In the Nambu area, surviving hishizashi garments show bast-fiber cloth layered with used cotton cloth underneath. The two layers were stitched together across the surface, helping to hold them in place while adding thickness, strength, and warmth.

The cotton underneath was not necessarily new. Furute-momen meant cotton cloth that had already been used. Even old cotton could still be valuable when it was placed behind another cloth and given a new role. This is one of the things I find most interesting about these garments. People did not always begin with the ideal material. They worked with what they could obtain and changed the cloth to suit their lives.

In Tsugaru, however, another way of working with cloth developed.

To understand Tsugaru kogin, climate alone is not enough. During the Edo period, rules were not identical everywhere in Japan. The Tokugawa shogunate issued broader regulations, while the authorities governing different territories could also make rules of their own. Tsugaru therefore had its own conditions surrounding clothing and cotton.

According to the Aomori Prefectural History, in 1655 the Tsugaru territory prohibited new and secondhand cotton cloth from being brought in from outside. In 1664, cotton brought into the territory was taxed in an effort to reduce its inflow. Then, in 1703, people living in rural areas were told not to wear dyed cotton clothing, cotton trousers, and certain other cotton items while working. Instead, they were instructed to wear locally made cloth—that is, clothing made from bast fiber. These rules changed over time, and they did not mean that every person in Tsugaru was forbidden to wear cotton in every situation. But they show something important: what people could wear depended not only on climate or money, but also on where they lived and the rules of that territory.

Why restrict cotton so strongly? Cotton could not be grown successfully in Aomori, while bast fibers could be cultivated and made into cloth locally. The Aomori Prefectural History explains the growing inflow of cotton products in relation to an economy that aimed, as much as possible, to supply itself from within the territory. In other words, this was not simply a story of people being unable to afford cotton. It was also about what could be produced locally, what had to be purchased from outside, and how the local economy was managed. Cotton was warmer and softer, but it came from outside, cost money, and at certain times its use was restricted. Locally made bast-fiber cloth therefore remained important.

There was, however, a problem. Its open weave could allow cold air through. Ikuhisa Tokunaga, in 『刺し子の研究』—A Study of Sashiko (working English translation)—draws attention to the fact that while cotton cloth was restricted, cotton thread was not treated in exactly the same way. He describes 目塞ぎ刺し (mezusagi-zashi), stitching that filled the open spaces of bast-fiber cloth with thread, and considers this one of the backgrounds to the development of kogin.

This does not mean that the cotton restrictions of 1655 directly created kogin. Its history cannot be explained by one regulation or one cause. There is also an important complication: an account from 1788 describes kogin being stitched with white bast-fiber thread, and the exact period when cotton thread replaced or joined bast-fiber thread is not clear. Still, the surrounding conditions help us understand why this kind of dense stitching made sense. People had locally made cloth with an open weave, winters were cold, and cotton cloth was not always easy—or permitted—to use. One answer was to put more thread into the cloth itself, closing its gaps and making it warmer and stronger.

That gives us a much fuller picture than simply saying, “Kogin developed because Tsugaru was cold.”

From here, this is canoha’s interpretation. In Nambu, people could place old cotton behind bast-fiber cloth and stitch the layers together. In Tsugaru, thread could be added into the open weave of the cloth itself. Both regions were cold, but climate was only one condition. What cloth could people make? What could they buy? What arrived from outside? What kind of work did they do? And what were they allowed to wear? The answers changed from place to place.

That is what interests me most. Sashiko was not simply one technique used everywhere in the same way. People worked with the cloth available to them, under the conditions of their own lives, and found different answers.

And that leads to the next question. If the rules governing clothing could differ from one territory to another, how different could the clothes worn by people living in the same Japan actually be?

Next: Part 6 | Even Within Japan, What People Could Wear Was Not the Same