First Love
Tokyo, Japan
16th October 2026
My story with you reaches back to the earliest days of my childhood.
In the depths of winter, your snow was exceptionally tender, gently embracing a child from the South, a stranger you had never known.
It was amidst the boundless, snow-clad landscape that I first made your acquaintance;
I sought you again in the flourishing greenery of late summer;
And we were reunited beneath the countless layers of autumn leaves.
Or perhaps, on a day as ordinary as any other, whether in late summer, early autumn, the depths of winter, or the fullness of spring,
you have never ceased to linger in my heart.
You exist somewhere between restraint and extravagance.
I have witnessed your extravagance,
unbridled and unapologetic.
In you, I saw the maximalist splendour of Dolce & Gabbana,
where the richest reds, golds, and blacks blossomed upon fabric,
much like your ukiyo-e, exuberant, impassioned, and brimming with life.
My heart bloomed in rapture, as though falling in love for the very first time, surrendering helplessly to its wild and fluttering beat.
Yet, around another corner, I encountered your restraint.
This is the face of yours the world knows so well: uniform lines, buildings arranged in harmonious succession, each bound to the geometry of four sides.
Much like your customs, everything has its place, everything its order.
In you, I saw Prada,
a beauty born of restraint, neither clamorous nor seeking admiration.
Blue blossoms, resembling plum flowers or perhaps peach blossoms, drifted quietly across silver-grey brocade, their embroidery unfolding like a gentle verse, telling of an elegance that belongs to simplicity alone.
The emotions once so freely expressed began to retreat into themselves, a quiet contest between reason and sentiment.
And yet, I think you are, above all, Gucci.
A traditional obi, floral brocade suspended somewhere between violet and burgundy,
and generous butterfly sleeves reminiscent of your kimono.
In the hands of Tom Ford, traditional dress was bestowed with a new interpretation.
Perhaps restraint and extravagance were never destined to be opposites.
Perhaps they could exist, beautifully, as one.
I have travelled great distances and beheld countless landscapes,
yet somewhere within my heart, I have always preserved a little sanctuary that belongs to you alone.
This shy and innocent affection has known no bounds since childhood,
at times restrained, at times extravagant, leaving my heart awash with a thousand conflicting emotions.
You have never ceased to stir something deep within me,
like a poorly knitted woollen sweater, its coarse fibres forever brushing against my skin, leaving me restless, unable to find repose.
But no matter.
Whenever longing for you takes hold, I shall overcome whatever stands between us, and find my way back to you, time and time again.
To meet you,
to embrace you,
to love you,
and to fall, once more, willingly and helplessly, into the tenderness of your arms.
Japan, until we meet again.
My story with you reaches back to the earliest days of my childhood.
In the depths of winter, your snow was exceptionally tender, gently embracing a child from the South, a stranger you had never known.
It was amidst the boundless, snow-clad landscape that I first made your acquaintance;
I sought you again in the flourishing greenery of late summer;
And we were reunited beneath the countless layers of autumn leaves.
Or perhaps, on a day as ordinary as any other, whether in late summer, early autumn, the depths of winter, or the fullness of spring,
you have never ceased to linger in my heart.
You exist somewhere between restraint and extravagance.
I have witnessed your extravagance,
unbridled and unapologetic.
In you, I saw the maximalist splendour of Dolce & Gabbana,
where the richest reds, golds, and blacks blossomed upon fabric,
much like your ukiyo-e, exuberant, impassioned, and brimming with life.
My heart bloomed in rapture, as though falling in love for the very first time, surrendering helplessly to its wild and fluttering beat.
Yet, around another corner, I encountered your restraint.
This is the face of yours the world knows so well: uniform lines, buildings arranged in harmonious succession, each bound to the geometry of four sides.
Much like your customs, everything has its place, everything its order.
In you, I saw Prada,
a beauty born of restraint, neither clamorous nor seeking admiration.
Blue blossoms, resembling plum flowers or perhaps peach blossoms, drifted quietly across silver-grey brocade, their embroidery unfolding like a gentle verse, telling of an elegance that belongs to simplicity alone.
The emotions once so freely expressed began to retreat into themselves, a quiet contest between reason and sentiment.
And yet, I think you are, above all, Gucci.
A traditional obi, floral brocade suspended somewhere between violet and burgundy,
and generous butterfly sleeves reminiscent of your kimono.
In the hands of Tom Ford, traditional dress was bestowed with a new interpretation.
Perhaps restraint and extravagance were never destined to be opposites.
Perhaps they could exist, beautifully, as one.
I have travelled great distances and beheld countless landscapes,
yet somewhere within my heart, I have always preserved a little sanctuary that belongs to you alone.
This shy and innocent affection has known no bounds since childhood,
at times restrained, at times extravagant, leaving my heart awash with a thousand conflicting emotions.
You have never ceased to stir something deep within me,
like a poorly knitted woollen sweater, its coarse fibres forever brushing against my skin, leaving me restless, unable to find repose.
But no matter.
Whenever longing for you takes hold, I shall overcome whatever stands between us, and find my way back to you, time and time again.
To meet you,
to embrace you,
to love you,
and to fall, once more, willingly and helplessly, into the tenderness of your arms.
Japan, until we meet again.