À la recherche du temps perdu ― Wasai's Journey to Haute Couture

The cashmere coat my grandmother left behind. Inside it, a new silk story begins.

A silk fabric made for Western clothing. Perhaps a lining for a man's jacket —the kind you'd find in a finely tailored Italian coat.Laid across my palm, it has that smooth, liquid drape.That's silk, unmistakably.

It was easy to imagine how it would look lined inside my grandmother's cashmere coat.The real gamble was using it for my son's haori.Could I line it fully? Wouldn't it be too heavy for a twelve-year-old?It would be heartbreaking to have it tailored, only to find it didn't work after all.

Quiet blue-grey on the outside, vivid geometry within. Two stories, one garment.

Despite my worries, my son's plain-dyed haori turned out beautifully.Beneath its quiet, pale blue-grey surface,diamonds lined up in a row, catching the light.

Different eras. Different intended materials.And yet these two fabrics merged, drawn to one another, setting off together on a new stage.Not rejection, but a joining of hands, a mutual shelter —bringing something forgotten for years back into the light, right before our eyes.

Silk is alive.

It breathes.

Perhaps they speak to one another, considering each other's needs, supporting one another.

Now I have even more memories to share with my friend in France —memories that will never run out.

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

On ne porte pas forcément un kimono. Mais on peut porter l'art du Wasai.

— PASSIONEER

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