One of the key reasons Sashiko has gained such widespread popularity in English-speaking countries is the existence and intrigue surrounding *boro* (襤褸). Boro, which refers to patched and mended fabrics that have been repaired repeatedly, has become a symbol of sustainability, creativity, and resourcefulness. However, as boro evolves in modern contexts, it’s important to recognize that it has become something quite different from its original form. Despite these changes, Sashiko and boro remain deeply interconnected—inseparable in both origin and spirit.
There’s a growing trend in English-speaking regions to introduce Sashiko and boro as distinct techniques, each with its own identity. However, from my perspective, Sashiko and boro are not separate entities. They exist on the same continuum, forming a single narrative of care, mending, and the preservation of materials. They share a common lineage rooted in Japan’s rural, resource-scarce past, where every piece of fabric was cherished, mended, and passed down through generations.
To explain this connection, I often describe Sashiko as the foundation:
"Sashiko is a traditional form of Japanese needlework. When this stitching is continued for long periods, repairing and reinforcing the fabric over time, it leads to *boro*—the ultimate culmination of Sashiko's efforts."
This might seem like an oversimplification or even an extreme interpretation, but it encapsulates the deep relationship between the two. Sashiko is the act, the process—repetitive, meditative stitching imbued with care and purpose. It’s a way of giving new life to something worn or broken. Boro, on the other hand, is the result of this continuous, dedicated care. It is the physical manifestation of a life lived in harmony with the fabric, where every stitch represents a moment of mending, an effort to preserve rather than discard.
If Sashiko is, in essence, an act of prayer—each stitch carrying a thought or a wish for the well-being of the family or community—then boro is the crystallization of that prayer. It is a testament to the endurance of both the fabric and the spirit of those who took care of it. When I explain Sashiko and boro in this way, it highlights their shared lineage. Boro isn’t just a patched-up cloth; it’s a story of survival, of resourcefulness, and of care, handed down through generations.
It’s possible that the sense of impurity some may feel toward boro comes from the idea that it represents something at the end of its life. Boro is made from fabric that has been worn down, patched, and repaired over and over again. In the Japanese mindset, such used and weathered objects aren’t traditionally viewed as beautiful. They’re functional, utilitarian, and often associated with poverty or hardship. A rag, for instance, is something we might consider dirty or worn out, and in many ways, boro has historically carried a similar association.
However, as cultures intersect, reinterpretation is inevitable. In the West, boro has been embraced not only as a craft but as an art form. Its raw beauty, the visible history in each patch and repair, speaks to contemporary values around sustainability, resourcefulness, and the beauty of imperfection. Boro’s rise in popularity reflects a broader appreciation for the handmade, the mended, and the imperfect—things that stand in contrast to today’s fast fashion and disposable culture.
Yet, as boro evolves and takes on new meanings in different contexts, I hold a strong hope that its essence remains intact. The words and concepts that define boro and Sashiko are not just about aesthetics or technique; they carry the weight of history, culture, and philosophy. They are deeply tied to the values of frugality, respect for materials, and the spirit of making do with what one has. These principles, I believe, should not be lost even as the craft gains international popularity.
I hope that, even as the world embraces boro and Sashiko, the deeper meanings—the prayers, the acts of care, and the respect for the past—remain cherished. While it’s natural for interpretations to shift as cultures merge, the spirit behind Sashiko and boro is something that deserves to be honored and preserved. In many ways, boro and Sashiko are not just techniques or crafts; they are reflections of how people lived, loved, and took care of their world, and that is what makes them truly beautiful.