Still In Japan
It's not Tokyo but Osaka is still Japan. I get the sudden urge to fold my laundry into nice little shapes. I take a few extra minutes to make sure that my collar is arranged just so. I am again picking up my sketch book to record details. In Japan, it's all about the details. Little things hang from cellphones, translucent paper is inserted into glass partitions, a ribbon is used to tie the shopping bag - inside the shopping bag. It's more than just the guessed fetish, it's like little distilled assertions of one person in such minute spaces and gestures. It's like little worlds. I like how global influences are filtered into essential strokes. Preppy ribbon details are stitched into unlined suits not simply to stop the fabric edges from fraying but to play hide and seek between seams and hems. It's a cute visual game. It's kawai. Speaking of seams, why go straight down if it can wrap around the pants, articulating the leg anatomy like Gundam Robot. I have seen flawless crafsmanship in Japanese clothes but it's the seeming random finish of tucks and pleats that make them so appealing. So finished and yet so unfinished, so permanently fluid.