Originally published on metropolis.co.jp on June 2013
Being a self-confessed lingerie addict (having once spent a grand total of four hours in the dressing room of Agent Provocateur), I couldn’t wait to arrive in Japan and get my hands on some of their naughtiest negligee. Heading to a nation famous the world over for its cutting-edge fashion, kooky sex industry and jaw-dropping women, I had no doubt that Japan would open my eyes to a whole new world of sophisticated, chic undergarments as yet unseen by us Western gals—or so I thought.
On a day off, I headed into Tokyo ready to hemorrhage my credit card and obtain some of the most stylish and elegant undies in the world. However, as I began to browse, I started to notice something slightly odd. Everything seemed to be a little, well, pink. And frilly. In fact, almost everything I laid my hands on was adorned with little bows or even worse, garish images of teddy bears and daisies. Now don’t get me wrong, I loved cute, girly underwear—when I was thirteen. I even remember picking out my first pretty pink bra despite my mother’s rather demoralizing insistence that I didn’t quite have anything to put in it yet. But now, I’m a full-grown woman. I’m smart, independent, and more importantly: I haven’t worn pink in over ten years. Call me crazy, but when it comes to wooing gentlemen folk in the bedroom, I want to look like a sleek, sophisticated wanton goddess, not like I just raided my little sister’s knicker drawer.
Even when I did manage to find something a little more mature hidden in the back of some of the larger stores such as Peach John, all I managed to find was lazy, generic design and cheap material. My only other choice for something to get pulses racing was in the likes of the risqué but endlessly tacky Aimer Feel. Or, I could head down into the city’s basement sex shops—but I’ve always felt stripping down to some awful pleather/transparent combo is all a little too “porn star” for me. Do I really have to resign myself to a miserable fate of beige, thermal underwear that even most grandmas wouldn’t be seen dead in?
Across the globe, the market is crammed full of fantastic brands creating innovative designs with well-sourced material that allow the every day woman to get their hands on a little slice of high fashion without a couture price tag. Just look at the timeless styling used by the likes of Elle McPherson Intimates or the playful but most definitely grown-up options provided by Mimi Holiday. Japan, however, seems to be a barren wasteland when it comes to the elegant brands and independent boutiques that grace the world’s other fashion capitals.
While in the streets of London and New York, women in their twenties and thirties strive to portray themselves as overly mature, empowered and fiercely independent, Japanese kawaii fashion caters to youth in its extreme, constantly urging women to replicate a childlike innocence through overtly cute clothing that encourages them to look pretty in pink.
And it’s insanely impractical. Have you ever tried to make a tight fitting t-shirt look good whilst wearing a bra that makes your breasts look like a Swarovski showroom? I can assure you, the result is far from flattering. And what’s with all the padding? Being a woman of a similar frame to Japanese girls (and yes, that means I’m somewhat lacking in the chest area) I understand the pain. But while over the past ten years many designers have moved away from the Wonderbra look, instead encouraging women of all shapes and sizes to love what their mama gave them, everything over here still seems to have a pillow stuffed down the front. Is this really what the women of Japan want—to look like a 12-year-old child with the chest of Pamela Anderson?
Maybe it’s a guy thing. Perhaps instead of catering to women, the market is driven by many men’s attraction to all things kawaii, and in doing so pushing an unhealthy portrayal of sexuality that affects an entire generation. How else could a musically average band such as AKB48 thrive? Surely if fashion wasn’t so obsessed with all things cute, every intelligent, modern woman would realize it might not be so healthy to dress some of its 14-year-old members in overly sexualized schoolgirl costumes.
As a woman whose preference in lingerie attempts to replicate the complex, enigmatic silhouettes of the likes of Marlene Dietrich and Coco Chanel, the cutesy, vulnerable image of women’s fashion in Japan is something I don’t think I’ll ever be able to come to terms with. I guess for now I’ll have to spend my Saturday afternoons trawling the internet for imported negligee. Or maybe, on second thought, it might be worth investing in some Japanese lingerie after all—just to see the look on my fellas’ face as I whip off my little black dress to reveal nothing but Hello Kitty’s face covering my modesty.
