A brief time ago, in a university workshop far, far away (in Chiang Mai, Thailand), an object d’art was created (with great help from the able metallurgy skills of Eak) to be delivered to a newly opened boutique, Yan De Hafuri (in Tokyo, Japan).
This boutique is a collaboration between RouRou (a Yokohama based clothing company) and Gallery Ef (an art gallery/performance space in Asakusa, Tokyo) (.)

The people involved with Gallery Ef are a group of endangered species in the art world, as anything they’re into at any given time is always fueled by passion, integrity, creativity and love. So when Izumi asked me if I could make an object to use as a signboard for the shop, of course I could not refuse.
The boutique contains clothing which has been collaboratively produced between the worlds of art and fashion. Artist’s works are combined with the designs of Maki, the head designer of RouRou. The concepts and execution are performed as would be any piece of art, but here the medium is fabric and printing instead of canvas or paper, the lines between art and design are blurred, but these pieces of clothing can truly be appreciated as art. In a sense, this little white boutique in Harajuku can be seen as an art gallery, therefore I see the signboard out front as a piece of sculpture.
This request came at an interesting time, just when I was beginning to explore the possibilities of fashion as art myself, beginning with the t-shirt designs in Thailand, so I was more than happy to participate.
We were on a rather strict deadline, so we had to move fast. I had worked with Eak before in October during the Lanna Style International Workshop (see the October archive for more), so I knew we could pull it together before I left for Tokyo only a week later. Many thanks to Eak for yet again proving his skills with metal. I certainly couldn’t have done it without him.

The speed of which the process moved was not lost on our little white Hafuri-stand, and immediately after being wrapped in a protective cocoon and taken home from the workshop at CMU, she needed a little rest. Her joints must have been aching from such strain and stress – and the make-up! My god, what a process. She would definitely be needing her strength for the long journey from Chiang Mai to Tokyo, so I tucked her in. She chose to share the bed with Apple instead of me, but I know they can relate on a level that I am incapable of, and I’m not really a jealous person, so I didn’t mind.

In my research I had discovered that she was far too curvy for the straight-laced lads at UPS to even consider handling (and I didn’t want their greasy mits all over her either), so it was decided that she would travel side by side with me all the way to Japan. She’s rather high maintenance, but it had to be done. I was to be her knight in flannel armour.

On the way to the airport, she slept in the Song Teaw (the local red bus taxi), obviously exhausted from having been forged and contorted in her recent surgery. It’s a harsh one, this industry of models and photos…
I knew the cocoon would keep her safe and warm, so I wasn’t worried. The journey to the airport was typical of Chiang Mai- gaseous, noisy and irritating as the bus weaved through traffic. She held firm despite the turbulent ride, and we arrived at the terminal without injury; just insult, by the all too often overpricing attempts by these fiendish bastards that assume that they can gouge you since you’re white.
So what if she’s white? -I sez to the guy.
She was born right here in Chiang Mai!
We are not tourists!
We demand to pay the local price!

He bought it and as I offered him the proper price, the price everyone who lives in Chiang Mai pays (forget about soda cracker status), he left without further incident. I really hate these people.
We were let off directly in front of the picture of the King, so I considered this a good omen. Of course every man that walked by was ogling her, but I am not jealous by nature, so I didn’t mind.
This guy in the suit had just turned away, but I caught the security officer stealing a glance or two…Even old Bhumibol (long live the king) seems to be grinning at her. Thankfully he’s trapped in the painting, because I sure can’t compete with that.

In through security and the two officers were fighting over who would send her through the X-Ray (just look at them arguing over her!), which seemed needless to me since they would be getting a view of London and France and all when she would be seen on the video monitors. In this day and age, this sort of sexism is intolerable, but as our end justified the means, i held her hand as she passed through the demeaning exercise of the X-Ray frisk.

She was a bit shaken knowing that these fools would probably have her on the internet by the time we got to Bangkok, but she maintained her composure and took it all in stride, even though, waiting in line, we could see two duffuses whispering to each other in what must have been mutual admissions of consummate lust for this ravishing creature next in line for the check-in. They gave me a good up and down as well, surely wondering how a dork like me could have won the affections of such a heavenly apsara. Look at them there in the top left. I should be jealous, but it’s not in my nature. So I didn’t mind.

Even when we got to the check-in counter, the two employees (I believe they are oft referred to euphemistically as “handlers”) were brought to physical violence; fighting over who would take her identification. This is the kind of madness she brings out in men. They lose all equanimous aspects of themselves and become barking beasts; unable to contain their animal instincts in the presence of such beauty. Even I still shudder at a glance from her, so I can well understand how these two could be reduced to base instincts.
I am not a jealous type, so I didn’t mind.

Upon our arrival in Bangkok, all seemed well, despite her having to come through a different gate than I. Seems she had been mistaken for a European film star of some repute, and had been offered and exclusive path to the baggage claim area, away from the rest of us peasants. The airport employee held out his hand, and as this would surely be an amusing experience full of anecdotal potentials for future dinner parties, I of course encouraged her to go. I could see the man’s eyes taking in her most perfect measurements as she turned her head my way and conferred with me about my feelings in the matter. I told her I wasn’t jealous by nature, and nudged her into the separate exit, it was lonely waiting for the luggage without her, but I didn’t mind.

She was waiting for me outside her V.I.P gate, and we joked about how she had actually taken longer to get there than me, after having to stop and sign autographs in the name of a woman she’s never heard of (Don’t tell her I told you this, but she’s never even been to Europe). I was wanting to get a shot of her standing outside the new Suvarnabhumi airport but it seems the Chinese whispers had began to shout, and as we walked through the arrivals lounge, we were surrounded by on-lookers and sycophants, all clamouring to touch her, so we had to make haste into a cab and speed off, hence the lack of documentation of the voyage. She took it all with grace and understanding, even if she was a bit frightened. We calmed down on the taxi ride into town as I surveyed the high rises. Jesus, you can’t see any people at all. How are we to know if this city is teeming or abandoned? What a strange phenomena of the modern metropolis. As i settled into reverie, I realized that in the whole fracas, no one was interested in taking my picture at all. No one wanted to touch me or have my autograph. But it’s OK really, I can’t imagine having all that attention all the time, and I’m not a jealous man by nature, she could have all the attention. I didn’t mind.
The taxi driver helped her out of the car when we arrived at our hotel, and after copping a feel, set out to immediately gouge us for the ride. After six months living (not hiking and snorkeling and laying on the beach, but living) in Thailand, having to deal with this every day, every time you get a taxi, is enerving to say the least. I let my rage get the better of me and lunged at the pathetic weasel but she stopped me and with her motherly pose with one hand on jutted hip and a head turned slightly to the right with one arched eyebrow, chin slightly tucked in to her neck, i knew I was no better than the other fops, completely under her spell and at her beck and call. I let the cabbie go, but I think I left a bruise so I was secretly happy.
We checked in to the hotel without further incident…

That was until our man Jim, right in front of me, gave her his phone number! Just look at him tearing it off a notepad all casual-like. How dare he. As usual, it wasn’t worth my trouble to pipe up and act manly, and after all , I’m not the jealous type. So she soothed me with her soothing smile and we when we walked up the stairs to our room and overheard Jim boasting to one of his Thai cronies about her opulent grace, she squeezed my hand and I realized they were just wankers. So I didn’t mind.
We decided, once in the room, that if we were to make our escape tomorrow without being acosted by libidinous mandudes or fans of a film star she was, in fact, not – we would need to make her a disguise. She would need to do her best Peter Sellers style act and pretend to be a man. She is quite intelligent, and a fan of the method school of acting, so she immediately went about getting into character.

We shared a glorious night together, one I shan’t soon forget, and of course there were no photographs
The cab ride to the airport was a contemplative one, as we both looked forward to arriving in Tokyo. Perhaps there was slightly more trepidation in her case, being that she would be staying there permanently on a lucrative modeling gig.
We entered the queue and her disguise seemed to be working, no one paid her any attention. Even the check out girl treated us as she would any others.

I realized after viewing this photo that there was a man in a red shirt on the other side of the counter, way in the background there. Surely a Paparazzo, but once we were through security, he couldn’t reach us.
Unfortunately, he must have deduced we were on the flight to Narita, and when we arrived in Japan, it was like a film premiere. Our subterfuge had been lifted, even her disguise couldn’t deter the photographers and screaming teenagers. We bolted for the doors and sped away in a cab. Not a moment was spared to be able to take any photos. We were just happy to get out of there. The cabbie dropped us off at our hotel, and even he couldn’t resist asking for her autograph. I really must find out which actress it is that they all had her pegged for. The cabbie bowed politely, well, as much as one can while twisting to face the back seat with an outstretched hand holding a pad and paper. He didn’t give me a second glance. But I wasn’t jealous, nobody cares who I am, so really, I didn’t mind.

We called Izumi and she met us in Harajuku, where my companion was shown around what would be her new home. She seemed to take to it immediately, and before anyone had even asked, she was asking to be photographed with Izumi and I, obviously quite elated with her new station and her new article of clothing.

Her first photo-shoot followed immediately, and she seemed completely at ease both with her square-cut Miyabi dress, and with the camera.

So there she is, already at home in her new land and feeling limber enough to strike a pose. I know I’ve left her in good hands, and she’ll be held in good stead with the Yan De Hafuri crew. If you are ever in Tokyo, meander from Harajuku station down Takeshita dori. At the end, don’t go directly left on Meiji Dori, but down the street behind the buildings with Meiji Dori frontage, about the direction of 10:45. Go left down that street, and once you reach United Arrows, (if you pass Beams, you’ve gone too far) look to your right, just down an unassuming alley, you will see a graceful beauty, who will probably be glad to chat with you, just tell her Dave sent you.

Her surprises aren’t over yet either, wait until she finds out that I’ve been playing sneaky matchmaker for her, and have found a man who would be perfect for her. He is also a friend of mine and Eak’s. He is still working as a male model at the CMU Art Museum in Chiang Mai. We will have to find a way to get him to Tokyo so they can meet. He’s a handsome devil as well, check out his profile:

They’d make a cute couple, don’t you think? Perfect enough to turn me into a jealous man.

I can certainly tell when two soul-mates are meant to be together, it’s just obvious there is serious chemistry between them, so despite my fondness for her and my bitten-lip recollections of or one night of passion in Bangkok, I must concede her to what is surely the better man. I wish them all the happiness in the world. I can step back and say that because I’m not really the jealous type and can actually say I find vicarious joy in seeing the pair of them together, complimenting each other so perfectly.
Really, I don’t mind.