“I became aware of all the magnificent silk wrapped around my body, and had the feeling I might drown in beauty”— From Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden.
By Lisa Stephens
The image of the classical Japanese woman has always fascinated me: a legendary porcelain doll finely draped in luxurious silks and embellished with elaborate decoration, a feminine fantasy wreathed in theatrical aplomb and mystery.
But it wasn’t a geisha I envisioned.
It was the tayu Oiran, the ultimate in Japanese elaboration and status. The Oiran were the super celebrities of the so-called water world of traditional Japan. Oiran were the top earners, the superstars, the extraordinary mistresses of princes and emperors. It was they who wore the most expensive clothes, the most elaborate hairstyles, the finest jewels and who lived surrounded by a staff of servants. The Oiran, alone among courtesans, had the privilege of picking and choosing her clients. She was the top.
So when I visited Tokyo to begin a Pacific cruise with Silversea Cruises aboard Silver Muse, I wanted to experience the fantasy of an Oiran makeover: a full-out session of makeup art, hairdressing, choosing gorgeous silk kimonos, sashes and coat layers from a treasure vault of priceless garments, being wrapped and wreathed in acres of silk, jewels and perfection. And, of course, documented by a professional photography session in a well-equipped studio guided by expert stylists and photographers.
I chose a very well-regarded studio in the Asakusa entertainment district, Studio Nanairo, for my three and a half hour makeover and photo session. My hotel concierge made the appointment and I arrived at the sleek, modern studio to be welcomed by Kay, my stylist and guide, who greeted me in perfect English.
As she escorted me up the staircase to the first fitting room where I would select my inner kimonos, we were preceded by a quiet man in grey who exited into another studio labeled Samurai Dojo.
“Samurai…?” I murmured, surprised.
“Oh yes,” she replied. “He is an authentic samurai,” that is, not merely a practitioner of the martial arts, but a member of one of the old families who have upheld the elite warrior tradition since feudal times.
I gasped as Kay opened the door to Studio Nanairo’s kimono room. Its walls were lined with racks of hundreds of the most dazzlingly beautiful silk garments I’d ever imagined, all arranged by color groups and patterns. Flowers, gardens, birds, waves of color and fantasy filled the room.
Kay laughed politely as I stood, awed. “Perhaps you’d like to choose a color group first?” she suggested. I obviously wasn’t the first client to be taken aback by the selection.
The aqua group? The spring green? Yellow? The lavender? Deep purple? That heartbreakingly delicate white with the tiny violets?
The red. It had to be red, I decided. That narrowed it to only about 20 red possibilities. My hand reached out instinctively to one. Then, to another. And what about…? No mythical princess in a palace ever had a more enticing dilemma.
At last, having made my initial selection, accompanied by choosing an inner silk collar, undergarments, sandals and white thabi socks, I was taken into the makeup studio.
Here I was met by my hairstylist and I settled into the chair. She began quietly brushing and combing my hair after asking me about some of my preferences as Kay slipped on a discreet paper breathing mask before leaning forward to begin my makeup transformation. Her touch on my skin was so delicate as to be almost unfelt as she worked steadily with brushes, powers and creams, lashes and stick-on nails, transforming me.
Behind me, my hairstylist was twirling my shoulder-length hair with hot curlers, pinning it up, adding mounds of padding and braiding long strands. And then she used the braids to attach a huge Princess Leia-like donut-shaped hairpiece, nearly as wide as my shoulders, to the back of my head. A crown. A halo. If my own hair had been waist-length, I guessed she might have been able to use it alone to make the halo.
But that wasn’t all. She presented me with a selection of flowers and huge hatpins adorned with bright beads to weave throughout my hair. I scarcely knew which to choose, they were all so glamorous.
And one more thing to decide: a selection of sparkling mirrored tiles dangling from the ends of long chopsticks. Did I want the long or short version? I held them against my face. The short ones ended at my eyes, now dark pools with long lashes, the longer ones at my chin, emphasizing my newly red lips. Oh heck, I thought, I’m in so deep now I might as well go for the long version.
Next I was ushered into a tatami-matted room to begin the process of being wrapped and cocooned into my kimonos and robes. First came a washable inner kimono with a detachable silk collar, the nagajuban.
This was secured by a wide wrapper around my midsection, the datejimi, which Kay wrapped firmly but gently around several times, tightening each turn just a bit more. I could breathe comfortably, but certainly not slouch into a chair.
Then she added the next layer, the kimono, my lush silk choice.
Now it was time for another decision. The tatami room contained a wall of shelves filled with ornate obi, wide swaths of silk brocade, each about 4 meters (13 feet) long. In spite of the beauty and delicacy of the kimono, the obi can often be more expensive to purchase and each style of wrapping and knotting is laden with meaning and degrees of formality.
Mine was to be wrapped and knotted in the traditional Oiran style, with the knot in the front rather than the back. This large bow was then stuffed with silken pads to stiffen it and billow it out. I couldn’t help wondering how a potential suitor might ever get close to me with all this fabric.
But wait, there’s more!
Another wall of heavily brocaded silk coats, uchikake, was revealed and I stood dazzled at the new choices. These grand robes, Kay explained, were usually worn only outdoors or in the winter and are often seen only on brides nowadays. But oh, that red with the black and gold and embroidered white cranes! It was almost too beautiful to bear. But what about the one with the cherry blossoms? No couturier in Paris ever worked with more sumptuous fabrics.
I slipped into my zori sandals and was gently ushered into the studio after somewhat clumsily brushing my new saucer hairpiece against the unfamiliar width of a doorway.
Once placed onto the set, I was expertly led through a series of poses and props, with my photographer gently murmuring posing hints and approvals as Kay sat alongside, adjusting my robes for each shot.
At that point, I was so far removed from my everyday reality that I found myself drifting along, smiling enigmatically, and imagining scenarios, romances and secrets in the moonlight as the camera clicked away.
The result was a stunning portfolio of more than 60 portraits, from which I chose – again with difficulty – four to be enlarged and printed on the spot, and took the entire shoot home on a thumb drive. The package came to about $500.
Expensive? Perhaps. Or a priceless experience? I’ll go with priceless.
Lisa Stephens is Editorial Director of The Cruisington Times.
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