Michiyuki means 'goes over everything'. Since at this time I was aiming in my collection to have an example of every type of kimono, I bought this one, attracted by its busy floral print of stylised chrysanthemums and its gorgeous water-colour dyed lining. However, I wasn't sure the shape would suit me. 

  Although the outer silk is dyed, it copies a Yuzen technique in leaving white areas around the motifs and also has applied gold surihaku dots in the middle of the flowers, while the lining is a startling rainbow of yellow, jade and salmon pink dyed in a gradated technique.

On arrival, I simply loved the print and the gorgeous figured Rinzu silk, as well as the lining (also Rinzu) but oh - the style. It was awful. I am quite a busty girl and when closed this garment looked terribly frumpy. The depth of the neckline is huge, because it's designed to go over a full kimono and juban, and show the han-eri.

  I decided to salvage it if I could. Firstly I took off the front overlap, stitched the side sections closed and made a long collar out of the front section. This didn't work. The garment was still too narrow at hip level. So I opened up the seams and created side vents. Sadly, this didn't work either, so I decided to take the garment apart for the fabric.

It proved to render up quite a lot of fabric, because michiyuki's are self-lined to the shoulder, and the fabric simply wraps around the bottom hem and straight back up.

A couple of years later I used the fabric to make a lovely neck scarf, which remains one of my favourites, and a lingerie top cut on the bias. I also used the lining fabric to make a similar top. Michiyukis are cheap and plentiful but I won't, obviously, be buying one again except for the fabric.

I was feeling rather disillusioned by my recent failture with kimono number 5, but my next kimono was a resounding success. This pink Rinzu kimono uses three separate techniques - Bokashi watercolour dyeing to give the background silk a shimmer, plus kanoko shibori and boshi shibori to create the pattern.

I fell in love with the sugar-pink colour of this kimono and didn't know at the time that it was Rinzu. It was also my first purchase from a new vendor, Ryujapan. When it arrived, I realised it was the 'feel' of kimono I'd been searching for - very negligee like and feminine. The lining was also beautiful, with the hakkake (bottom section) dyed in an ombre style. 

Kanoko (deer-dot) shibori is a technique in which small sections of fabric are looped with threads and pulled tight, which acts as a resist. It produces a white ring on the fabric similar to the markings on a young fawn.  Boshi shibori uses an item such as a cork or a coin to provide an area of resist or which can be dipped into dye - in this kimono, this is how the red 'flowers' are created. 

It is part of the Japanese aesthetic that the design of the Rinzu should oppose the pattern applied to it - hence leaves and streams in the silk itself, and flowers applied on top.  

I shortened this kimono to ankle-length and took up the ombre lining from the doura (top lining) rather than the hakkake (bottom lining) in order to preserve the ombre shading. I find this kimono very pleasing and feminine to wear.

This kimono was my first purchase of a hitoe - an unlined kimono. I bought it because it was Omeshi, and I was keen to see what this fabric was like. In fact I didn't know at the time, but I already owned an Omeshi kimono - my yellow townwear with urushi roses.

This kimono has a lovely background treatment like sharkskin, in what the vendor Yamatoku called 'kame-komon' style, topped with a design of Edo-period houses joined by a stylised stream. It was on sale at rock-bottom price and described as basically in good condition but with dirt spots, but I was attracted to its wonderful texture and had also notice the urushi threads, which were not mentioned in the description. I decided that would redye it or remake it into a jacket if it would not come clean, so I risked a bid. 

On arrival it proved to be absolutely filthy, but unfortunately it couldn't be washed. I took off the collar guard to try this out and it produced copious quantities of burgundy dye, which stained the front surface of the omeshi dark pink. 

Sadly, since I do not have access to a specialist dry cleaner, I had to write off this purchase as a mistake - I have still not been able to do anything with the fabric. Just goes to show that you do have to watch your step when buying online. I hope one day to get the fabric dry cleaned and at that point it will be usable for something. 

I bought this 'townwear' kimono from Yamatoku. 

Townwear kimono are assembled from bolt silk, so the design is equal in all areas of the garment rather than being placed at the hem. This makes them inherently less formal than furisode, tomesode and other formal kimono such as tsukesage or houmongi.

I was attracted to this kimono because of the sheen of the silk, while the roses were in urushi, which was a technique I already knew I liked. I'm particularly fond of yellow and the balance between the primrose coloured ground silk, the pink roses, the silver lame and the peach lining was very effective.

Roses, incidentally, are considered a casual flower in Japanese art, unlike older flowers such as pawlownia.

On arrival, I fell in love with the silk and contacted Yamatoku to ask what it was. This was when I learned it was Omeshi, a tough crepe silk of almost furnishing weight.  The silver lame threads turned out to be copper-coloured and really quite beautiful.

As ever, the kimono was too long, so I shortened it from the hem so that I could wear it as a kimono.

After wearing the garment regularly for a couple of weeks, it began to soften up and developed a better drape. Around the house, I often wear it with a t-shirt and leggings or tights, with a front-tied obi. To my surprise, although it is a pale colour, it sheds dirt very well and remains surprisingly clean.  

Houmongi - literally 'visiting dress' - are the most flamboyant kimono permitted for a married woman. They can also be worn by unmarried women, though most prefer to carry on wearing the longer-sleeved furisode while they still can. However, this houmongi has more rounded sleeves than the tomesode above, and the sleeves are quite long at 24 inches, which may mean it was indeed worn by an unmarried woman. 

Houmongi are considered suitable for almost every occasion - visiting friends, going about town, and performing traditional arts such as ikebana. On this houmongi, the pale mint-green silk ground is woven with a design of streams, then multicoloured flowers are painted on top using the Yuzen technique. I was attracted to this kimono mainly for its lovely colours, especially the the background green, but also because of its distinctively Japanese appearance. 

On arrival, to be honest, I was slightly disappointed in it. Although the silk was beautiful and very textured - it may in fact be fukuro-ori - it was as stiff as a board with size and the synthetic lining stiffened it further. Because it was also lightweight, the garment didn't hang nicely. The colour that I had thought was red turned out to be a dull rust and the pattern that had appeared so pretty at a distance was coarser in close-up - in fact I took it to be a print. Once again, the garment was enormously long (though very narrow), so I was learning that I needed to pay more attention to this aspect of kimono.

After humming and hawing for a while, I decided to take the garment apart completely and use the fabric. I checked it carefully before washing, by sponging it and using an iron and a white cloth. Nothing came off, so I was able to wash the silk, after which it was much softer and more pleasant on the skin. From it, I made a loose jacket about 30 inches long, with short sleeves like a happi coat and a narrow collar, which gave me several pieces left over for scarves.

It was, in fact, only when I dissassembled this kimono that I realised it was Yuzen. The technique hadn't been described by the vendor Yamatoku and I hadn't realised the background silk was actually cream and only painted green where it was visible. The colour runs out at the fold lines, which makes sections of the silk impossible to use. However, I've now got a lovely summer jacket out of it, so I'm happy.