One of the benefits of wearing kimono is that you can hide a bit of weight gain under the flowing garments.  One of the problems of wearing kimono is that you can hide a bit of weight gain under the flowing garments!

I am not very tall for an American male (just shy of 5’8″) and normally not very large either.  So finding vintage kimono to fit my size has not usually been about height or weight, but rather about arm length.  I rarely find an older kimono that reaches past my mid forearm.  So, I tend to only measure the wing span.  The overlapping front was never an issue, but last year my juban started “shrinking” and one or two of my vintage obi were no longer long enough to get a decent knot.  A bit of background:

About ten years ago I lost 50 pounds.  I had just tipped the scale at 200 and realized I was not living a healthy lifestyle.  So I began to watch my food (no more cheese, low fat, no processed food, etc) and got back into regular exercise.  I went on my first trip to Japan with my wife and was pleased to receive numerous compliments about how I did not fit the “American Stereotype”.  I kept the is up for about 8 years.  Then things slowly slipped back into old habit.

Where does the kimono fit into this?  Well, one of my best strategies for keeping track of my weight gain or loss is how my clothes fit.  Choosing to wear kimono daily means I no longer had to worry about tight fitting trousers or shirts.  The only litmus test was the vintage obi and I could easily avoid those.  Slowly I gained weight back until I finally said enough this past holiday season.

Four months later, after numerous pushups, pull ups, sprints and hours in the gym, I am happy to say I am back in the same form as my first trip…maybe better as I am using strength training as my exercise foundation.  Earlier this week I tried that vintage obi…sometime in the past years it “stretched out” and I can tie a nice knot again.  Funny how clothes do that.

I’m nearly finished with my third year of wearing kimono as my daily teaching attire at the community college where I am a Professor of Anthropology.  My kimono has become so normal that I rarely get questions or comments anymore…unless I happen to be wearing western clothes.

In the spring I also coach high school lacrosse and often have to wear my athletic clothes to the campus on days when I have a game immediately after work.  Colleagues or a student sometimes remark about my not being in my regular garb.  Occasionally a student walking past fails to recognize me!  But, this past week someone said “Hey, you’re wearing real clothes”, to which I replied, “I wear real clothes everyday.”

I don’t think this person meant to be offensive, but the comment made me realize how easily our perception of the “other” can be colored by our expectations about what is normal and therefore, “real”.  Are costumes “real”?  What about regalia?  Is traditional clothing only authentic when it is worn by a real member of the culture?  Who gets to decide what is real or fake?

For me kimono is no less real than when I wear western clothing, a kilt to play bagpipes, or my uniform for coaching.  Each garment is part of who I am, wether it be by acculturation or enculturation.  Certainly after three years of being in kimono, my presence has become so much the norm that it is only when I am not wearing Japanese clothing that anyone takes much notice.  But, I always keep it real! 

I realized the other day that I have not posted to this blog in some time.  Between work, spending time with my family, performing music, coaching lacrosse, and doing my own athletic training, there just isn’t much time for writing.  When I think about how much regular bloggers do to keep up their sites…I am humbled by their dedication.

It has been nearly three full years that I have worn kimono on a nearly daily basis and I am wondering if it has become “normal” now.  I don’t think quite so much about what I am going to wear.  I have grown accustomed to the questions and stares from people I meet.  My students and fellow faculty have become so used to my apparel that they are shocked if I am not wearing kimono (I sometimes change into my athletic clothes before leaving campus).  So, in many ways it is normal now and perhaps the normality has chipped a bit from the contemplation.

I still struggle a bit with the occasional question about cultural appropriation.  Most recently we have been discussing what “authentic” means in my classes.  Does your blood heritage automatically qualify you to wear ethnic clothing or practice other ethnic art forms?  Is my being of Irish descent make my music more real?  What about respect for the culture, continuous training and practice, and experience?

When behavior becomes normal, you run the danger of becoming complacent.  Perhaps contemplation is the antidote.

Having spent an entire school year teaching in kimono, and making my public debut in downtown Tokyo this past summer, I decided it was time to move about my own public spaces and go about my usual routine.  I have shopped for groceries, pumped gas, purchased coffee, posted mail, and generally gone about my day to day activities whilst wearing various forms of kimono.  I have come to expect that interested individuals will ask about my apparel and, depending on their method of inquiry, have developed a number of responses that explain what and why I am wearing odd, but somehow familiar, clothing.  Sometimes a conversation leads to another insight about how people think.

The town where my wife lives is an upper middle class suburb of Hartford, predominately Euro-American (although there are a number of south Asian families in the region) and could be considered quintessentially New England.  On my way to her house I decided to pick up dinner supplies, including a stop at the liquor store.  It was a pleasant summer afternoon and I was wearing a dark brown yukata, blue and white obi, and informal zori.  As I was perusing the selection of beers, a voice behind me asked, “Are you a Jedi…or maybe a priest?”  I turned to find a middle-aged male store clerk quizzically looking at my attire.  I was momentarily speechless as my brain attempted to form a response that was appropriate to the inquiry…

“Very observant, you are. Yessssss” or “Yes, my son, may I take your confession.”

However, at the start of my kimono practice I made the decision never to respond in a joking matter. In part to maintain my own dignity, but mostly to discourage others from thinking of kimono as a costume.  It is after all a representation of Japanese culture and I have a responsibility to ensure that it is presenting respectfully.  So I gave my standard response of  “These are my clothes and I am wearing them as part of my studies in Japanese culture…”  and he left me to my purchase decision, probably a bit disappointed at my straight forward answer.

It wasn’t until after that I started thinking about the context of his question.  Yes, I know that George Lucas was heavily influenced by Japanese culture and film in his creation of the Star Wars universe.  Likewise, this was not the first time I was asked if I was a priest, or more often, a monk.  But, I thought it strange that this person asked both, mixing fictitious character with religious calling.  Sure, he was joking and I don’t feel his intent was to be hurtful.  But, what if I was a priest or a monk?  Would his question then become an unintended insult?  Now to be fair, the woman who was working at the checkout asked about my clothing too.  She started with “That is a wonderful outfit you are wearing…is it Japanese?”  Our subsequent exchange revealed that she had an interest in Japanese film and that she had never seen anyone in person wearing kimono.  They each phrased their questions from the context of individual experience, one a bit more learned perhaps.

Wearing kimono helps me to be more aware of cultural context as I place myself outside of it by my choice of clothing.  Each time I am asked about what I am wearing I have the opportunity to expand someone’s exposure to other ways of being and I discover another way to think about my own sense of the world.

One of the adjustments I have had to make when wearing kimono is taking more time in the morning to get my clothing organized.  Keeping track of all the accessories can be a challenge and if I hurry through my routine I inevitably leave something behind.

Recently I left the house in a rush, already late for work, when  five minutes into the commute I realized I left my tabi at home (tabi are the split toe socks worn with zori or geta sandals).  I normally wear regular shoes to drive to work where I then change into tabi and zori.  Becoming a bit annoyed I decided to go back home to quickly grab the tabi and made my way to work.  Upon arriving in my office I proceeded to change and realized I had two right tabi…  This left me with two options: wear the zori without tabi or wear my shoes for the entire day.  Neither choice was very appealing.  Luckily I had a pair of black athletic socks with me that were thin enough to wear with the zori sandals and give the appearance of the traditional tabi.

I am certain that most people would have not noticed the missing tabi, but I would have spent the day feeling incomplete.