A friend of mine recently took part in a community theatre project in which participants performed monologues based on their own lives. Those selected through an open call created one-person shows that drew on personal experiences, many of them attempting to turn past emotional wounds into theatrical expressions allowing the performers to process and heal them together with the audience.

Because each play focused on the performers’ everyday realities, their costumes were simply everyday clothes. Some wore simple T-shirts and denim that looked as if they had been bought at a major SPA retailer, while a woman appeared in outfits reminiscent of an office worker’s style—known in Japan as the now-outdated term ‘Office Lady’ (OL)—such as a blouse paired with a pencil skirt, though that look no longer feels particularly current.

As for my friend, she portrayed three personas dwelling within herself: “Reasonable,” “Desirous,” which she described as “me first”, and “Empty.” Each persona took the stage to deliver a speech as if running for office, and the performance drew frequent laughter while still fighting to retain emotional weight.

At the opening, she began the piece in a white blouse and black cotton trousers. But for reasons not immediately clear, she reappeared as “Empty” wearing a slightly eccentric cardigan as if changing character. The cardigan itself was a plain white piece, yet a strip of white fabric nearly a meter long trailed loosely from the hem, swaying as she moved.

It looked just because she had simply found it at home. After the show, however, she explained that the director had suggested she “drag something behind you, something like a slug,” which led her to sew white fabric onto the cardigan. Hearing that, for someone like me, who rarely encounters stage productions, the idea felt quintessentially theatrical.

The Character of Materials

It has been a long time since people seriously cared about TPO, another term that may already feel outdated. Even so, clothes are still worn under certain personal concepts, and material, design, and brand function as signs that convey meaning.

Take Bemberg™ known as its generic name, cupro, mainly used in apparel, for instance, while it is promoted as a refined and elegant material, its use is broader than formal, “glossy” occasion wear. It appears in everyday innerwear, socks, T-shirts, and even yoga wear.

Depending on how it is woven or knitted, on the materials with which it is combined and on the finishing method, it might even express the moist, languid quality of a character overcome by a sense of emptiness, something very much like the texture of a slug.

Although the idea of strict TPO has faded, given that the sign of clothing is grounded in cultural context, Bemberg™, often associated with the preconceived notion of being ‘elegant, delicate, and hard to handle,’ rarely becomes a sign for the worn-out ‘me’ navigating a monotonous life, the despairing ‘me’ burdened by a spouse’s debts, or the self-centered ‘me’ who acts on desire with a ‘me first’ mindset.

Nor does it necessarily suit someone whose personality gives off the same impression of being elegant yet difficult to deal with.

Instead, fabric made from Bemberg™ yarn with its soft and distinctive hand feel, graceful drape, and excellent color depth naturally evokes someone who carries both gentleness, grace and dignity. However partial this may sound coming from me, that seems to be the character it most readily suggests.

Communication Through Clothing

The play I saw the other day took place on an empty stage where the actors themselves brought on only minimal items such as a simple chair or a lectern, and the absence of elaborate props unintentionally drew my attention to their clothes. Although the actors’ costumes were merely everyday clothes, they served as props that underscored their confessions of their lives and deepened the audience’s understanding and empathy.

Watching the performance made me newly aware of how significant clothing can be, yet in recent years I feel like I can’t find clothes I truly want to wear. I grew up hearing that fashion trends come around again, but after living for nearly fifty years, it feels as though I have already seen the same cycles three times. It is difficult to find freshness in design now, and I feel that if I want to keep enjoying clothes, I’ll need to raise the resolution of my perspective and pay more attention to fabric textures and the silhouettes they create.

The play ended without revealing the election results among the three personas residing in my friend’s heart. I wanted to cast my vote for Empty—the persona clad in a slug-inspired costume, delivering a strangely real and compelling speech despite its inherent emptiness.

（Asahi Kasei PR）