The yukata is the cooler summer version of the kimono. It’s an important difference, but it does not make a yukata any simpler to put on.
With Japan’s summer festival season kicking off, I figured it’d be a great time to wear a yukata. In public. No, I’m not sure what I was thinking. I haven’t found it that difficult to dress myself for over two decades.
Keeping everything in place involves lots of hidden straps and ties. This particular one had four things to tie in place. They all get tucked in behind the belt, creating an uncomfortable ‘bloated/preggo’ feeling around the middle. I imagine this is what a Christmas turkey would feel like. A full day of this was going to be a challenge.
Choosing a belt in a different colour to the yukata makes it look much less like a set from a discount store. Trust me on that one.
It was roughly halfway to my destination that I realised I’d made a MASSIVE error. I’d used a tutorial video, and accidently folded the yukata the wrong way. That’s not like wearing a T-shirt inside out and hoping nobody notices. The ‘wrong’ way is the way that dead bodies are dressed for burial. Okay, my skin’s a proper British shade of A4, but I’m not a zombie!
Here’s how it looked once I hastily redid the entire thing in a loo cubicle.
As you can see, I put my hair up. To stay cool, and to fit in. So many women have their hair up when wearing a yukata that I suspect it might actually be the law.
What you won’t spot in these pics are my wooden shoes. Geta are meant to be worn with a yukata. I got there and loads of people were in sandals. That’ll teach me. I had so much gravel embedded in my geta, I could’ve opened a garden centre.
The upside to putting in the effort was getting compliments on said effort. I also had a little cloth bag and a parasol, so with the skin tone I maybe looked more like a geisha than intended. Resisting the urge to say ‘yukata’ instead of ‘yokatta’ (I’m so glad) was painful. You know how I feel about puns. In yukata, we trussed (up).
