Paris-Tokyo non-stop ticket: 12 hours flight.
Departure time October 15 at 1:35 p.m. from Paris.
Arrival time October 16 at 8:30 a.m. in Tokyo.
On board the Airbus, I read “I am Pilgrim” which I recommend. I watched De Sang-Froid, which I also recommend. And I smelled suspicious odors at least three times but said nothing.
We are a team of four: Boras , Jason our artistic director, Luke who takes care of the video and myself.
Luke doesn't need anything or anyone and is absolutely not dependent on technology...
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Wednesday October 16 - Day 1
A story of Japanese feet
The Subway. First immersion in Japanese culture.
I haven't slept a wink on the plane and won't sleep for at least another twelve hours. That will give me, in total, a day and a night of wakefulness. But from now on, my eyes are wide open. After all, you don't see this every day.
In the well-lit, clean and spacious metro car, people are lonely, isolating themselves in the small temporary space they have created for themselves and not looking at each other. They are passing through. Either they are sleeping or they are hunched over with their necks on their cell phones.
I look at the feet of men in suits . It is still my privileged field of study. Something strikes me: they all wear too big shoes.
I didn't dare take a photo. I won't be caught again. Or almost... you'll see.
We see large folds that shear the leather. Sometimes, the tapered shapes - the same ones found in France on the feet of men with very narrow pants at the ankle - accentuate the impression of length. They look like the big pointed foals of the Middle Ages.
And it's true that, when I was a shoe salesman, I remember that many Asians systematically refused shoes in their size and chose a size larger.
In this subway, seeing this, I wonder if it has to do with this masculine belief - perhaps universal - consisting in believing that the length of the feet has something to do with virility. But Boras, who accompanies us to Japan, tells me:
“No, for me, it’s because they take their shoes off more often. So easier on a daily basis. »
Not stupid. After all, people actually take their shoes off inside houses in Japan.
A few days later, as I entered the tiniest workshop in Tokyo with Luke, lowering my head so as not to hit the heavy wood of the doorframe, I was stopped and handed me a pair of slippers. A tiny pair too, like this tiny workshop.
The front of the foot in the liner and the heel dragging. But hey, you have to honor the rules of the master of the house.
Something else struck me from the first day.
Dignified life
They hold human dignity in high esteem.
As I drag a large, heavy suitcase down the sidewalk, I see a girl running on the other side of the boulevard. She's in uniform - pleated skirt, ankle socks, black loafers, white shirt, tie and blazer like in a Thom Browne show.
Like here, on the left of the photograph. On the right is Luke.
She hurries so as not to suffer the dishonor of arriving late for class. When suddenly, she stops in mid-race. It's because she saw the red man and can't cross the road.
She is in front of the white stripes marking the pedestrian crossing, very still on the last bit of sidewalk before the road, breathing hard. But without impatience, without looking at his watch in annoyance.
She follows the rules and waits for the green man to light up.
And this is where it hits me: this is not just a matter of obeying the rules but a matter of dignity. I think that for the Japanese, discipline is a mark of respect. And that respect leads to a dignified life.
In this red man that the schoolgirl observes there is an entire system that makes everyone's life easier, a geography of individual freedoms that allows everyone to flourish without hindering the freedom of others.
Living together pushed to its climax.
In the metro, it's something to see all these people in single file, on either side of the door of the arriving car, waiting for the others to get out.
The movements are fluid, everyone is calm, the metro leaves more quickly.
In this metro, always, the ballet of costumes is incessant . It is the outfit of the active, the serious outfit of serious people. It's dark and uninteresting most of the time, but every now and then you see a more elaborate shoulder, Roman style or spalla camicia , a backhand roll that's worth a look but always, always sober. The chosen colors are muted, diffused, do not make waves.
And this discretion, for the layman's eye, is a sign of banality while, for the informed eye, it is the whole essence of elegance that is at play here.
Although this brand is Korean - but Korea is not far away - I have seen BnTailor-style silhouettes in the street and the metro.
We took possession of our Airbnb, shoebox in Tokyo and started working. On the program: photography, video and jetlag.
After a few minutes in the city: I had my cheek pinched like a kid and kissed by a fifty-year-old who liked me.
She has no English words to give me, so I just smile like an idiot, with my gray eyes without airplane exit lights.
It happened like this, in the street, while I was making sure that Boras' outfit was on point. She took out her phone to take a photo. The modern autograph. Well, rather, purists would say a selfie. I almost put my fingers in a peace symbol, kawaii style, but I stopped myself. I wonder who she's going to show this photo to.
She pinches my cheek again, just for fun, sees Boras and asks me if he's a model. I understand what she is asking me because the word “model” is an Anglicism that has passed intact into the Japanese language. She rushes towards him and does the same thing to him. He smiles, plays the game.
Although I must say, and this is not to brag, that I am the only one who got the kiss and pinch of the cheek. A kiss with alcohol on your breath maybe, but it still counts.
Sorry Boras.
The Japanese lady never stops and we have to get back to shooting because we have a schedule to keep. Somehow, we get there and she continues on her way.
As we drive through the city towards the next shooting spot, my eyes are curious. Again. I'm the kind of guy who always sits at the plane window, at the train window, just because I want to see everything, from the way this lone tree twists in this field to this car wreck abandoned in a muddy yard.
In Tokyo, every street has something to say. Whether they are wide like highways or narrow like the corridor of a cave.
The cinematic potential of each of them impresses me. Day and night. Especially at night, because the lights come on and everything becomes even more Japanese.
At least for my Western eye. Western with the normal wonder of someone who has never seen this country outside of their television screen.
There is a gentle harmony in the movement of cars which never honk, except perhaps for a little voiceless honk, to help Europeans walking in the middle of the road to find the sidewalk.
We feel good in Tokyo. At any time. The crowd, even dense, is peaceful.
I often think of the Bauhaus when I walk down the street, when I enter interiors. I notice that, often, the utilitarian function of an object dictates its aesthetic among the Japanese . As in the Bauhaus movement precisely. And that’s how harmony is born. Perfect alignment between substance and form. No loss of space for buildings. Go as pure as possible for everyday objects.
Professional deformation: I see a parallel with the t-shirt . It's its simple form serving its function that makes it such a great piece of clothing. Well, the Japanese could have invented it.
Some notes on style
On every street corner there is a stylish guy in Tokyo. It's extraordinary. It's everywhere and all the time. Just turn your head and your head spins.
The cuts that the Japanese wear are loose , very often baggy, as Ko, a person we meet there, confesses to me.
But, for all that, they don't necessarily dress too big. Seeing all these successful silhouettes, I tell myself that one of the keys is really to have sleeves at the right length . This is the essential element and you should touch up your shirts, jackets and coats with sleeves that are too long because it is important for the overall understanding of the silhouette.
I rarely see slim pants, or in the outfits of those who have a more rock style, let's say, or a more Western style. But in the landscape, it looks bad.
Just like these two Americans that I see on the sidewalk in front of Deus Ex Machina who are in slim Bermuda shorts, pockets gaping, logo t-shirts that are also way too tight, Armistice-style sneakers and socks that barely come up at the start of the ankle.
It was shocking to see here, whereas in Paris, you wouldn't even notice them.
Our eye gets used to these voluminous cuts at breakneck speed. Drape is everything to the Japanese.
And I must say that, already in France, I was moving more and more towards this approach. And this trip to Japan convinces me to continue in this quest for draping, the play of volumes and, also, it's important: the comfort, which emerges powerfully when seeing their outfits.
And, this reinforces my vision of what style is: the impression of comfort is an essential element that conveys style. Without comfort, no cool.
This translates into the street: the most stylish, that is to say those who can be seen from 10 meters away that they have tried to look as cool as possible, are not the most stylish. They even have less style than the person who doesn't care and doesn't even try because, at least, they are in the truth.
We find the style among many Japanese people who are between approximately 25 and 35 years old, who will wear hazel velvet pants with volume, a camel sweater with a white t-shirt casually peeking out from them and wear white sneakers.
Ko, for example, when we first see him, is wearing a baggy corduroy overshirt (I see a lot of them) with a Cuban collar that he wears with white tapered pants and Nike Blazers.
Speaking of shoes, I see a lot of moccasins and find that they have completely understood the useful, casual nature of the moccasin (which they can hastily remove at their leisure). Besides, that’s what I was saying in substance and form.
In the evening, we collapse on our beds. After a sleepless night in broad daylight.
