À la recherche du temps perdu / In Western Terms: Crimson Trousers and a Deep Purple Jacket

 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 around my back, I can still tie it.

This hakama worn in the Imperial Court is constructed in a way that exists nowhere else in the world. The blazing crimson tends to overwhelm the eye — it is easy to forget to look beyond the color. But once you begin to examine the construction, you find something truly extraordinary.

Its formal name is the nagabakama — the long hakama. The transition from the standing ceremonies of the stone-paved Nara period to the seated ceremonies of the Heian shinden-zukuri architecture is thought to have driven its unusual length. The construction uses a distinctive rectangular machi panel found nowhere else in women's garments.

The material is principally a plain-woven red silk — or sometimes twill. My great-grandmother's hakama is plain weave. Dense and tightly woven, clearly made to withstand the friction of trailing across tatami and stone. This firm, non-slip surface, as it turns out, makes it ideal for use as an obi.

When I remade it into an obi, piecing was necessary. But once tied, nothing shows. It does not matter.

I had assumed it would be hand-sewn. It was not. It was sewn by machine.

Now I set them side by side: the karakoromo fukuro obi — made from my great-grandmother's court robe — and this crimson nagoya obi, made from her hakama.

What a combination.

In Western terms: crimson trousers and a deep purple jacket. The jacket's pattern — vivid yellow-green.

I take my hat off to the color sensibility of those who lived then.

In Western terms, this combination is quite thrilling.

A kimono is never finished. It breathes. It changes. It endures.

Primary motif: young pine roundels. Secondary motif: cloud-framed panels. Auspiciousness at 200%.

You may never wear a kimono. But you can wear the art of Wasai. — PASSIONEER

Click Me