What did my grandmother feel, and what philosophy did she live by?
One of the most profound influences that drew me to the beauty of kimono was my grandmother. She always wore hers with a light, effortless touch, her short hair neat and tidy.
Wearing the kimono I inherited from her is, for me, a way of communicating across time and space—a moment to connect with her spirit.
You see, she was rather shy in life, and we never exchanged that many words.
What did she find beautiful?
What stirred her heart?
What sort of beliefs shaped the way she lived?
Whenever I found myself wondering such things, I would open her old tansu (箪笥) chest and take out her kimono again and again. The hem, carefully mended over time, revealed just how lovingly they were worn. She preferred muted colours like black and navy, with hardly a floral pattern in sight—mostly modern, geometric motifs. Her consistent aesthetic speaks to a quiet strength, a firm sense of self.
Even now, I still feel her presence deeply in those garments.
In my memory, she was always striking in her slender frame, dressed in an elegant Oshima tsumugi silk (大島紬). Her koshihimo (腰紐) sash was soft and worn from years of use, yet somehow it seemed so cool to my young eyes. Her obi-makura (帯まくら), the pillow used to support the obi, was a rolled-up towel wrapped in an old pair of stockings—ingenious and practical. She’d tie her obi with such deftness, it felt like watching a magic trick. I remember watching closely, not wanting to miss a moment.
When there was time, she would untie the silk cords of her favourite kimono and show them to me. I can still recall that familiar scent of fabric stored long in a tansu, as if it were yesterday. And now, I wish I’d asked her more about the memories stored with those kimono—more than I ever thought to at the time.
In truth, we had only a few moments together, scattered and brief. She lived far away, and she was a women of very few words. But even now, when I wear her kimono, it feels like we’re having a conversation. There’s something tender and quietly joyful in that, even if it makes me feel a little bashful.
“To your gentle, beautiful presence in kimono”
As I continued to revisit the past through my grandmother’s kimono, something changed the day my mother gave me an old photograph.
In it, my grandmother is wearing Oshima tsumugi silk and holding toddler me in her arms. Look closely, and you’ll see that while her under-collar was perfectly adjusted, the front of the kimono appeared slightly lifted and loose—because I had tugged at it.
And yet, she didn’t scold me. Her face in the photo is calm and loving, filled with quiet affection. That picture revealed a depth of love I’d never quite seen before.
“I may not wear the kimono with the same effortless poise that you did, but I will never forget how gentle and how beautiful you looked in your kimono.”
Every time I wear your Kimono again, this is what my heart will be singing.
This article is translated from https://intojapanwaraku.com/fashion-kimono/259000/
