Opening image:
Kenzo Fashion Show Paris, France, 1982/1983 Sipa/Shutterstock
Art and fashion find themselves at an
intersecting axis. They make not one
straight line, but a complex angle on a
spectrum of culture and personal insight.
Through a career spanning almost three
decades, late Japanese designer Kenzo
Takada placed himself precisely on that
scope. Between vivacious oriental prints
and a rich colour palette, his approach to
fashion stood on the precipice of wearable
art. While Paris continues to mourn his
passing, Takada leaves a global legacy
that encompasses Asian heritage from
the East and couture from the West. A
vibrant spirit lives on in his design
masterpieces, that upend traditional codes
of couture for playful kimonos, collaged
dresses and tunics.
Born in 1939, Takada blossomed from
a humble childhood in Himeji, Japan.
Flicking through copies of his sister’s
magazines, the imagery sparked a creative
fire that would later fuel his desire for
luxury design. After following his parent’s
wishes, a young Takada refrained from
fashion to pursue literature studies in his
teenage years, yet a thirst for progress and
his father’s death meant he later took his
own pathway. It marked an ongoing credo
to be different, break rules and not treat
life so rigidly. Being the first male student
to enrol at Tokyo’s Bunka Fashion College,
where he designed up to 40 dresses a
month, Takada was trailblazing in both an
industry and era that shunned anything but
the normative. Recalling how his early years
were impacted by dyslexia, Takada used his
virtuous eye for drawing as an escape from
hardships – although his pivotal escape
came as a physical one, via a one-way ticket
to leave the country.
Traversing by sea, Takada reached French
shores in 1964, where he intended to stay
in Paris for six months. The sojourn was
proposed by his teacher as a cultural learning
trip, though Takada initially struggled to
adapt. “Paris was dark, cold and not at all
what it looked like in the magazines,” he
admitted. Armed with no acquaintances and
little grasp of the language, the voyage was a
gambit with one chance for success. His first
weeks were spent selling fashion sketches
for 25 francs a piece to costumiers including
Louis Feraud, and later, he toiled as a
stylist at local textile manufacturer Pisanti.
Optimism and a charismatic smile propelled
Takada further into the industry. The same
progress could not be said for his finances,
however. Spending no more than $200, his
first collections were sewn entirely from
cheap cotton, their only true value being the
love and craftsmanship from Takada’s very
hands. He could not afford wholesale fabrics,
or factory production lines, and with that
came the need for adaptability.
When picking his way through flea markets and the bustling stalls of Marché Saint-Pierre, a flair for eclecticism arose. Takada would collect silk swatches, and in doing so, grow his ability to merge a multitude of prints. This aesthetic, a bricolage of visual culture, came to define the brand identity. Such mix-and-match textiles are notable in his womenswear line, with Kasuri patterns evolving into distinctive stripes to achieve the post-1960s vigour for colour. Yet still managing to stray far from the space age and slender youthquake trends that had otherwise consumed the West. Takada chose to revive artistry over technology, so prioritised and took great pride in surface design.
Painting was a direct inspiration, particularly
Henri Rousseau and his esteemed jungle
works such as ‘The Dream’ from 1910
with its wild cats and dense forestry. This
reference precedes Kenzo’s tiger motif from
2001, under the creative direction of Carol
Lim and Humberto Leon, that can still be
found emblazoned on jumpers and trucker
caps alike. In the Takada universe, exotic
animals and botany had always felt familiar.
Indigenous dress in Japan used these symbols
for centuries, making it a natural progression.
However, more unnatural was Takada’s use
of multi-culture; wrapping layers to create
sweeping sleeves and doing away with
European constructs like darting, seams and
zippers. During an interview with WWD in
1976, the designer asserted that “peaceful
internationalism” was at the core of every
piece his team created. This traversed more
than Japanese influence, it could be seen in
Roman peasant skirts all the way to Mexican
and Scandinavian appliqué. Takada would
also dispense the confines of traditional
Japanese form, choosing to cut dresses above
the knee. The Kenzo girl dressed in bright
ruffles, billowing tiered skirts, with enough
juxtaposing fabrics to contest a textile mill’s
inventory. The shapes were oversized, their
flowery coverings were intricate.
By 1970, a boutique opening in Paris marked the debut of Kenzo Takada as a prominent fashion figure. The emporium was initially named ‘Jungle Jap’ in an ode to Rousseau, but was later made eponymous to avoid ethnic controversy. After moving into an old antique store in the Galerie Vivienne, the interior was decorated with climbing flora on the walls, opposing the golden, marble-fitted Parisian shop floors elsewhere in the district. To the then-elitist crowds, his work dismantled any lust for pompous frocks and infused buoyancy, even comfort, into luxury fashion. Women reached for unorthodox kimonos or knitwear, leaving debutante-style gowns on the hanger. This shift in taste ushered American Vogue and Elle, whose editors gave Takada a large front cover presence, the latter picturing a floral Kenzo button-up on the June 1970 issue. The designer remains something of a renegade, not only in his relish for clothing hybridity. In retail, his brand adopted an early see-now-buy-now model 45 years before it came to fruition across the industry. “It was just logical for me to show Spring in spring,” he said. Menswear became a brand focus in 1983 with its loose suits and Mao collars, followed by perfumes in 1988, but after a tumultuous year in 1993 when his life partner died and business partner suffered a stroke, Takada became distant.
After his retirement from fashion in 1999, the Kenzo brand continued below new direction, and today thrives under conglomerate LVMH. Takada left to explore new lands, he followed his heart into interior design, then dabbled in painting, always offering exuberant creative output into the world. One thing is certain; that each Kenzo creation is an heirloom. Treasure from a time when fashion first romanticised Japan, a tribute to the global ambition: “I am influenced by the world that says I influence it,” was a lasting mantra of his. Today, Takada remains a citation for the modern era of dress. He was the key that unlocked Parisian couture from its Western tethers, a designer that opened doors for Yohji Yamamoto and Rei Kawakubo in subsequent years, and took tradition across
continents. On his own version of a Silk
Road odyssey, Takada brought fresh textiles
to Europe, returning to Asia with newfound
credibility and respect from the West. Much
like souvenirs, his designs drew on elements
from the journey, ultimately as mirrors into
his experience; the cut-and-paste prints
honouring his penchant for doing a lot
with a little. This Takada approach was
also interwoven in pattern-cutting where
simple kimonos were met with bespoke
draping and sold for the first time on a
substantial scale. Those traditional shapes
and cuts came primarily from memories of
his family: “I was fascinated by mother. She
was omnipresent, and incredibly elegant in
the kimonos she wore so well.”
Takada did, however, oppose the creative
oppression of his parents, who worked as
innkeepers and could not understand his
inventive mind. Each Kenzo catwalk acted
as cultural theatre, incorporating dance and
expression, which stirred the centuries-old
decorum that Europe held. This advocacy
for change was found in Takada’s own
values. As a designer he wished to celebrate
marginalised cultures and democratise
fashion; making its joy available to the
masses. “Fashion is not for the few – it is
for all the people,” he told The New York
Times in 1972. With this mindset, his
designs were effortlessly free-spirited.
They held a simple purpose to make
the wearer feel happy and uplifted.
For Takada it was never about commercial
gains and adapting to Western trends –
instead, every garment was a fragment of
his youth, every garment was fun. Using
passion against destitution was an evident
formula for Kenzo’s success.
Where the brand prospered, so did the
extravagance of each new collection. In
1978, Takada’s idiosyncrasy reached a new
stage following a circus tent runway show
in which he rode an elephant. Radical
for the time, female acrobats wore sheer suits
on horseback to demonstrate his artistic
dexterity. It was carefree, it was Kenzo.
The shows had an infectious energy, where
his magical mind conjured up performances
with waltzing models and upbeat musical
scores. Alongside Issey Miyake, Takada
was one of the first designers from the East
to use bright colours in everyday dress. It
stemmed from his adoration of the arts,
ink paintings and fascination with Yves
Saint Laurent, who is famed for Mondrian-
style cocktail dresses. Never tentative,
each Kenzo look managed to synthesise
geisha brocades with much simpler cotton
patchwork or folklore knits. This signature
style carried through time and was later
used to design costumes for the opera and
Olympics. It reached a rank of distinction
that goes down in history.
At age 81, the fashion visionary sadly
passed away following complications with
the coronavirus. In symbolic timing, his
death occurred during Paris Fashion Week,
on October 4th 2020, only four days after
his brand showcased for Spring/Summer 21.
Takada departed in a hospital near to the city
where his career began. Paris – the same city
where he intended to stay for only a matter
of months, yet out of it forged a boundary-
defying lifetime. His designs made the City
of Light glow like a paper lantern, and they
too warmed fashion crowds to the beauty
of orientalism. Without Kenzo Takada, the
colours of art are muted and the sparkle of
fashion shines less brilliantly.