The question, "What is Sashiko?" lingers in my mind, and even though I've spent many years immersed in the world of Sashiko, I still don’t have a definitive answer. Perhaps this is because defining Sashiko too rigidly might obscure some of its subtler, yet-to-be-discovered aspects, which are woven deeply into the annals of history. The idea that I could unintentionally bury parts of Sashiko that haven't yet revealed themselves makes me uneasy. Sashiko, in its essence, resists easy categorization—it’s fluid, personal, and deeply rooted in the everyday lives of the people who practiced it.
Sashiko originated in a time when fabric was a precious resource, not easily replaced or thrown away. In those days, passing thread through cloth to reinforce it, mending it over and over again, was a matter of necessity. It wasn’t about artistry or aesthetics; it was about making fabric last. This humble practice—essentially a form of resourceful patching—became a part of the daily lives of Japanese people, especially women, who often carried out the sewing tasks in the household. Because it was so woven into the fabric of daily life, there was no concept of "right" or "wrong." There were no rules or authoritative voices dictating how Sashiko should be done. It was simply practical, intuitive, and personal. This absence of strict guidelines is something I believe remains important to Sashiko, even today.
However, in the modern world, where we often look for set rules and clear definitions, this way of understanding Sashiko can be difficult for some to grasp. People might expect Sashiko to have rigid techniques or established guidelines, but that’s not how it evolved. That’s why, when explaining Sashiko to others, I often use a metaphor: "Sashiko is like miso soup." Just as each region or household in Japan has its own unique way of preparing miso soup—choosing different types of broth, varying the miso, and selecting their favorite ingredients—Sashiko, too, is shaped by personal preferences and individual creativity. Each variation is valid, and if we were to declare that only one way of making miso soup is correct, while dismissing all others, it would lose its essence. It would no longer be miso soup as we know it, but something else entirely.
Sashiko follows a similar path. There are no definitive rules about which patterns are best, what tools or materials to use, or how to achieve the "right" stitching rhythm. Over time, each practitioner develops their own style, their own voice in Sashiko. That personal expression is the very soul of the craft. As each person stitches, they bring their own experiences, intentions, and emotions into the process, and through this, their Sashiko becomes truly unique. This is why I encourage people to cherish their own Sashiko journey. There is no need to replicate someone else’s work or adhere to someone else's vision of what Sashiko "should" be. It’s about finding your own rhythm, your own patterns, and creating something that feels authentic to you.
At *Unshinkai*, we view Sashiko much like the process of making your own miso soup. Just as you would learn the basic steps to prepare broth or hold a knife, we aim to teach you the foundational techniques of Sashiko—the basics of stitching, choosing materials, and understanding the rhythms of needlework. These basics serve as a starting point, allowing you to explore and develop your own version of Sashiko over time. You may start by learning traditional techniques and patterns, but as you continue, your Sashiko will evolve into something uniquely yours.
Ultimately, the beauty of Sashiko lies in its flexibility and personal connection. There is no "correct" way to practice it, just as there is no one "correct" way to make miso soup. Both are born from a desire to nourish—whether it’s the body through food or the soul through creativity. Sashiko is about finding joy in the act of creation, in the slow, meditative process of stitching, and in the opportunity to connect with something deeply rooted in tradition, yet open to personal interpretation.
By approaching Sashiko with this mindset, we can move away from rigid definitions and instead embrace the spirit of creativity and resourcefulness that has always been at the heart of the practice. Whether you are a seasoned practitioner or just starting out, I hope you find your own connection to Sashiko, and let it become a meaningful part of your life—just as miso soup has a place in the everyday lives of those who make it their own.