A third person, and 30 years.

Deliberately destroy new denim, then repair it again.

Put into words, it is quite a strange thing we are doing.

but yesterday I wrote about AVM and "the special scenery beside it."

Finally, I wrote about "how far you can go along with something that does not need to be taken that far,"

Today's piece is probably the ultimate example of that.

Make new denim, fade the color, add whiskers, abrade it, tear it. Then repair the places we went to the trouble of tearing. If you think about it normally, we could simply have left them untorn from the start.

And even after going that far, it is not finished. Including the repaired areas, we soften it once more so that it looks like something that has been thoroughly worn in.

Make it, destroy it, repair it, and create time again.

This is a different kind of ordeal from yesterday's K10 WHITE GOLD chain.

Good evening. This is Matsushima from cantáte.

 

What we made this time is Denim Flare Trousers - CRASH & REPAIR 〈SHADOW INDIGO〉.

<cantáte>

"Denim Flare Trousers - CRASH & REPAIR"

COL : SHADOW INDIGO

¥92,400 TAX IN

 

The base is denim that began with 1950s LEVI’S 501XX and has been reworked in cantáte's own way.

We want the rugged character of denim from that era. But we do not want to reproduce its weight and stiffness exactly. Especially considering the conditions in which we wear clothes today, being able to wear it in summer is important. So we adjust the warp tension and thread count, retaining denim's distinctive presence while making it feel dry against the skin and lighter than expected.

Rather than copying vintage pieces as they are, we look at old garments and reconsider only what is needed for life today.

That is how cantáte has always made its denim.

But this time, the story is about what comes afterward rather than the fabric itself.

When considering this treatment, there was something we decided first.

We did not want to make denim worn continuously by one person.

What I imagined was a single pair that had passed through the hands of three owners.

The first owner buys them new.

Perhaps they were not a denim enthusiast. They were not trying to cultivate beautiful fades, nor were they counting how often they washed them. They simply liked them and wore them often.

They wear them to work and on days off. They stuff things into the pockets. They sit in chairs. They crouch. They walk. They get caught in the rain.

As they are worn for years that way, the deep indigo gradually fades. Whiskers form at the waist, and strong variations in tone emerge on the thighs. The knees and hem become abraded, and the fabric itself grows softer.

And then they tear.

This is where the first person's time ends.

Maybe something happened, or maybe they simply got tired of them. We do not know.

But then there was someone who came into possession of those jeans next.

They are the second owner.

The second person repairs the torn areas. But they were not trying to return it to a pristine condition.

Repair only the areas that need it, and wear it again.

The whiskers made by the first owner remain. The abrasion remains too. Repair stitches are added on top, and from there, the movements of the second person's body begin to overlap as well.

The repaired areas develop wear again. The newly applied fabric softens and settles in.

The second person's time builds on top of the time created by the first.

This is what I wanted to do most of all this time.

When we talk about vintage treatment, the conversation inevitably tends to become about "how many years of wear should it look like?" But when you look at genuine vintage clothing, the interesting part is not just the number of years.

Someone used it, someone repaired it, and then someone else used it again.

When the person changes, the way the denim is handled changes too. Bodies are different. Lives are different.

So denim worn by one person for ten years and denim worn by two people for five years each would not have the same appearance, even though both represent ten years.

That was what I wanted to create this time.

That is why simply fading the color heavily is not enough.

We made the whiskers stronger than on a standard VINTAGE WASH and actually created the crushing. Then we applied the repairs and softened even those repairs until they no longer looked new.

If the denim itself looked old while the repairs looked as though they had been done yesterday, this story would not work.

Rather than giving everything the same amount of time, we had to make it so that different amounts of time seemed to have passed for each one.

Of course, it is a lot of work.

From the processor's perspective, it would be much easier simply to fade the color normally and call it done. But without going to that trouble, the story of "three owners" would become nothing more than a premise.

To me, it has become a much more masculine-looking face than cantáte's usual denim.

The whiskers are strong. There is crushing, too. The repairs are also quite visible.

Normally, I would probably stop at a quieter point. But this time, I did not want to stop there.

Because this is not denim that I wore in a neat, pristine way.

There is a first person and a second person.

To show what those two people have done, it is better for them to have a slightly rougher appearance.

And the silhouette is cantáte's flare.

It gently widens toward the hem. While keeping the waist area neat, the line gradually opens from below the knee. It is not a silhouette that declares, "I'm wearing flares."

We considered the balance with this treatment as well. Since the denim's character is already this strong, making the shape strong too would make everything stand out at once. So the silhouette remains the usual cantáte.

You can also go with your usual size.

But I also think it looks great worn one size up.

There is a little extra room around the waist, and the softened fabric falls naturally as it is. That slightly loose balance also suits the strong whiskers, crushing, and repairs this time.

Also, when it comes to treated denim, some people occasionally worry about whether the placement of the whiskers matches their own knees.

But I think the very act of trying to make that fit is a little nonsensical.

Because these are processed from the start.

These are not whiskers I created by wearing them for years myself. And this time in particular, the premise is that the third person acquires denim worn by a fictional first and second person.

Then, it is actually more faithful to the story if the whiskers are not in the right place.

It's fine if the knee fades sit a little below your own knees. It's fine if the waist whiskers do not perfectly match the movements of your body.

Vintage clothing is the same.

The previous owner's height, leg length, and way of walking are different from yours. Even so, it is interesting because you wear them together with the traces that person left behind.

If you want fading that fits your body perfectly, you can wear them yourself from rigid.

What I wanted to do this time was the opposite. To take on someone else's time, beginning in the middle.

Seen that way, wearing your usual size is fine, or you could deliberately go up one size. When you find a pair of denim you like at a vintage clothing shop, you really want a 30-inch waist, but the one in front of you is 32 inches. It's the only pair there.

They try them on, just to see, and they are a little large. But that discrepancy is strangely cool.

You don't have to make the processed whiskers, the size, or anything else fit you perfectly. I think these jeans suit being just a little off.

And here, finally, the third person appears.

The first person wore them from new. They faded the color, rubbed them, and tore them.

The second person acquired them. They repaired the tear and wore them again. The color faded further, and even the repairs became familiar to the body.

Then the pair carrying those two people's worth of time appears in a vintage clothing shop. Someone who happens to enter the shop finds them. They are slightly large. But somehow, they catch their attention.

They try them on. Look in the mirror. "Well, I suppose they can be this big." And they buy them and take them home.

That third person is the person who will take these jeans into their hands.

Of course, it is all fictional. In reality, there is no first person or second person. They are new.

But sometimes clothes suit what might have happened better than what actually happened.

This denim was made as a special order for Silver and Gold.

COMES A TIME, the parent company of Silver and Gold, celebrates its 30th anniversary this year. And Silver and Gold, which began from there, celebrates its 25th anniversary this year as well.

Thirty years. It's remarkable, isn't it?

I have not been making clothes for 30 years yet, nor have I run a shop for 30 years. So I cannot fully understand what that span of time truly amounts to.

It was only after I became someone who makes clothes that I gradually began to understand how difficult it is to keep going.

Starting something new can be surprisingly easy. There is momentum, and the people around you find it interesting. But continuing is another matter entirely.

Some years sell well, and some do not. Sometimes what you think is good fails to get across, while at other times something you never expected finds its way into someone's life.

Trends change, and customers change. I change, too. Even so, you open the shop, choose clothes, and welcome customers.

Thirty years of that.

I am not particularly interested in the word "anniversary" itself. I don't think it's a matter of being admirable because it has reached a certain anniversary, or being right because it has continued for a long time.

But I have nothing but sincere respect for the fact that, for 30 years, someone has continued choosing clothes.

Moreover, a shop cannot be sustained by its owner alone. There are people who have worked there, people who have made the clothes, and people who have bought them.

Some people have been coming for years, while others may have shopped there only once. I think each one of them has gradually helped create the shop's history.

When I think of it that way, it feels somehow similar to the story of this denim.

The first person wore them, the second person repaired them, and the third person takes them on.

Of course, the 30 years of COMES A TIME are different from the denim story I imagined: every moment really happened. There must be countless events there that I don't know about, and many people I have yet to meet.

I am happy to have been able to be involved in this 30th anniversary as cantáte.

That said, I never considered adding special decorations befitting a 30th anniversary or making an obvious commemorative item. If we're going to make something together, I want it to be a garment that feels like us.

The result is this denim, carrying two people's worth of fictional time.

Yesterday, for the sake of the slight difference between K10 WHITE GOLD and SV950, I asked Furukawa-san to do something considerably troublesome. Today, I am once again doing something considerably troublesome to create two people's worth of time in a pair of new jeans.

How far can you go along with something that says, "You don't have to go that far"?

After writing about it for two days in a row, it seems I really do like this kind of thing.

If efficiency were all that mattered, it would be better to make them normally. With denim, you could simply hand it over new and let the customer break it in themselves. I think that would be the more sensible approach, too.

But this time, I wanted to play a slightly different game. Rather than handing over a story that was blank from the beginning, I wanted to try handing over something someone had written up to the middle.

The first person wore them and wore them out. The second person repaired them and wore them again.

And from the third person onward, these things cannot be created through processing.

The whiskers that form from here, the next place to tear, and the way the repairs wear further are all real time.

The 30 years COMES A TIME has built up contain countless stories I don't know. And this denim, too, will gather more stories I don't know as time goes on.

To celebrate a shop that has continued for 30 years, make a garment carrying a future that belongs to no one yet.

Somehow, that doesn't feel like a bad thing either.

These are new jeans, but the story has already begun somewhere in the middle.

Please continue the story.

And COMES A TIME, congratulations on your 30th anniversary. Silver and Gold, congratulations on your 25th anniversary as well.

 

cantáte Matsushima Shin