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For sale (Ebay)

An authentic Japanese kimono featuring grasses and roses in a rosy, pink-paprika or deep salmon colour. A heavier weight, warm colour lined kimono seen for tea ceremony and other uses. This kind of kimono is also sometimes taken apart for the sheer amount of gorgeous fabric!

Discolouration on the collar where it folds. I would suggest removing it and cleaning it separately from the rest of the kimono.

Overall, the kimono mostly needs a good steaming to release wrinkles.

Being vintage, there may be some small flaws not described.

Wrist to Wrist: 49.5" Sleeve Length: 21.5" Neck to Hem: 59" Body Width: 23.5"

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A preview of this odd (likely Very Late Meiji or Taisho) kimono, maybe?

Finally arrived last week but I've been sick since. Dysautonomia flare or something. I've only taken a few photos.

It REALLY needs a cleaning. It *feels* dirty. I mean, it IS 100 years old, but I have a lot of 100 year old kimono that don't feel like this.

As I'd thought, it ISN'T blue! It's a very blue-toned purple! Those photograph as royal blue, the way primary reds become more pink or orange.

Also what are these? It looks like snaps installed for some gaijin wear. Maybe I can un-install them. Snaps like this pull the fabric pretty badly and rip it.

This is the exterior hemline. I don't want to hang this one, even on a mannequin, for photos. But I couldn't get more before Eris the Destroyer screamed louder and started clawing at the door to get in.

Look at this angry little terror. The most genuinely hateful, possessive animal I've ever had.

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Fascinated

All of those are summer clothes

But today, jade pins are seen as "summer" and warm coral as "fall/winter." Fashion changes all the time. I'd like to know who set the trend.

“Merchants family.” About 1870s, Japan. From an album by Felice Beato.

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Kitano Tsunetomi 北野恒富 (1880-1947)

Incense advertising poster - 1911

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京都　上賀茂神社　<紀元祭>

kyoto kamigamojinja shrine <kigensai>

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1. Uemura Shoko — White Cherry Blossoms

2. Uemura Shoen — Waiting for the Moon, 1944, Adachi Museum

“Shoko Uemura (1902-2001) was the eldest son of renowned nihonga (Japanese-style) painter Shoen Uemura (1875-1949). Like his mother, Shoko trained in nihonga, and he became widely acclaimed for his kachō -ga (paintings of flowers and birds). Known to challenge the refined compositions of traditional painting, he made innovative changes to nihonga style.”

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Ebay updates!

I lowered prices for almost everything, for a start.

Keep in mind that I am not a textile dealer like Sou, with hundreds of thousands of items in stock and some kind of shipping deal (seriously: look up SAL costs on the Japanese post website. It costs easily $20 for many items. So how is Sou shipping for $10?) I don't have "weirdly low" prices on things but I also tend to take a little more time on listings and do everything myself. I do not have staff doing things for me. So if you intend to message with "pllLEaaSsEe drop this another $20! I need it for my birthday/sister/etc." ... no.

I still tend to be comparable or cheaper than many kimono sites like Kyoto Kimono or Ohio Kimono, and they have a full staff, inventory money, an inventory resource, etc. I am one person who is selling pieces from my own collection to have space and money for other stuff.

Second update:

I spent 4-5 hours today on reworking listings, comparing ebay to fb marketplace, and taking photos. Some items needed new photos, some needed photos at all. I also wrote up some listings in Draft Mode right now.

I also went through my kimono more... discrimimatorily. Is that a word? More decisively. What I wear, what probably doesn't fit, or what doesn't suit my style amymore. Any records I'd had on these things (and I DID used to keep a spreadsheet!) is long gone, unfortunately, so notes on what the original seller stated for fabric content, exact ages, etc. has been lost. 😭 Even so, I think I pulled out at least half a dozen obi. I hope to start listing more next week. I need to clean up a lot going on here first. <3

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Disappearing Showa

The old restaurant is long gone, the lady I used to see in kimono---always in kimono---I haven't seen in over a decade.

Small town Tokyo: Denenchofu, Circa 2006-2009

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What’s In a Pocchiri? Part 6

It’s the one that you’ve asked about, so let’s take a look!

Image courtesy of Sakurasaku1113. Materials: Pot Metal, Gold Plating, Silver, Pearl, Garnet, and Mother of Pearl Motifs: Phoenixes and Dragons Owned By: Komaya (駒屋) in Miyagawa Cho This piece is very unique as it blends different cultures and materials to create a combination that can’t really be found in any other pocchiri. Looking at the motifs, we can see two very different sets, which lends to its unique combination. On the outside there’s silver waves and chrysanthemums, along with baubles filling in for the flowers. The inside, which is extremely intricate, is actually a phoenix and a dragon, with the phoenix body at the bottom and its feathers at the top with the dragon head coming in from the left towards the middle. The dragon and phoenix disc represent yin and yang and are popular motifs for weddings, especially in China. In order to further the dragon and phoenix motifs the red gems represent the phoenix as it’s a fire bird and the pearl symbolizes the dragon as dragons are known to clutch orbs, with some stories stating that the orbs are giant pearls. On the outside the waves represent change and chrysanthemums are symbols of the emperor.  This is definitely a case of an item seeming to be far more expensive than it looks. I had originally thought that the center was jade, but taking a closer look at the internal striations and the way it’s cut this turned out to be mother of pearl. Looking at the way that the motifs are cut it’s fairly easy to say that it’s Chinese in origin or made by a Chinese artisan. The outer materials are definitely Japanese, and there is a high probability that the waves, flowers, and jewels were added later. The base itself is really hard to peg down as it was once gold plated, but that has worn off in many areas. Its exact composition is unknown, but there’s a chance that the base was once something else, like a belt buckle or even a much older pocchiri. The silver additions were clearly added on later as they’re still very fairly crisp. The disc itself is mounted in silver, as are the stones, so this definitely lends well to that line of thinking. Due to the intense red of the stones they’re likely light colored garnets, but it wouldn’t be impossible to think that they’re lab created rubies or even a type of tourmaline or beryl. The pearl itself isn’t perfectly round and it’s also quite flat, so it falls into the realm of baroque pearls, which are pearls that aren’t perfect circles. Baroque pearls tend to be far cheaper than their more desired round counterparts, as are garnets, tourmaline, and beryl compared to rubies, so this kinda seals the deal on that. Being made of lesser materials doesn’t make it any less beautiful though as it’s design is fantastic and definitely catches your eye even from afar!   Seeing it being worn makes it look almost ethereal, like this example with Toshiemi (とし恵美):

Image courtesy of Chinu7474.

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A Taisho or early Showa houmongi, a type of semi-formal kimono. I love the long sleeves. I'm siding with late Taisho based on pure feeling. A lot of aesthetics between periods are fuzzy to me. Ichiroya, who really went through a lot of effort to identify fine details of kimono, probably would have known. I appreciated it so much because I don't have any Japanese experts to ask and learn from.

The seller described it as "pure silk" but the lining feels synthetic to me. Too rough, even for rougher silk weaves. And the lining has a synthetic feeling. It's harder now, that the nerves in my hands are damaged and the fingertips especially are getting rough from hand-sewing and cleaning so often. I'm certainly no aristocratic person, that's for sure. A synthetic lining would have been a Good Thing at the time though, since I think they were less likely to have the colour bleed into the shell. This is a red momi (lining) which had not been replaced with white cotton, like so many were.

Collar style is bachi-eri, prefolded and sewn, no snaps or strings. There is a mark along the back of the neck on the inside. Sleeves are so, so long, longer than most of the other kimono from the same era. I think today it would be considered chu-furisode length.

The fabric is shiny and has a very textured weave, which dulls the 'shine' somewhat. The patterns are fans and himo. The yuzen patterns are three season: tachibana, two types of bamboo, susuki, camellia, yellow and white plum blossoms, those daisy-like flowers that I really should look up because they were super-popular then, and more open fans. Lots of fine gold painting which has somewhat flaked off and subtle embroidery on many fine details.

The crest matches the one on the purple haori I bought recently. This one is an extremely common pattern called gosan-kiri. It it very lightly embroidered, a nui mon, in single-thread embroidery. A very pale, light pattern, not the "full shadow"-style embroidered nui mon on another houmongi I have. There were once SO many 'shades' of formality. I suppose kamon were like kimono; you could make them however you liked, within certain rules, to create a message.

Wrist to wrist: 48" Sleeve length: 27.25" Neck to hem: 58.5" Body width: 23"

There are some minor flaws but those are very typical for a kimono this age. The small sections where the silk is white, sometimes they have very tiny pale marks where the silk naturally turns brown, or there is a single spot inside the lining where it looks like a drop of something splashed. It really doesn’t trouble me at all. Instead, it shows authenticity.

This houmongi came from ebay seller Kimono Kyoto Ikkidou.

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A Taisho or early Showa houmongi, a type of semi-formal kimono. I love the long sleeves. I'm siding with early Showa. There's something about it that reminds me of 1930s tomesode that came from Ichiroya, who really went through a lot of effort to identify fine details of kimono. I appreciated it so much because I don't have any Japanese experts to ask and learn from.

The seller described it as "pure silk" but the lining feels synthetic to me. Too rough, even for rougher silk weaves. And the lining has a synthetic feeling. It's harder now, that the nerves in my hands are damaged and the fingertips especially are getting rough from hand-sewing and cleaning so often. I'm certainly no aristocratic person, that's for sure. A synthetic lining would have been a Good Thing at the time though, since I think they were less likely to have the colour bleed into the shell.

Collar style is bachi-eri, prefolded and sewn, no snaps or strings. Sleeves are so, so long, longer than most of the other kimono from the same era. I think today it would be considered chu-furisode length.

The fabric is shiny with a woven sayagata pattern overlaid with flowers that resemble daisies(?) and grasses. The yuzen patterns are three season: tachibana, bamboo, plum blossoms, chrysanthemums, maple leaves. Lots of fine gold painting which has somewhat flaked off.

There is a single mon which is embroidered, called 'nui mon.' The mon looks like kyuumaizasa, "nine bamboo leaves." (九枚笹) But I'm not sure because the centre does not have the leaf divisions.

Wrist to wrist: 50" Sleeve length: 29.25" Neck to hem: 61" Body width: 24.5"

There are some minor flaws but those are very typical for a kimono this age. The small sections where the silk is white, sometimes they have very tiny pale marks where the silk naturally turns brown, or there is subtle "bleeding" from the dye lines. It really doesn't trouble me at all. Instead, it shows authenticity.

This houmongi came from ebay seller Kimono Kyoto Ikkidou.

[bebetaian]

A haori that is Taisho or early Showa, pre-war era. Solid aniline purple fabric woven with textured patterns of tachibana (my favourite motif!) what looks like daffodils? and kiri, paulownia. The interior lining is a bright 30s-ish style with botan, peonies, and scenes of camellia and plum blossoms. Peonies and tachibana are typically April, red plum blossoms in February, camellias and grasses also being Spring motifs, so I consider this multi-season (except Summer.)

By fabric stiffness and lining, I would say 30s, which is early Showa.

The original listing says it's pure silk but by touch, I have Doubts. I haven't done any kind of burn test, though.

On the back, there is a single dyed crest. This one is an extremely common pattern called gosan-kiri. I don't think modern haori have crests anymore? I think the only ones I've ever seen have mon associated with Kyoto houses. There aren't so many 'shades' of formality today.

Wrist to wrist: 51" Sleeve length: 27" Neck to hem: 35.25" Body width: 22.75"

Very few damages. One small spot on the back of a sleeve, a small spot where the seams broke in the collar. See? You can't tell, can you. I can fix that, no problem. There are a few tiny discolourations in the lining.

This haori comes from ebay seller cocoroad net.

[bebetaian]

For sale (Ebay or message me for CashApp)

This is vintage deadstock Japanese embroidery couching thread, which means it was never used.

10 metres of bright gold colour, aluminium wrapped-thread. .5mm size. Core thread is rayon.

Do not get this thread wet because it is actual metal leaf.

This is the wider kind often seen on authentic kimono such as kurotomesode, some details on obi on the taiko part, and wonderful for haneri. Of course, this thread can be used for any embroidery, best for couching.

You can buy more than 10 metres in one length. Please message me.

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Probably late Taisho or early Showa, but definitely pre-war by the red lining and long body length. A juban (or "nagajuban") that feels luxurious and thick. Likely silk shell, silk/synthetic red lining.

A juban is like a second layer of kimono underwear. First layer is cotton or hemp, something breatheable to absorb body moisture, akin to a shift dress. Second layer is the juban which also has the decorative collar.

On many antiques, the red collar is as-is, no extra decorative layer. Haneri did not become a "thing" until ~Taisho era and slowly became more widespread. This kimono has a narrow collar, what today would be "bachi eri," presewn half-size. But this isn't sewn or snapped in half as it would be on most kimono. It's sewn using half-width fabric to begin with.

I typically wear this collar as-is, although perhaps I should start protecting it with haneri.

The fabric is shiny with a woven sayagata pattern and hand-tied shibori bamboo and clouds, both winter patterns. You can see the pinpricks around the edges where the shibori was tied, vs. the printed "shibori" of today. There are padded wrists and hem, also in line with winter. The sleeves have an orange-red ribbon woven with flowers to protect it. Someone really loved this juban. I hope I love it as much.

Wrist to wrist: 50.5" Sleeve length: 25.25" Neck to hem: 50" Body width: 24.5"

It has a few damages, like a spot where it looks like the lining bled through one of the clouds, some tiny moth holes here and there (but very few and extremely small,) things like this. After 100 years, I'm quite happy with the condition.

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Japanese vintage postcard

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'70s Harajuku (Part 1)

The Harajuku district in Shibuya has gained international acclaim as a hub of Tokyo's youth culture and fashion scene. Its streets are lined with cafes, boutiques, and well-known fast fashion stores, drawing a constant stream of tourists, fashionistas, and teenagers. However, before the arrival of billionaire retailers, foreigners, and media attention, this area's early inhabitants were the ones who truly shaped its unique character.

Several factors contributed to Harajuku evolving into a valuable and fashionable destination. Firstly, its location, accessible via the Yamanote Line and situated within the Shibuya ward, played a pivotal role. The vicinity surrounding Shibuya Station, located about 1.3 km north, has been a focal point for youth culture since the 1950s. Moreover, Minato-Aoyama, which borders Omotesando Avenue, has been developed as a fashionable place since VAN made it a hub for Ivy fashion, scattering its boutiques and facilities around the area in the '60s.

Another noteworthy aspect is the absence of certain establishments like sex shops, dingy bars, pachinko parlors, cabaret clubs, and love hotels. This is due to the city's designation of the area as an Education District, owing to the presence of the Jingumae Elementary School. Consequently, Harajuku maintains a safer and considerably less seedy atmosphere than other popular fashion and entertainment districts like Shinjuku, Ikebukuro, and the central part of Shibuya.

Despite this, Harajuku didn't become a famous, trendy area overnight. For decades, the district remained a quiet residential neighborhood with minimal activity, except for the annual influx of New Year's Day visitors who assembled at the Meiji Shrine. Yet, one distinguishing feature would set it apart: its international vibe.

In 1947, the construction of the Washington Heights complex, a vast housing facility for the US Armed Forces, transformed the landscape, prompting the emergence of local shops catering to international families, exemplified by the enduring Kiddy Land toy store. Kiddy Land, which still thrives today, became a beloved destination for the children of American soldiers and was the first shop in Japan to offer Barbie dolls.

Route 5, the fashionable drive-in eatery, photographed in 1965.

In 1964, Japanese authorities took back control of the land occupied by Washington Heights. The government repurposed the area and built Olympic facilities and athlete accommodations, further fueling investments in Harajuku. By 1966, the local nightlife began flourishing, primarily due to affluent teenagers cruising the streets in flashy American sports cars. They were drawn to cosmopolitan restaurants that kept their doors open late into the night, with Route 5, a drive-in eatery, being a notable hotspot. Right across the street from Route 5 stood an Adventist church, contributing to the area's foreign allure. 

Around that time, Harajuku garnered significant media attention with the completion of Olympia Co-Op, Japan's first luxury condominium development. But it was another residential building that shaped Harajuku's spirit...

Harajuku Central Apartments

Occupations like stylist, copywriter, designer, fashion photographer, and illustrator didn't gain recognition until the post-war period. They were referred to as the "katakana professions" due to their foreign origin and the fact their Japanese translations are loanwords, usually written in the Katakana syllabary. It wasn't until the 1980s, thanks to articles in magazines like AnAn and other fashion publications, that these professions became widely known among the Japanese public. However, starting in the '60s, more than a decade before becoming widespread, these creative individuals—already molding Japanese pop culture, fashion, and advertising—gathered in the Harajuku Central Apartments opposite the Jingumae crossing.

Central Apartments featured seven floors that accommodated offices, boutiques, and a café. The café that occupied part of the ground floor, Leon, achieved legendary status and was immortalized in fashion magazines as a meeting place for Japan's creative elite.

Harajuku Central Apartments photographed in 1980.

With the launch of magazines like AnAn, Non-no, and Popeye, which reported on Tokyo's fashionable districts, boutiques, and individuals, Harajuku gained recognition among trend-conscious individuals across Japan, and so did Leon, the trendiest coffee shop in Harajuku.

Unlike Chianti, the upscale Italian restaurant frequented by celebrities in the posh Nishiazabu area, Leon was accessible, unpretentious, and affordable. In fact, you could enjoy multiple cups of coffee for a fixed price, a rarity in Tokyo at the time. Nevertheless, its reputation as the haunt of Harajuku's most notable professionals made it an intimidating spot where few dared to venture.

The recurring theme in stories from young visitors to the area was, "I was just a kid from the countryside; there was no way I could summon the courage to enter." Even Tokyoites who weren't part of the inner circle kept their distance. However, Leon's large glass windows attracted the attention of passersby, who craned their necks and tried to catch a glimpse of celebrities and industry figures featured in magazines and on TV.

“LEON” in Harajuku/1972/Mike Nogami

Inside Leon, despite its no-frills décor and menu, it felt like entering a new world where only the most stylish individuals were welcomed. Everyone in the café dressed in the latest European and American fashion trends, and the music playing was the latest hits from London, New York City, or California. Since the café also served as an office for its customers, you could overhear Japan's most prominent fashion, music, and advertising professionals openly discussing their latest projects and loudly taking calls on the venue's pink telephone.

While the coffee shop served as Central Apartment's meeting place, it wasn't its only commercial facility. Harajuku's first boutique, Madame Nonnon, by legendary designer Taro Aramaki, opened in the building in 1964. It sold casual Parisian fashion, and its border (stripped) shirts were a big trend. (Even today, striped shirts remain a cherished staple of Parisian casual style in Japan, with trend-conscious women often sourcing them from the British brand St. James.). 

Madame Nonnon, considered by many as Japan's first boutique, shaped the exclusive aura of Central Apartments. Taro Aramaki was discerning in his clientele, only selling to those who matched the store's style. Prices were exceedingly high, and except for the striped shirts and a few select items, everything was either tailor-made or imported directly from Paris. Additionally, sizing was limited to XS, adding to the exclusivity.

Later, other retailers started occupying space in Harajuku Central Apartments, and the basement floor became a small shopping mall with stalls selling food and fashion items. But the biggest success story emerging out of the Central Apartments' shops is probably MILK.

The entrance of MILK's first boutique (left) and a glimpse inside Mademoiselle Nonnon, including its iconic border pieces, as part of an AnAn 1972 editorial (top right).

Under the direction of Hitomi Okawa, MILK initially sold women's clothes, mixing playfulness with the London punk aesthetic admired by the young designer. Eventually, the brand became a staple of Harajuku kawaii fashion with its girly designs and celebrity admirers. MILK influenced the rise of fashion tribes like the Gothic Lolitas and gained prominence, expanding nationwide. A men's line, MILKBOY, was launched in 1975.

MILK's flagship store is still in Harajuku, but not at Central Apartments. As a testament to how much the area has evolved and how things have drastically changed, the building met its demise in 1998. The place is now the site of the Tokyu Plaza shopping center. However, Harajuku owes a lot of its fashionable, creative cred to the existence of the legendary building, which brought some of the most avant-garde professionals to the area.

The Evolution of Harajuku

Harajuku has become so renowned that every facet of the district is well-known. There's Ura-Harajuku, the charming backstreets teeming with cafes and independent shops. There's the heart of Harajuku itself, which typically includes Cat Street and Takeshita Dori—lively thoroughfares packed with stores and food stalls catering to teenagers. You'll also find the bustling Meiji Dori and the iconic Jingumae Crossing, which doubles as the intersection of Omotesando. And, of course, there's Omotesando itself, the grand avenue lined with zelkova trees, home to the flagship stores of luxury brands that extend from the Meiji Shrine to the entrance of the stylish and equally lavish Aoyama-dori in the Minato ward.

In the '60s, however, there was no Ura-Harajuku, and Omotesando was just a tranquil and beautiful avenue with almost no buildings. Harajuku was a quiet, relaxing area of central Tokyo, catering mainly to its residents. While a few trend-savvy people gravitated towards the area due to its cosmopolitan air, it was a well-kept secret among them.

A fashionable girl walks in front of the Kiddy Land toy shop in Harajuku Kiddy Land in 1974/Alao Yokogi.

However, as the 1970s rolled in, AnAn magazine changed everything. The magazine frequently featured Harajuku alongside well-known Tokyo districts like Shibuya, Shinjuku, and Ginza. During this era, Harajuku hadn't yet embraced the youthful, inclusive vibrancy it enjoys today. Instead, it was an elegant adult enclave characterized by its upscale, intimidating boutiques, the accomplished creative professionals at Central Apartment, and the opulent Co-op Olympia and its wealthy residents.

After Mademoiselle Non-non, a wave of boutiques began to emerge. Model Mako opened the trendy MAKO BIS. London underground fashion, favored by the style-savvy, was available at Help and Suzuroku. Meanwhile, for those who preferred folk and boho-inspired garments, also trendy at the time, there was Violon and Hitotsume Kozou.

In 1970, BIGI, a women's ready-to-wear clothing brand founded by the husband and wife team of Takeo Kikuchi and Yoshie Inaba, opened its first store in Harajuku. Three years later, Rei Kawakubo inaugurated the first boutique of her now internationally renowned label, COMME des GARÇONS, in the same area. BIGI and COMME des GARÇONS, along with other brands created by emerging Japanese designers, set off the "DC Brand Boom," which would shape the domestic fashion scene in the following decade, a theme we will revisit later.

BEAMS, now one of Japan's largest retailers with stores nationwide, started in Harajuku in 1976 as a modest import store modeled after a UCLA dorm room. It quickly drew crowds searching for American brands featured in the MADE IN USA Catalog and Popeye magazine. During the same year, teenagers flocked to the neighborhood to shop at Cream Soda, a second-hand boutique known for its '50s-inspired rockabilly fashion, sparking a youth fashion craze. By 1977, a significant portion of Harajuku had been closed to vehicular traffic, transforming the area into what the Japanese refer to as a "pedestrian paradise." Stylish young people began congregating in the area to dance and flaunt their eye-catching outfits, mostly bought from the local Boutique Takenoko.

In 1978, a fashion building aimed at the youth market, LaForet Harajuku, opened at the Jingumae Crossing, just across from the Central Apartments. LaForet quickly gained fame as one of Tokyo's premier shopping destinations and continues to be a beloved fixture in the area today. Harajuku's transformation into a central hub for fashion was complete.

'70s Harajuku (Part 2)

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'70s Harajuku (Part 2)

The Harajuku district in Shibuya has gained international acclaim as a hub of Tokyo's youth culture and fashion scene. Its streets are lined with cafes, boutiques, and well-known fast fashion stores, drawing a constant stream of tourists, fashionistas, and teenagers. However, before the arrival of billionaire retailers, foreigners, and media attention, this area's early inhabitants were the ones who truly shaped its unique character.

'70s Harajuku (Part 1)

There's been a few books written about Harajuku and its culture in the '70s. Famed photographer Shinpei Asai wrote "Central Apartments Monogatari" (Central Apartments Tale), published in 2002. Futoshi Kimizuka interviewed some creative professionals who had offices in the building for 2004's "Central Apartments no asobi" (Walking through Central Apartments). Yasuko Takahashi, Japan's first stylist, wrote extensively about her experience working and playing in the neighborhood during that era in "Omotesando no Yakko-san" (Yakko-san from Omotesando, 2012) and "Toki no kakeru Yakko-san" (Yakko-san Who Leapt Through Time, 2015). In 2019, Non Nakamura, who started out as Yakko-san's assistant, compiled photographs and essays from influential figures of the time in "70s Harajuku Genfuukei."

This same Non Nakamura contributed what I consider to be some of the most insightful and readily available essays on this period through her "20th Century Girl" serialization in Mononcle. These essays are accessible for free on their website (in Japanese, though Google Translate provides a decent translation). Nakamura's series chronicles the culture of the 1970s in Harajuku and the broader oshare influences of that decade.

The first essay discusses how she owes her fateful meeting with Yakko-san to rock 'n' roll. Nakamura was a teen during the folk music era when rockstars had long hair, worn-out T-shirts, and bell-bottom denim. She wasn't particularly attracted to this type of fashion, so when she first saw glamorous-looking David Bowie in a magazine, she instantly fell in love with him. Her other passion was the band Carols. She passed by a poster of them, with their regent hairstyles, motorcycles, and leather jackets, on her way to her part-time job in Shinjuku and was remarkably attracted to them. After work, she ran to the record store and bought their then-just-released first single, "Louisiana." When she got home and dropped the needle on the record, the sound of rock 'n' roll took over her body, and she was utterly fascinated with the band. Soon after, she got a boyfriend who followed the regent hairstyle/leather jacket/motorcycle trend of the time.

Nakamura hated studying and wasn't interested in school clubs and activities. She'd fulfill her curiosity about the world by reading the dressmaking magazine Fukusou and admiring the avant-garde professionals that worked in it, such as the photographers (Saku Sawatari, Daitomo Yoshida, Osamu Nagahama), the illustrators (Ayumu Ohashi, Teruhiko Yumura, Yosuke Kawamura, Osamu Harada, Tamie Okumura), the models (Risa Akigawa, Brenda, Ichizo Koizumi), and the writers (Takeshi Matsuyama and Ken Sunayama).

One day, Yasuko Takahashi, aka Yakko-san, started a serialization in Fukusou. In her inaugural essay, she wrote that if she were a teen, she'd probably be chasing her rock 'n' roll dreams and dating a rocker dude her mom disapproved of. These words resonated deeply with Nakamura, who found school tiresome, yearned for an artsy and glamorous world, adored Carol and Bowie, and was dating a delinquent high school dropout who didn't earn her mother's favor. She felt seen and understood.

In her column, Yakko-san published plenty of photos of her daily life. To Nakamura's surprise, she was friends with the guys from Carol and also worked as a stylist for David Bowie. In the 17-year-old girl's eyes, she was the most incredible woman alive.

As she recounts in her second essay, her deep relationship with the Fukuso magazine team started a few months before Yakko-san's inaugural column in the October '73 issue. One day during the spring of her senior year, she felt compelled to write a letter to the magazine professing her love for it. She dreamed of being an illustrator, so she included a bunch of her doodles. To her surprise, the editorial team called her home a few months later and invited her to their office.

After school, she changed from her uniform to her favorite clothes (which included a shirt she bought from a London import shop in the basement of Central Apartments and a gingham skirt she made inspired by MiLK) and eagerly made her way to the meeting. The editors inquired about her clothing and life, and their comment, "I sensed something in you that was not Yojohan-ish," stuck with her.

To understand the context of this comment, we must go back in time to the folk music fever of the '70s, when yojohan (4 tatamis and a mat) folk was at its peak. Yojohan referred to small rooms where impoverished university students lived, often idealized in songs about young love and melancholy that dominated the charts. Nakamura was happy with the comment because, indeed, she didn't like the poor and humid vibe of said songs. She was drawn instead to dreamy pop and rock. 

The teen girl left the magazine's office that day with an invite to publish a double-spread page in the June issue, full of her illustrations and thoughts. It was quite an achievement for her.

Encouraged by this experience, she didn't hesitate to write Yakklp-san a letter. And to her astonishment, Yakko-san replied! Before she knew it, they had become penpals and engaged in lengthy phone conversations. Thus began a profound friendship between a 17-year-old high school student and a 34-year-old stylist at the pinnacle of her career.

Funnily enough, Yakko-san feared meeting Nakamura and disappointing her. To the 17-year-old, it was amusing that a grown woman who organized Japan's top designer Kansai Yamamoto's show in London Fashion Week and had the initiative to collaborate with world-famous figures such as T-Rex and David Bowie would be intimidated by her.

But, as she recounts in her third essay, they finally met. First, a quick 10-minute meeting in a Shibuya coffee shop. And then a proper encounter at the renowned Leon, where she also met other cool people she used to see in the magazines. Soon after, she became a frequent visitor to Yakko-san's small apartment in Harajuku.

Initially, she was taken aback by the apartment's minimalist and compact layout, as well as Yakko's sparse possessions. Yet, within the broader context, it made sense that a trend-savvy individual in 1973 lived this way. It was the year of the Oil Shock, the first post-war recession and frugality was in vogue. Books like "Jonathan Livingston Seagull," an anti-materialism allegory, and Alicia Bay Laurel's "Back to the Earth" became bestsellers, reflecting the shift towards a more modest lifestyle.

Amid the growing popularity of the back-to-the-land movement in the United States, minimalism and healthy living gained global momentum. It was Yakko-san who first introduced Nakamura to these ideas.

Through Yakko, Nakamura also learned about "natural food," a relatively unfamiliar concept in Japan at the time. While a foreign concept to most, natural food was all the rage in the vibrant neighborhood of Harajuku, and locals bought it from the market in the basement of the luxury Co-Op Olympia condo. Additionally, a delivery service offered pesticide-free vegetables, spearheaded by a former Leon patron who had forsaken a successful creative career to explore his passion for sustainable farming. Through these encounters, young Nakamura began to comprehend that life presented various paths, and fashion encompassed not only clothing but also a holistic lifestyle, including food and living habits.

The fourth installment focuses on Sayoko Yamaguchi, one of Japan's top models of the '70s, who had worldwide success and shared a close relationship with Yakko-san. Nakamura observed that during that era, the most prominent models were of mixed heritage (haafus), characterized by big eyes, long eyelashes, and wavy hair. Notably, Lisa Akigawa was one of the most renowned among them. In contrast, Yamaguchi stood apart with her almond-shaped eyes and black bob haircut. Her unique style served as an inspiration for many Japanese girls, fostering their self-confidence. Her signature eyeliner makeup and haircut were emulated by numerous admirers. While Yamaguchi enjoyed global fame at international fashion weeks, she became a familiar face to the Japanese public through her Shiseido commercials. She was among the numerous icons in fashion and culture closely connected to Yakko-san.

During the 1970s, Sayoko Yamaguchi was one of the faces of Shiseido cosmetics.

Another notable figure in this circle was the director Juzo Itami, whose tight relationship with Yakko-san was evident in his introduction to her first book, "Aisatsu no Nai no Nagadenwa" (Long Phone Conversation with no Greeting), published in 1976. This title offered one of the first comprehensive examinations of the "stylist" profession, which was relatively obscure in Japan then.

In the fifth essay, Nakamura writes how she found out about the profession through an article at AnAn, which briefly described a stylist as "people who lease clothes for fashion shoots, run around Harajuku with large bags, line the soles of model's shoes with duct tape, coordinate clothes, and attend shoots."

As she discovered through her work with Yakko-san, stylists do way more than that. And that was also what Itami tried to convey in the introduction to Yakko's book:

"I want to introduce my friend, Yasuko Takahashi. She is a first-class stylist. When making fashion editorials or commercials, a stylist can materialize a suitable house, the right interior design, or a place just like the one you're looking for out of thin air. At the same time, they also find props that are suitable for the location and source costumes. Depending on the situation, they will interact with the models and even advise on hair and make-up, so they must be genuinely knowledgeable. Collaborating with Yakko is, without exaggeration, a heavenly experience for me. She is a consummate professional. Once upon a time, when she couldn't find a suitable location, she wandered through town all night, shedding tears of frustration until she eventually discovered one. I mean, she's persistent. Her tenacity isn't limited to her professional life; in her case, she's unwavering in allowing her creativity to roam freely."

Yakko and Itami first met after being introduced by famed photographer Shinpei Asai, who had his office at Harajuku Central Apartments. The three of them worked together on a serialization Itami had at Shūkan Bunshun magazine in the sixties, which had Asai in charge of the photography and Takahashi doing the styling.

Takahashi was impressed by Itami's sensitivity to trends on a global scale. When she went to New York, he told her to buy a Yellow Pages-sized book, "Whole Earth Catalog," which inspired his weekly column. As covered here, "Whole Earth Catalog" was highly influential among Japanese media and creative types in the late 60s and early 70s, molding much of Japan's fashion culture.

But back to Non Nakamura's column, stylist was a novel occupation. She notes that stylists became highly sought after in the 80s, with the effects of the D.C. brand boom and the bubble economy. A diverse range of stylist roles emerged, including magazine stylists, advertising stylists, men's fashion stylists, and even specialists in props and food styling, each requiring unique skills and expertise. But back then, when Yakko-san was one of the few professionals doing this job, a stylist was in charge of everything, from the models and shooting locations to the costumes, dishes, houseplants, furniture, or anything else the shoot may need.

One day, Yakko asked Non to work as her assistant on a Noriyaki Yokosuka shoot. She promptly accepted, even though she had no idea who the photographer was. However, when she mentioned him to the boys in her design school, they were impressed and told her that he was the one who photographed Sayoko Yamaguchi's Shiseido posters, as well as doing the Parco ads. Parco, the Shibuya fashion building, had the buzziest campaigns in the country under Eiko Ishioka's art direction.

When she got to the shoot, the photographer asked her to get some poppy flowers. Faced with challenges in finding these specific flowers, Non embarked on a frantic quest, purchasing as many as she could to meet the photographer's expectations. However, to her astonishment, the photographer didn't even glance at the flowers. That's when she realized that being a stylist was a tough job.

David Bowie was the theme of two installments of the column. Yakko-san introduced him to legendary Japanese designer Kansai Yamamoto, who was behind some of his most legendary costumes, and they established a close working relationship in the 1970s. During her tenure as Yakko's assistant, Non had the opportunity to meet Bowie in a 1977 photoshoot in Harajuku. One of the photographs from that session, captured by Masayoshi Sukita, ultimately was used as the cover of Bowie's 12th studio album, "Heroes."

The cover of Bowie's 12th studio album, "Heroes," was shot in Harajuku. Yakko-san was the stylist.

She also dedicated a chapter to another one of her idols, Eikichi Yazawa, whom she met just a few weeks after Carol's farewell concert as he prepared to make his solo debut. She recounts that his charm so enchanted her that she realized she didn't actually love her boyfriend at the time, breaking up with him shortly after.

Nakamura watched Carol's final concert twice. Along with the rest of the country, she followed the telecast, aired a few days later. As she recounts, she and Yakko-san were working in Harajuku on a Saturday afternoon when the stylist took a look at her watch, said, "oh, it's starting soon," and rushed to a design office at Central Apartment that had a TV (minimalist Yakko-san didn't have one at her place).

But she also was one of the lucky few who actually were at the proper concert in Hibya Open Air, which she attended all dressed up in clothes from the trendy Creamy Soda boutique in Harajuku (the owner was notoriously close to Carol's members). Infected by the feral atmosphere, she ended up in the front row and even tried to invade the stage. She succeeded in getting her right foot in before being kicked out by the security guard. But here's a twist: the security was also a regular at Harajuku's Leon coffee shop.

In the 1970s, the hippiest motorcycling gang in Tokyo was The Cools. They were known for their cool styles, hung out with models and celebrities, and were always at Leon. Of course, like all of Japan's young bad boys, they were also big Carol fans. And they actually became close to the members. For their final show, the band wanted to mimic the Rolling Stones -- which had the Hell's Angels as security -- and they invited The Cools to escort them and guard the stage. 

After Carols disbanded, the Cools were actually hired by a major record label and became a proper rock band.

In the 1970s, Harajuku remained a hidden gem, undiscovered by the masses. Yet, this small district nestled within bustling Shibuya played an integral role in the histories of the most extraordinary individuals. As the rest of the country caught on, they sought a taste of Harajuku's uniqueness, propelling it into the phenomenon it has become today.