Anyone who has spoken to me about film in the last year has been promptly made aware that Wim Wenders’ Perfect Days (2024) is one of my new favourite films. The film’s philosophy of taking time to enjoy the more mundane, regular happenings of life really resonated with me and made me realise that excess simply isn’t necessary to live a contented life. Equally, on an aesthetic level, there are vast details that make the film enjoyable, from the retro choices in the soundtrack to the subtle and heartwarming performance from Koji Yakusho playing the lead Hirayama.
However, an area which immediately stood out to me when first watching the film was the deft, and fittingly subtle, use of costume. Aside from the obvious and now iconic blue jumpsuit which Hirayama dons daily as his work uniform, the film offers a cornucopia of clever costume details that can be easily missed. These subtleties add a richness to the film, whilst emboldening many of its themes, to create an interesting sartorial portrait which relates to current fashion culture trends and pays homage to long-standing traditions.
Firstly, we need to establish what Hirayama wears throughout most of the film. As previously mentioned, much of the time we spend with Hirayama sees him in his iconic blue “Tokyo Toilet” jumpsuit. The uniform itself is actually the same uniform worn by the real-world company THE TOKYO TOILET, a third party contracted by the government of Tokyo to clean specific public toilets. These toilets themselves are simultaneously incredibly functional and modern art installations, with the whole project an attempt to make the most ergonomic space possible. From its website, a spokesperson for the company states that “THE TOKYO TOILET project can inspire everyone to integrate new designs, which will help transform the surrounding streets and townscape. The restrooms might be small, but they act as a catalyst for the town” (THE TOKYO TOILET, n.d.). The uniforms worn, both in the film and in real life, conform to this concept of artistically designed utility, as they have been designed by NIGO, the famous Japanese creative behind brands such as Bathing Ape and Human Made, and recently appointed Artistic Director of Kenzo. NIGO’s other brands offer consumers similarly aesthetic options, with Human Made in particular focussing around well-made, durable, utilitarian designs that sell at luxury price points, suggesting that the aesthetic of work-clothes as fashion items was at the forefront of THE TOKYO TOILET’s design brief. This information remains relevant when discussing the film, as by choosing that piece in particular, the audience is made to register that the activity performed by Hirayama is aestheticised, whether consciously or not.
This blurring of the lines between function and aestheticisation extends to the rest of Hirayama’s work wardrobe. His shoes, which he can be seen wearing throughout the film when he is working, seem to be a pair of white German Army trainers. This may have been a choice from Wenders directly as these were popular shoes to wear in West Germany during the time when he would have been young. However, I believe that they were chosen as they are a clear modern example of the utilitarian made luxury. The French label Maison Margiela has many popular products, but one which is consistently seen on the shelves and on the streets is the brand’s Replica Sneakers, an almost exact reproduction of the vintage German Army Trainers (GAT) commonly worn. Typically, these too are sold at luxury prices, providing a contrast between the utilitarian aesthetic and the price point that would be unachievable for those who would wear the original German Army shoe which serves as a base model. Maison Margiela is the extreme example, but the reselling of this particular model by major fashion brands is common, with trainer companies such as Adidas and Novesta each selling models clearly inspired by the original GAT.
In the film, it is difficult to see precisely but it appears that Hirayama wears a genuine pair of vintage GAT, rather than any of the more modern reproductions. This offers another interesting reading into the reasoning behind this: on the one hand, the genuine pair has more legitimate connotations of utility, emphasised through the less-than-perfect condition of Hirayama’s pair; alternatively, the film is tapping into a level of specificity that modern vintage buyers and collectors have, striving to purchase and obsess over originals rather than reproductions. Maybe it is a little cynical, but I believe the latter is the case (or, even if the primary reason was more accurate, it arguably would still be an aestheticisation of utility as it is on film i.e. a construction). The modern second-hand market often celebrates well-worn and clearly used utility pieces, with vintage Carhartt jackets, with distinctive marks of wear and patina, regularly more desirable, and thus more expensive in most cases, than modern reproductions of the same piece. Hirayama’s worn and used pair of GAT embodies this trend and, to the right audience, enhances the level of aestheticised utility the film offers, that is admittedly already there in reems.
Before moving onto Hirayama’s civilian clothes, there are a couple more pieces in the costume that he wears while on his shift or that provide a distinctly functional purpose. The first of which is a navy shell jacket. This is worn for only one sequence in the film, with barely any branding visible to the viewer. However, eagle-eyed watchers will spot a very recognisable logo on the jacket’s sleeve: that of the stitched Arc’teryx fossil. This brand has been at the forefront of the “Gorp Core” trend, bringing utility hiking and mountaineering clothing into urban environments. In terms of technical utility, this brand offers some of the best and most well-made waterproof jackets on the market. Typically, they were far too technical and specifically engineered to warrant a purchase from those outside of the hiking community (especially when the price is often a few hundred pounds more than a jacket of equal quality). This recent trend has since brought this highly technical item into everyday fashion vocabulary, alongside other technical brands such as Salomon, Hoka, and Hagloffs. In short, this is the peak of aestheticising utility, with an unnecessarily technical item being worn casually. By having this in the film, and for no more than one sequence, the film is quietly suggesting to the viewer how Hirayama values the technical utility of the pieces he wears, similarly to how he values his professionalism in his job, going above and beyond to be as good as he can be.
The second piece of outerwear Hirayama can be seen to wear is a form of rubberised smock or cape, seen in the sequence where he cycles to the underground ramen bar. It sports no discernible brand but, similarly to the use of the GAT in the costume, shows a reverence for heritage work and military wear. Similar pieces saw military use in the form of riders’ capes and foul weather smocks, often worn in the navy or by other professionals who needed protection against harsh elements. Hirayama’s use of such a piece shows a prioritisation of form over appearance, with the piece covering his legs when he cycles, contrasting to many modern outerwear styles currently popular. This also further conforms to the previous point made in relation to the GAT about collecting and aestheticising specific pieces of vintage utilitarian clothing, whilst rejecting a modernised reproduction.
The clothing that Hirayama wears on his day off contrasts greatly to the costume chosen for his work uniform. He swaps out the bright blue jumpsuit for earth tones and muted colours, opting for subtle greys, greens, and browns to fill out his wardrobe. The pieces themselves are simple timeless items, such as light overshirts, Henley tee shirts, and chino trousers. These off-day clothes seem to conform to the film’s general aesthetic: to enjoy the slowness and simplicity of life. They are not flashy, and it is suggested that Hirayama does not think about these clothes, but rather puts them on for their simple purpose – arguably another area of aestheticised functionality, albeit on a less obvious level. The clothes in these sequences are specifically chosen to deflect attention, for Hirayama to continue his daily life without onlookers’ stares or self-consciousness.
As some last thoughts, all these elements only really add a small insight into the effective aesthetic of the whole film, that is to prioritise a slow, simple life to pursue true happiness. Other recent films have similar themes and routine-orientated structures, such as Paterson (Jarmusch, 2016) but choose to have a less aestheticised view on said routine. Equally, Perfect Days highlights this theme in many more effective or obvious ways, such as Hirayama’s reverence for his analogue cassette tapes or how he cares for seedlings that would otherwise face removal – similar essays could be written on these two factors alone and how they contribute towards the film’s core ideals. However, knowing that Wim Wenders’ has a love for the aesthetics of Japanese iconography and design, something he explores in more detail in Tokyo-Ga (Wenders, 1984) and more specifically towards the Japanese fashion industry in Notebook on Cities and Clothes (Wenders, 1989), it was a topic I thought needed some discussion.
If anyone reading this still hasn’t got around to watching Perfect Days, I would highly recommend it. The film can be found on MUBI as well as on physical DVD and Blu-ray.
Comments
Post a Comment