Silk Screen

For an insider look at Japan’s cultural capital, see Kyoto in a kimono – one small step at a time.

By Gary Lawrence

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Photo by Gary Lawrence

“People are going to want to take your picture!” the old attendant at Kyoto’s tourist information centre tells me when he finds out I’m planning on wearing a kimono during the next few days. Later, on the train, when I confide in another local, I’m met with an outburst of laughter. “You know, we stopped wearing kimonos ages ago, except for special occasions,” he says. “Even then, mostly women wear them.”

The worst part is, he’s right. In the past few years, the Land of the Rising Sun has turned its back on its famous kimono. Sales plummeted, workers were let go and the most skilled kimono artisans resorted to filming themselves so that their craft wouldn’t be lost forever. Even the national kimono retail chain, Azecra, was forced to declare bankruptcy last March.

In Kyoto, the country’s cultural heart, the reality hits especially hard, given the old imperial capital’s self-styled role as guardian of this Japanese tradition. To bring the kimono back in style, the government and the city of Kyoto have both launched promotional events: Kyoto Kimono Passport, which takes place in the fall, and Kimono Days, held in March. Anyone spotted wearing a kimono gets a discount or free entry into all kinds of cultural attractions throughout the city.

The problem, however, is that in Japan, a gaijin (foreigner) like me already attracts his share of stares. Shuffling around in a kimono, I’ll blend in about as well as an NBA basketball player.

Silk Stalking

“Make sure that it crosses on the heart’s side. If it crosses on the other side, it’s considered funeral wear,” explains Maïa Maniglier, a French designer who’s lived in Japan for 16 years. It’s a good thing she’s helping me get dressed. In a country where proper etiquette is still the norm, I don’t want to be a diplomatic incident waiting to happen.

To avoid being taken to task over an unruly kimono, I follow Maïa to the Nishijin Textile Center, the best place in Kyoto to rent a kimono. In a city known for its exquisite fabrics, these Nishijin silks – they’ve even got their own appellation ­– are the most coveted. But their reputation hasn’t kept sales from slumping. “Kimonos sold much better 30 years ago when people had loads of money and bought a few at a time,” says Shinako Muro, director of the textile centre. At Erizen, a store that dates back to 1584, some customers would splurge on as many as 100 in a single kimono-buying spree. But that bubble eventually burst, only to be followed by the recession.

I slip into my new outfit and, as soon as I take my first steps, I start to understand why the kimono has lost its cachet. Fitting tightly around the ankles, it severely limits my ability to walk. Things become downright embarrassing when I attempt to tackle the stairs with my zori (sandals), which are way too small for my big gaijin feet. Later, over dinner, I stand up from the restaurant table and my billowing sleeve knocks over a glass of water. The glass shatters at the feet of a fellow diner who is clearly unimpressed. And every time I get into a car, I wind up getting my kimono caught in the door. I guess I’m just not used to wearing a long silky gown.

To get my money’s worth from my new outfit, Maïa and I zero in on the tiny streets of Higashiyama, a pretty neighbourhood that’s a throwback to the Kyoto of yesteryear – ideal for a rickshaw jaunt. (The Ebisuya company offers the first 10 minutes free to anyone wearing a kimono.) While we cruise through the neighbourhood, a geisha flaunts her own flamboyant dress in front of the Kodai-ji, one of the Kyoto temples participating in Kimono Days. “Don’t be fooled. That’s just a tourist in disguise,” says Yasusei Fujiwara, the rickshaw driver. “At this hour, you’ll only find real geishas in the neighbourhoods of Gion or Pontocho.” Suddenly, my much simpler outfit feels less conspicuous.

Later that night, I attempt another walk up Sannenzaka, a steep and narrow pedestrian street lined with shops and decorated with strung-up lanterns. I soon reach the top, which opens onto Kiyomizu-dera, a magnificent group of temples and pagodas clustered on the side of a hill. From there, modern, glowing Kyoto stretches out in the distance, a view that contrasts with the city’s past as Japan’s spiritual capital. That past is best experienced up here, where 2,000 temples and shrines keep watch over everything, including me and my kimono.

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