ex-boyfriends were dating other Asian girls, then I started to get really annoyed and made it a point to ask about the dating preferences of people I dated. Thinking back, it’s such a crazy thing to have to think about, but that’s real life of an Asian girl trying to avoid being objectified in love.

In college, I studied fine art, where I finally found my voice, and an outlet for my feelings and creativity. I really loved being in the company of other creatives, where we could help each other grow through dialog and critiques. I was often vocal in critiques, and appreciated when others gave feedback on my work. But there were the comments, mostly from white men, that I was “so opinionated.” This happened throughout my life, and also in grad school, and I remember an anger erupting like a volcano inside. Because this white guy was also just as vocal during critiques, and the double standard had finally became clear to me. I was also angry at myself for having accepted it for all these years.

In America, there are many images of women in Kimonos. Sometimes they are historical images of Japanese women, but often eroticized, hand colored prints, with that soft gaze looking over a bare shoulder (which I now know only prostitutes bared their shoulders!). Other times, they were white women in fashion ads wearing silky bathrobes dubbed “kimono.” #thatisnotakimono Often, they wore conical straw hats--the kind that I had never seen farmers wearing where I grew up in Japan.

Then there was Halloween. I don’t know how many times I saw people dressed up as geishas. When I tried to explain my discomfort, I was often told that I was being too sensitive--I was silenced. People in the US have finally realized that black face (a.k.a. pretending to be African American) is no longer acceptable but how is it OK to dress up as a high class entertainer/ prostitute of my country?

Through these unpleasant experiences and images, I came to understand the objectified “Japanese woman.” We shuffle our feet, talk softly, and demurely cover our mouths when we laugh. We also possess an inner sexual allure, that is so powerful and just so… alluring. And I began to see that the designers who put white women in silky “kimono” bathrobes were trying to sell that allure, that sensuality, that had been built up over decades of colonization. I, for one, could never fit into this imagined version of what I was supposed to be, and that caused an internalized conflict that I’m only starting to unravel in my forties.

When I moved to Okinawa two years ago, and Trump moved into the White House, these dynamics exploded into clarity. Okinawa was colonized by my birth country, Japan, which in turn is a modern day colony of my adopted country, America. America has seized control of Japan’s economy, land, and culture so entirely, that even today, my college students think it’s the greatest country in the world. There are some Americans on the island who are keenly aware of their place in this historical, political and social dynamic, but there are many who are not. The complexity of Okinawa is another topic, another book (or ten), but it’s made me see this unbalanced distribution of power more clearly.

When I see a white woman, particularly an American wearing a kimono, I wonder first, what she feels. If she is attending a tea ceremony, or an event that requires a kimono, fine, maybe that’s understandable. But is she thinking about the unfair distribution of power in the world, and her place in it? Is she trying to embody the image that was artificially created in the west, of that allure, that mystery and submissive femininity? Or does she reflect on the fact that when Japan lost the war, it was the beginning of the loss of culture, which is now leading to the loss of the kimono? That kimonos are now going out of fashion, and are flooding the market as they are being discarded?

Which brings me to my next point, because I’ve also been thinking about this a lot, since I’m creating clothing from retired kimono fabrics. How can I highlight the craft of Japanese silk weaving and traditional kimono painting without cheapening it? How can I celebrate something that is part of my cultural heritage, and truly honor it? I want you to look at the skill with which these fabrics were created, not the illusion of allure created by the west. And I also want you to know that this culture is slowly slipping through my fingers, when I have finally come to appreciate my own heritage. I want to make something that you can hold onto it as a piece of clothing that you can wear in your normal life, not just at Japanese tea ceremonies, in order to honor what is being lost.

It is also an exercise of not letting something (so beautiful) go to waste, and that’s something I learned from Japan, the philosophy and word, “mottainai.” But I also want you to know the origin of the word and not romanticize it. I learned it from my grandparents and parents who had to scrape by to survive during and after the war. Everything was scarce, clothing was mended and repurposed until it fell apart. My dad and brothers were so hungry they used slingshots to shoot birds and frogs to eat. But they were boys, so they shot each other too, and my uncle lost an eye as a child. Until this day, my father still laments his brother’s glass eye. When I see his eye not quite aligned with the other, I think about the war.

Personally, the created image of kimono and in relation, “Japanese woman” has caused a lot of confusion and hurt in my life. I understand this is not easy for everyone to understand. Even people in Japan have a hard time understanding because they have not experienced the half-hidden discrimination and sexualization in a country where they are considered the “other.”

I believe this applies to other women of color as well. When I see women of color in fashion ads I sometimes wonder, is it her beauty that is being celebrated, or is she being exoticized? Think of all the times you’ve seen Native American symbolism in fashion ads, or a very dark-skinned black model balancing a basket over her head (Why?!). Many Japanese women and other women of color live with these experiences, particularly in America, and it troubles us. So if we speak out, criticize, or question your appropriation of kimonos (or the marketability of our ethnicity), try to consider where we’re coming from.

Instead of silencing us, ask questions and take in what we’re saying. A kimono is not an image, it’s a garment that has cultural significance. It carries stories about real people with real hardships, so I hope that when you see, touch, or wear a kimono, that your minds’ eye and heart are wide open to its reality.

#kimono #mottainai #mycultureisnotyourcouture #japanesewomen #womenofcolor #culturalappropriation #stopculturalappropriation #stopracism #decolonize