shojonotomo 1/2 :: Japan-Fashion.com

One is that I am the biggest procrastinator/perfectionist I know--and while I realize it isn't exactly the thing I want to highlight in a forum such as this, it is the truth. And my mother never liked liars.
And the second one, which may shock you to the point of clicking that little red button in the lower right corner of your screen (and may shock my dear sweet translator to the point of eating his keyboard), is that I went into this interview and assignment thinking...knowing...that I would not like Shoujo no Tomo.

Those of you who come to JF.com often (thank you, by the way) are more than likely familiar with Tomo, the enigmatic artist and designer whose work is often featured in places like the "Astro Vision" Screen near Omotesando Dori, the magazine Kera, and online adverts for Sony Playstation. You also probably know that she has taken her brand to places such as New York, the United Kingdom, Spain and Paris. That she has had exhibits in La Foret Museum in Harajuku, along with just about every other forum that will let her do what she does best. If you have your pulse on the Japanese street fashion and contemporary art movements, then I'm not talking to you. All that I have written was for the benefit of everyone else. Just to get the obligation out of the way and move on.
So why, you say. Why do you say you dislike this incredible, already well-known artist extraordinaire? Perhaps I am jealous of her success. Or it could be that I think her style and approach is vulgar. Or, maybe, I simply don't understand her artwork and can never hope to attain anything close to the creative wavelength necessary to comprehend this fashion rule-breaking muse of modern day pop art. Nevertheless, I was given an assignment, and on that day in mid-August, I was as committed to doing that assignment as much as I am right now.

"We always meet here," he said. Nobuyuki sat across from me at the table near the north side of the Wendy's, upstairs. The second level had the usual Americana-themed decor, accentuated by the sandy brown tabletops and canary yellow napkins. It was the lunch hour, but there weren't as many people. Not more than any other day. As usual, I was shaking. "Nervous?" Nobuyuki moved his bags to accommodate our guest, who hadn't yet arrived and apparently, as Nobuyuki noted earlier, was habitually late.

"I am always nervous. Every time, you know," I answered. "No matter how many times I do this. You haven't noticed?"

Nobuyuki shrugged, "You never look nervous."

I realized that I needed ketchup for my fries before they cooled, and I ran back downstairs to get some. As I came back, an elderly woman in front of me dropped her coke on the brown tiled steps. "Please, go ahead," she breathed to me, her soft Japanese labored with the exasperation and embarrassment of having to tell someone about the spill. I returned to the table by the window, took out my recorder, and after testing its battery a few times put it away again. Looking back out of the window, I was miffed to find that the weather (despite the reports and the lovely Roppongi street festival being held later in the day) had not cleared up, and cast a gray shadow on the things and people hoofing outside in Azabu-Juban. I looked at the time again. She still wasn't there yet.

After another couple of minutes, my fearless leader's head shot up towards the entrance. I didn't need to turn around to know she was coming. I heard her coming. Really the whole restaurant heard her. She ambled in with two seemingly heavy bags on either side of her small frame. The many necklaces and accessories that she wore jingled and did pendulum swings across her midsection as she rounded the table to sit her things on the chairs. Nobuyuki had already stood up. doing the customary introduction of Kim, his newest writer and the person who would be doing the interview this evening. I have the discipline of a three-year-old when it comes to Japanese mannerisms, and I stood up feeling awkward. While I know that most of the general public here do not expect strict manners (read: general public = young people) there is something about following them that gives you the comfort of knowing what is coming next.

A comfort, I was quickly finding out, that was simply not possible with Tomo around. "She looks young," she noted to Nobuyuki. Turning back to me, "How old are you?"

"Twenty-four."

"Young," she stated to no one in particular. She looked at the table, where I was finishing off my hamburger and decided to go downstairs before we started the discussion. I hoped, in an absent-minded haze, that she would avoid the mess made by Coke Granny earlier. A few minutes later, Shoujo no Tomo, complete with fries and a Frosty, was seated in front of me, ready for whatever question I had prepared to throw at her.

"So this is not your first time being interviewed with JF.com, is it?" I offered. Way to go, Captain Obvious.

"No," she said, voice gentle and bright. "We've known each other for quite some time." She nodded to Nobuyuki.

"Tell us about when you started designing." Nobuyuki assisted me, grinning a Cheshire's grin.

"Ahh, yes. I grew up away from Tokyo," she said, picking up a fry. "My mother thought I was strange. I would walk to school and collect garbage and make stories about the trash. And my mother would always say, 'why can't you stop doing things like this?' At school the kids would laugh at me while my sister was smart and everyone liked her...But I was good at drawing. So I thought, 'Maybe I should go to school for it'."

That schooling got its kick start when Tomo traveled to New York City several times later as an adult, for graduate school. She lived near Kent Ave, on the L Line in Brooklyn. That opened up a common channel: I stayed on Clinton Ave for a time when I was younger. She remembered going to places around Pratt Institute and walking the shoreline. "Life in New York was nice but hard. I soon ran out of money." Her stint in NYC more educational than lucrative, she decided that she would cut her losses and move on to greener pastures, even though she retained a desire to go back again someday.

I asked her if that was when she got her name. "It was very early on," she said, her kohl-lined eyes turning skyward. "But everyone gets the translation wrong, even my friends. Everyone thinks it means 'Little Girl's Friend'.

"What does it really mean?" I was half-afraid to ask.

"'Little Girl's Mind'."

I met Tomo's gaze after that statement.

I could see, in my mind's eye, a much younger and vulnerable Tomo, staring out across the iconic Bridge at night. My vision found her thinking about the people around her, about her struggles. When did she come to that realization, that everyone around her--even she--was reaching for something, something that they couldn't name. That they weren't sure they could reach it, or even if the people living on the opposing side of the Hudson even had it to offer to them.

And with that, my resistance to her charm wavered.