​PASSIONEER

The hakama became an obi, and now wraps around my waist. From my grandmother, to my mother, to me. This crimson obi was once my great-grandmother's ceremonial hakama — the long trailing skirt worn by court ladies in the Imperial Palace. Passed from my grandmother to my mother, it arrived in my hands already transformed: my grandmother had remade it into a nagoya obi for my mother to wear. I am not a small woman, and it is a little short on me. But as long as my arms can reach

1928. The enthronement of Emperor Showa. My great-grandmother attended in a kouchigi court robe. This is where the hundred-year journey begins. In 1928, my great-grandparents attended the imperial enthronement ceremony of Emperor Showa.My great-grandmother stood there in a ko-uchigi, dressed according to court custom. After the war, during a time of severe food shortages, my grandmother—who had married into the family—kept this garment.She never sold it.Even then, it must hav

Straight-line cutting enables dismantling and reconstruction, preserving garments across centuries. Japanese garments are designed with reconstruction as a premise. When the wearer’s body changed, the garment was dismantled, washed, and reassembled. Sleeves could be replaced, sections recombined, and the fabric given new life. This continuous chain of transformation is the essence of straight-line cutting. In traditional tailoring, this practice is called kurimawashi , a rati