Japan is one of those places where the more you know the less you understand. It’s been some months now since I’ve been back, and the question I’m still asked is ‘Did you have fun?’ I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to answer that question. But it did feel a necessary trip, one that forced many questions I had been putting off.
I had gone to Japan with the intention of relocation. Indeed, I was in the middle of a nearly year long visa application process. The plan was to enroll on a two year visa as a student at a language school while studying textiles and building my own business on the side. But as you may note from the careful selection of the past tense, this was a course of action that I decided not to pursue. I do not know much Japanese and I cannot read it. Nor do I have much cultural knowledge of Japan. Now I have been to many countries where my foreign-ness was understood and a resident would helpfully explain the local custom without offense or judgment, but Japan is not one of these. One either got it, or they didn’t on their own.
So…wouldn’t attending a language school address this? Undoubtedly! On a two year visa I would certainly learn the written and spoken language and a good deal of the culture. But while Osaka is much less expensive than California, there would be limited opportunities for income and professional development during those two years of student life. I would be devoting my energy towards language acquisition and cultural studies. But at what cost? And I don’t just mean dollars or yen. Put another way, during those two years of school, what would I *not* be doing? I withdrew my application.
It was a disappointment. In many ways, it felt like a breakup. But I had been after the wrong goal. As there is another, further and more fundamental question I had to ask myself: is it more important to live in Japan – or any foreign country? Or is it more important to be in control of my time and my money?
The answer is the second, clearly and uncontestibly. It’s not even close. Of the foreigners I met who were truly doing well for themselves in Japan, they had at least one of the following characteristics, and often several:
- they had married a Japanese national
- they had studied Japanese in their home country for three to five years prior to making the move
- they were working in their chosen profession
- they were there for professional development
- they had grown up reading Chinese, and so could manage reading kanji
I had none of those. Of course some could be acquired. Obviously, I can’t redo childhood literacy and begin again with Mandarin. And let’s set aside the spousal option, as I have no interest in matrimony (not to mention gay marriage is still not legal in Japan). But I can study in my home country.
I realized that I am at the beginning of a three to five year linguistic journey before I am able to speak directly with the designers and artisans whose work I most admire. Daunting perhaps but doable, as I know from experience. While I did formally study French, I taught myself Spanish by immersion. During covid I taught myself German with a free program from Deutsche Welle. Surely I could do something similar with Japanese. There are apps, there are podcasts, there are movies, and I’m fortunate in California to have neighbors from Tokyo and Yokohama to practice with in person. And critically, I can do this on my own time, while still pursuing my craft.
Japan is not the right choice for me – for now. I know that I’ll be back. It’s too rich a source of inspiration, and also of encouragement.
For one, the Japanese dress spectacularly well that people watching is always a delight. The general belief is that if one is going outside the house, one ought to dress well as a show of personal poise and respect to others – an attitude surely not unique to Japan as many Western countries also once observed the same, though as with so many other practices, this approach is taken to an extreme in Japan. That does not mean one never sees tee shirts and blue jeans, it is just that one sees blue jeans so artfully crisp they lack even the smallest bit of staining, of fraying, or stray bit lint, and the tee shirts are of pure and saturated hue. If they are damaged at all it is by intention. Sweat pants, however, are entirely absent.
For another, I was greatly impressed by the abundance and audacity of the independent designers I met.And because I tried as much as possible to wear clothes I had either made or modified, I was asked on several occasions if I was a designer myself. This was never something I had identified as previously – I just fix clothes and knock other clothes together – but many Japanese admired my style and inquired after its development, my branding, and where I sold, that I somewhat embarrassedly confessed that I was more of a hobbyist. But their interest was flattering, and also encouraging. That this was the direction that I ought to pursue, and – should I return – there would be a point of entry.
There were far more small fashion designers than I see at home in California. Two in particular impressed me for their entrepreneurial verve. One cut apart western suit jackets and kimono and joined them together, then sold them out of a van in Shimokitazawa, a Tokyo neighborhood well known for vintage shops. The other made patchwork kimono and handbags and set them up on weekends along a vacant wall of a local cafe in Ebisucho, a cramped, semi-industrial enclave of Osaka, not far from where I was staying in Shinsekai. I found both designers inspiring. They did not wait for a shop to appear but made their own. What then was my excuse for delay?
I thought a bit more critically about my own business, and realized it requires some changes. Although I was bitterly disappointed in myself for giving up on Japan – for now! – I am excited for the possibilities of how my business might grow and develop. I have quite a number of ideas just how, and these shall be addressed elsewhere. But the first, and greatest, shall be addressed here: the name.
Although I enjoy the name Muzhik – and wrote a whole post about it – it confuses English speakers who think it is a misspelling, as though perhaps I lead a klezmer band and play bar mitzvahs on the weekends. Also it is misleading to potential customers as there is nothing at all Russian about the designs that I do, or fashions that I favor. It has, unfortunately, also proved doggedly forgettable as no one ever seems to remember just what it is, how to say it, or that it’s at all associated with myself. And the rare and occasional Russian who has congratulated me for the well chosen application of a treasured national term is insufficient compensation to warrant keeping it around. I need a name that reflects the American and Japanese traditions I draw from, exemplifies concepts I understand from each culture, and is also easily remembered. After months of consideration I have it. You can find it here.
So this post is also a farewell. Not to the work that I do, not to my business, but to this chapter of it under this name. This website will remain up, but will no longer be updated. All further developments can be found at the new domain – Dollars & Yen – which much like this one, began with little and grew to something more. I’ll see you there.
