Day Two: The Kimono

The Japanese kimono has long been admired for its elegance, beauty, and relatively simple design. The intricate weaving is seen as delicately beautiful, and it creates an aura of gentle, feminine charm.
I’m not sure that was the case with me.

The arrival of my Japanese family’s friend (whom we will call Aiako-san for privacy’s sake) was what marked the beginning of the lengthy, nearly two-hour-long process of putting me in a kimono. After twisting my hair up into a bun, and placing a comb in it, I was given a brief explanation of how to wear the kimono underclothes and sent off to put them on. I probably would have received more assistance if it weren't for the lack of pants, which was necessary so the kimono didn't bunch weird. Originally, this didn't bother me, but this lasted only up until I put on the wrap skirt and realized that the pink fabric was almost completely see-through.

Feeling more than a little awkward, I folded up my pants and shuffled as fast as I could to the tatami mat room, trying to keep my butt angled towards the walls at all times. Luckily, I didn't have to worry about this for long, as I was quickly dressed in a short, pink kimono that was thicker and not see-through. Over this under-kimono went the actual kimono, which was yellow with flower embroidery in black, green and white.
I believe it was likely the obi that was so time-consuming. Honestly, I’m not really sure what Okasan and Aiako-san were doing, but I had multiple layers and strings tied around my waist by the end. When they went to go grab the socks (special socks that were like mitts for your feet), I just sort of stood there feeling unbalanced and quite certain that bending would be impossible. And, as it turned out, it was. If I dropped something, I had to shift into an awkward crouch to get it back.
But I was talking about the socks. There was a problem there that I had been going over in my head during my extensive dressing: I have big feet. Or maybe they’re average feet, but either way, there was just no way the socks were going to be big enough.
Unfortunately, my fears proved correct. My enormous feet were actually too big for the largest size available in Japan. I crammed my feet in anyway, but it really was a pity, as that meant the beautiful golden sandals didn't fit either.
Walking in the kimono was also an interesting experience. Because the fabric is close to the body, it’s more of a shuffle than a walk. But I have to say, I think the hardest thing to do in the kimono was get into the car. You have to sort of lean, lift the edge a little, and plop one foot in. Then, hop forward until you can sort of fall into the seat, bringing your other foot with you. Complete the process by folding both sleeves nicely on your lap. (You may need to rescue one sleeve from beneath your butt).

With all of us in the car, we headed to a shrine. Getting out of the car proved to not be quite as difficult as getting in, this was a relief to me because there were more people around to play witness to my awkwardness. Shuffling along and feeling vaguely like a Japanese princess, I explored the shrine with Okasan, Otosan, and Aiako-san. Before going in, we cleansed our hands and mouths at a small water area (for lack of a better word), drawing the water from the dish (?) with small wooden ladles.

Just as we were about to enter, a group of people came out and stopped on the steps. The girls were all wearing kimonos, and most of them clearly weren't Japanese. (I'm positive about this. One of them was blonde). The woman in the middle was however, and her kimono was pure white with an interesting head piece. Otosan told me that this was a Japanese wedding. We watched as the happy couple (a Japanese woman and an American [I’m assuming] man) got their pictures taken with their respective families organized on either side. After they moved on, we walked through. I got to pray out front (bow twice, clap twice, bow again), draw my fortune (which was good) and write on a small wooden picture. Both the fortune and the picture were hung outside the shrine when we left for good luck.

One deliciously self-butchered lunch later, we were back at the house again enjoying a Japanese tea ceremony with two more friends of Otosan and Okasan (let’s call them the Tanaka family). He spoke English, but his wife did not. They were both very nice, though.

The tea ceremony was interesting and presented another difficulty for me: Kneeling in the traditional Japanese way. My legs just weren't used to it and cramped up pathetically easily. I ignored this and sat traditionally anyway.

Near the end, Aiako-san (who was performing the ceremony) offered to let me try. I eagerly agreed and stumbled clumsily to my feet, my motions hampered by the kimono. I knelt beside her and she showed me what to do with gestures while I copied with the actual objects. My favorite part was definitely whisking the tea, for some reason it was just really exciting.

Everything was going great until I went to stand with the tray. I had been focused so intensely on what I was doing; I hadn't even noticed when my feet fell asleep. Trying to stand in a kimono with a tray in your hands and sleeping feet is no easy task, I assure you. Aiako-san had to take the tray while I pushed myself to a standing position with my hands and stumbled about for a minute. Fortunately, everyone there was very good-natured and easy-going, merely laughing along with me.

Changing out of the kimono proved to be much faster than dressing in it, and I was changed back to regular clothes within roughly five minutes. Everyone met in the living room, were we (yes, even me) talked for a while before the guests left. I was sad to see them go, they were all very kind people, and were very supportive whenever I said something in Japanese. When I thanked Aiako-san for helping with the kimono, they all cheered for me, a sweet gesture that made me feel like I'd accomplished something.

So in conclusion, people with big feet should not expect to be able to wear pretty kimono shoes. They will only be disappointed.