Hitoe are unlined kimono and they're a comparative rarity in modern kimono because the majority of people who now have kimono made only ever have one or two, so they tend to have the high-end type of furisode/tomesode with linings.

However, vintage hitoe kimonos are fairly readily available.  Nevertheless, searching for hitoe hasn't been high on my list of priorities. Perhaps I was put off by my first experience - a rare failing from Yamatoku. When it arrived, it was so filthy and faded that I had to take it apart for the fabric. Even then, it was mostly unsalvadgeable.

But back to this one. It's rare, says the vendor, Kofudo, and is either Taisho or Showa in the Taisho Roman style, and combines two of my favourite things: meisen silk and yabane pattern. Yabane is one of the most ancient patterns to be found in kimono, dating back to at least the Heian era (794-1195) and it's a stylised arrow feather or fletch. For centuries, it was equally to be found on men's kimono - it is, after all, a warrior symbol. Sometimes you find tiny yabane on garments, tightly packed, sometimes they're elongated to almost the length of the garment and sometimes, as here, they're just enormous.

I hadn't noticed until I'd already bought it and someone pointed it out, that the shading on the yabane is really pretty on this kimono. It's actually turquoise, not as blue as it seems in the pictures, and there are also lime-green bits that don't show up at all in photos. The combination of grey and black is also very subtle and attractive.   

When this kimono arrived I was made up - it's gorgeous. Really crisp, taffeta-like meisen (quite different from the pink one with cross-hatching) and only 390g, which is lighter than several of my yukata.

The juban, hardly visible, is just a sweet little polyester one that a vendor gave me with another purchase, and as an obi I'm wearing a length of rayon crepe kimono fabric with urushi chrysanthemums. 

The obi stay is my 5in deep one and it's very comfortable. Over it, I wrap the fabric front to back, then back to front, tie it in a knot, wrap it to the back again and knot it in a loose, floppy bow that lies flat enough that I can work at my desk. 

The kimono is very comfortable and smooth to wear, and the 18in-long sleeves stay well out of the way when you're typing.  

So this is me today in France in about 23 degrees and a high wind, having just taken off my tazuki cord and pinny (I was cooking lunch), and shod, although you can't see it, very inelegantly in Crocs (increasingly necessary after my foot operation last year). Time to invest in some tabi and zori, I think...

A couple of new kimono arrived today - both of them wool, which seems a bit weird in the middle of summer, but a girl likes to be prepared. 

This red one with a broken stripe is from KimonoBestBuy on Ebay, and was only a few cents. I'm guessing it dates from the 1950s from the colour, which in real life is rust-red shot through with black slubs, with additions of green in every other stripe. The fabric is the harsh, stiff kind of wool tsumugi that is practically bulletproof - very easy to wear.

I already have this same fabric in this purple wool komon, bought in 2004, and both are very different from my other wool komon - this navy one with Edo houses, which is much more like a gabardine in feel.

Throughout last winter I kept this navy one hanging up behind my desk as a popover, and it's really extraordinarily warm and comfortable - probably, overall, my most-worn kimono. 

I wear winter kimono over my thermals and a polo-neck sweater, and they're usually teamed - most unflatteringly - with Uggs, as our house is freezing in winter. 

The other kimono that arrived today was this man's one from KimonoBestBuy. Theoretically it's for me. I was so enamoured of the brown striped silk one that I bought for the DH recently, that I put in a one-dollar bid for this one just to make the most of the combined shipping from Japan.

I was the only bidder, which is madness really - this kimono is absolutely beautiful, pretty heavy at 980g, and very warm - the fabric feels something like a quality wool suiting. The DH's eyes lit up when he saw it and I can see I'm going to have to wrest it from him to have any chance of wearing it. My aim then is to hem it up by a couple of inches so that both of us can wear it.

Wool kimono are nearly always unlined, and although you're meant to dry-clean them, they're actually washable in the machine, in a lingerie bag - you need the lingerie bag to prevent the garment getting twisted and stressing the hand-done stitches. 

They are also always considered informal kimono. Wool was a late addition to the Japanese panoply of fibres, and is a western introduction, so cannot be considered as formal. Also, designs are always woven, which makes the garment inherently 'everyday'.

Geometrics and other kasuri-type weaves and abstract designs that look like solid colour from a distance are all common in wool, while multi-coloured pictorial designs like the Edo landscape are less common and considered a bit posher. 

I bought this Sha kimono quite recently from a vendor that was new to me - a British vendor called RubyMinky.

Ruby (as we shall call her) turned out to be a kimono collector like me, but with a far bigger collection that she was reducing, and she is also on the Immortal Geisha forum. 

This kimono only had two pix, not many measurements and not much description, so I was taking a bit of a risk, but decided to take a punt. Ruby described this particular garment as 'stiff' and when it arrived, she was certainly right - it was like a board. But it looked pretty robust, so I popped it in a lingerie bag and put it on a 30 degree wash. 

Sha, incidentally, is a robust, elastic, translucent silk gauze fabric with body, something like an organza, and it's usually decorated with a woven or embroidered pattern. In Japan, sha kimono were restricted to July and August wear only, and in ancient times, it could only be worn in August when the wearer was actually en route to the Imperial Palace.

I thought it might lose some dye (it's actually a very dark burgundy - less red than in these pictures) and indeed it did - enough to stain the bag, but not enough to cause any problems in the grey hibiscus flowers. And washing it also made it lose a deal of its stiffness (though not all, so several more washes are in order). It also absolutely reeked, of something like mothballs or possibly the size. 

While ironing it later, I realised the sleeves had been taken up by about six inches. I let these down as, as I prefer longer sleeves (you can see the difference between the picture above and the picture at top left), and I concluded that it was probably Showa era - this burgundy/grey colour combination is very 1950s in feel, though the large pattern could also be a hangover from the Taisho Roman style. I did a burn test on the excess fabric in the sleeve curve and it turned out to be silk. 

I've been wearing it all day today in 30-plus heat, and it's very comfortable. As you can see, I'm wearing it like a yukata, without a juban, for extra coolness, though it is still a little scratchy at the neck and would probably benefit from a tsuke-eri. I sashed it loosely at the waist with an old burgundy silk dress sash I had hanging around - it's a little too narrow, but will do for the moment - and held closed the neckline with a brooch. 

This light fabric that is translucent but nevertheless preserves modesty, and stands away from the skin is lovely to wear in this humid heat and allows through every breath of wind. A very nice kimono that I hope will see a lot of wear.

I thought I would post an update on this tomesode. 

I bought it from Yamatoku in 2004. It was my second purchase and I had no idea what to expect.  As you can see from the original blog post below, I couldn't find a way to wear it and ended up cutting it in half to make a skirt and a jacket (a decision that now makes me wince).

The problem was, I never wore the skirt or the jacket either, so this weekend, I disassembled both of them and pieced the kimono back together again. It went together well, with the only noticeable change being an extra seam at hip level, which - when worn - is tucked under the obi, so isn't visible. It involved a LOT of hand stitching, which I very much enjoy, so no worries there.

Now that, in 2010, I am more in the habit of wearing kimono with an ohashori, I think this one will get a lot of wear, especially for evening. It will be nice to change out of my workaday meisen, tsumugi or wool kimono into something posher for evening, and this one is also VERY warm, which will be useful in winter - it weighs over 1.5kg. 

I have come to the conclusion lately that tomesodes are actually one of the most practical and flattering garments to wear at home, despite their origins as occasionwear. In Japan, they would only be worn at weddings and other very formal occasions, but their dark background and busy patterns actually make them quite practical too, unlike furisode, houmongi, many tsukesage and - worst of all - iromuji kimono, which are very often in pale colours that you have to 'mind' constantly. I will probably buy more tomesode in the future, favouring the Taisho era.

However, even though it only dates from the 1970s, I feel very pleased to have resurrected this kimono - it is a really fine kimono in hitokoshi chirimen, with masses of surihaku, silk embroidery and urushi embroidery, and the pattern extends right through the inside. 

ORIGINAL BLOG POST 2004

This tomesode was ordered from Yamatoku and actually arrived in a batch with my black haori and another kimono I'll detail later. It dates from the 1970s.

Tomesode are considered the most formal kimono for married women and usually have relatively short sleeves (ie: shorter than furisode) with quite a squared-off lower corner, which shows that the wearer is married and not a girl. Tomesode carry all their pattern at the hem, while the top of the garment is left completely unpatterned. The pattern continues inside the garment - a characteristic of high-end kimono, as only brief glimpses are seen when the wearer walks. The majority of tomesode are black (kuro-tomesode), though occasionally coloured ones known as iro-tomesode can be found. 

This tomesode is the most formal type, with five crests, three of which you can see in the picture above. It's the equivalent of the little black dress of the west - suitable for formal events such as weddings, and traditionally worn by the mother of the bride.

On this kimono, the hem design is of stylised mist, with bamboo baskets with motifs of paulownia, 'dramatic flower' and Yusoku-Mon. Yosoku-Mon is one of the motifs reserved for the Emperor and nobility in the Heian era (794-1185). The baskets are also partly embroidered with lame yarn and the clouds are thickly painted with embossed gold and silver paint (surihaku). The lining is white habutai and although the pattern and the surihaku continue inside the garment, the embroidery does not, presumably to prevent it catching on the juban underneath. The pattern reaches almost to the collar, which shows it was worn by quite a young married woman - if the owner had been older, the pattern would have ended further down. 

I bought this kimono mainly for its fine applied work, which includes outlines in gold couching and several types of lame embroidery in red threads, multicoloured irridescent threads and plain silvers and golds. There is also gold couched embroidery around the outlines of the flowers, which is held down by double stitches of red thread. The surihaku is quite worn, which is something I like - in my beadwork and sewing I am interested in decay, so this appealed to me also. 

I had expected the embroidered sections to be beautiful, but what struck me on its arrival was the quality of the black background silk, from which the crests, white pick-stitching and white collar lining stand out beautifully. The next thing that struck me was the kimono's enormous weight. This is because it's made of what I now know to be hitokoshi-chirimen, a densely-woven dead matt crepe with a tiny wrinkle.The hem is also lightly padded and the metallic paints both inside and out also contribute to the weight. It has the feel of a suit or coat-dress - it's not a garment for lounging in.

I quickly realised that I had made a mistake with this tomesode in not checking the length - it was simply enormous on me. A Japanese woman would gather the excess into a fold at the waist, called the ohashori, but even with this technique the garment dragged on the floor. So, since tomesode are not rare and this one was not expensive, I decided to take it apart. With some trepidation, I cut it straight across at hip level, detatched the collars from the body and resewed them, and turned back the lapels to reveal their brilliant white lining. I then sewed white pearl fringing to the bottom of the jacket. What I'm left with is a Chanel-type jacket with a tie front, plus a beautiful wrap skirt for evening, both of which are very chic and comfortable to wear - though best not worn both at once or it looks like fancy dress. 

This is one of my new yukatas - navy cotton with hibiscus blossom (at least, I think it's hibiscus - it might be pawlonia).The description lists it simply as 'hana' - flower.

It's from Yamatoku, but I'm not sure how old it is - probably fairly modern (1960s-1990s?). Yamatoku no longer lists age on its descriptions for some reason. But it is hand-painted aizome, much to my surprise, because when I bought it, I assumed it was a print.

This may be an unmarried woman's yukata, judging from the brightness of the print, curve of the sleeve and the narrowness of back (only 18.5in).  On the other hand, it may be a simple 'Genroku' sleeve. But I find this sleeve shape more attractive than the modern married woman's sleeve in any case, so I will be leaving it as is. It's also not too narrow - in fact, surprisingly comfortable. I was expecting to have to extend it at the shoulders.

I have been wearing this yukata a lot since it arrived and I've also been sleeping in it. The dark and busy colouring doesn't show the dirt, and the short sleeves stay out of the way, so it's useful for working.

The cotton is well-washed and worn, but at 590g, it's not my thinnnest yukata and in our 30-plus summer heat, I may well switch to something a bit thinner today.

Currently, it's sashed with a bit of shibori silk I made, I will be making an obi for it from a busy print cotton, I think, which should go well with this lively pattern. 

It's 30 degrees in France today and all day I've been wearing my new blue Sha kimono with white yabane.

This kimono cost only 99 cents on Ebay - I was the only bidder - and was described as 'mixed fabric'. The yabane pattern is a stylised arrow fletch and is one of the most ancient patterns seen on kimono. 

When it arrived, I quickly decided it was rayon. I know this partly from the feel but also because I did a burn test, cutting off the tiny scrap of fabric that is left over inside the sleeve edge gathering. This is a spare bit of kimono I've found quite useful for burn testing. You hold the fabric securely in tweezers, light it and check the results. In this case, no smell of burning hair (therefore not a protein fibre), no sticky black residue or plastic smell (so not synthetic), and very weak and crumbly black fibres with the surrounding fibres noticeably weakened (an indicator for rayon).  

I'm not sure how old this kimono is - somewhere between the 1930s and the 1950s by the feel of it, and also judging by the long sleeves. Long sleeves are seen on girls' kimono even now, but this is a kimono for an adult woman - hence the squared-off sleeve edge. Such long sleeves were more common on this kind of kimono in the Showa era.

This kimono is too short to fold at the waist and create an ohashori, so today I secured it with elastic and just tied a ribbon round it. Then I decided to tie the elastic over the ribbon to create a two-tone effect, like an extremely narrow obi (see below). I secured the neck shut with a brooch (left) - a measure that I find works well for me, though as a long-term solution, I think velcro might work better. I'll also consider adding interior ties, given that an ohashori isn't possible.

Afficionados will notice that I've worn this kimono without a juban, as if it was a yukata. It is a tiny bit see-through, but not too much, and the rayon fibre is very cool against the skin. Because I do wear western underwear underneath too, rather than Japanese, I also secured each open side panel with a single stitch about two inches below the sleeve join. This leaves the side body open, but stops it from gaping and showing your bra. 

I've felt extremely comfortable all day in this kimono, which is light, airy and has cool colours with the white and blue. It also has a massive stain on one breast, but it's not actually all that noticeable and I hope will come out in time. If it doesn't, I'll consider fabric painting over it or overdyeing.  

The reason that kimonos are so wonderful to wear in the heat is that they protect your skin from the sun from neck to feet, but are open under the arms, which makes them very breezy items for a hot summer day like today. 

I have been buying kimono again after a long gap, and oh what a joy it is.

The main reason has been the recession - for a couple of years, there simply hasn't been the money to spend on things that I don't actually need, however beautiful they may be. But just recently, things have improved a bit, so I have been able to indulge myself a little. 

The other reason, though, is that I've come up with a form of kitsuke that actually fits my life.

There are many people who dress up in kimono very formally, keen to obey all the 'rules' about what kind of obi goes with what kind of kimono, and how you should wear your collar, etc. 

I am not one of those. Kimono have to fit into my everyday life. That means I have always worn my haoris a lot, over dresses, skirts and jeans (sometimes with the collars flipped forward and the ties held on by buttons), but my long kimono almost never got an outing. I felt rubbish about cutting into them to deal with the overlength, and had quite given up on formal kimono such as tomesode houmongi etc, because I hated to wrap left over right.

However, last winter was glacially cold and in searching about for something to wear, I suddenly realised that kimono were warmer and more comfortable than almost everything else I owned. I started keeping my navy wool komon in the office, to wear as a popover, and now, for some reason, I am suddenly wearing my long kimonos and yukatas, duly wrapped left over right, as if I had always done it this way. 

The trick, I've realised, is the oshahori - the fold that you put in the waist of a modern kimono. I had always avoided this, instead preferring to shorten kimono from the hem, but if you do an ohoshori right, the kimono stays tight shut rather than flapping open all the time. I have come up with a method of securing it with a 2-yard piece of satin lingerie elastic. Fold it in half, slip the raw end through the loop and pull taut, then twist the loose ends in - voila. A very comfy koshi-himo that stays put but can be loosened with just a tug in the right place. 

Over the fold, I wear either a narrow sash, or a length of kimono fabric folded in half lengthways and wrapped round 2-3 times. Whatever way, the bow goes at the front - I sit in a chair  to work and I can't be doing with a taiko bow or somesuch getting in the way. Japanese women wore their obis tied softly at the front for centuries, so I refuse to feel bad about not going in for the obi-ita, obi-jime, obi-age and all the other gubbins that go along with the taiko musabi. Next step is to start making my own obis, I think. I have some cut-off stiff silk from a damaged fukuro that might take a bit of stencilling and work quite well. 

I'll blog individually about my new kimonos separately, but suffice it to say that it's got a bit out of hand, just like before. I must now slow down a bit. But meanwhile, do enjoy these new purchases. They include this black meisen with shaded yabane, blue jinken sha with white yabane, green and yellow tsumugi with takewaku pattern, and grey wool hippari (or possibly a dochugi). I've also bought wool kimono, cotton kimono, juban and yukata, and for the DH four wafuku - a haori, a yukata, a summerweight wool juban and a heavy winter-weight silk kimono, of which I'm deeply envious - they are gorgeous. 

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.