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PostMagazine 19
Yasube Hosoda is a reputable gentleman far
past the introduction stage. For as long as he
an remember, he has been arranging geisha
dinner parties at least once a month. He runs a
confectionary company, and these days he has
cut down on work and is focusing on the good
things in life. And geisha definitely constitute
a good thing.
“This appreciation is in my genes,” he says.
“My father introduced me to this world, as he was
introduced by his father. In past times, this was
the way to have fun. I still remember the first time
I saw a geisha perform. I was stunned. I still think
this is one of the best ways to spend an evening. A
good geisha can illuminate a whole dinner party.
She can make everyone relax and feel important
at the same time.”
Men in their 60s and 70s make up the bulk of
the clients for Kokimi, Himechiyo, Kozue and the
other geisha. Young businessmen and politicians
would rather spend their expense accounts at
exclusive hostess bars, where the ambience is
more modern – and where the services can be
more extensive if the money is right and the
details are handled with discretion.
The Tanaka family owns and runs Kanetanaka,
the most prestigious geisha restaurant in
Shinbashi. Mr Tanaka took over the running of
the restaurant from his father and grew up
surrounded by geisha, politicians, Kabuki actors
and company presidents. Kanetanaka is still a
good business, and is booked solid for several
months at a time, but the Tanakas cannot help
worrying about the future.
“The young IT millionaires on TV never come
here,” Tanaka laments. “I don’t know what they
do for fun. They don’t seem to be interested in
geisha anyway.”
Kokimi nods her head in agreement. She has
known Tanaka since he ran around in shorts. Like
him, she is worried about the future. Geisha do
what geisha have always done; there is very little
room for new ideas when one performs traditional
dances, songs and the tea ceremony. And if
customers no longer want this, there is not much
that anyone can do about it.
IT IS TIME FOR A lesson in chado, the tea
ceremony. The air smells of hay and green tea as
Souyou Ogawa, tea master of the Edosenke school,
takes charge. Despite the solemn surroundings,
the atmosphere is lively and fun. The geisha take
turns in preparing and serving the tea. Once in a
while, Ogawa comments or gives instructions.
There is only one correct way to perform the
tea ceremony. There is only one accepted way
of tucking the red napkin into the kimono; one
way to move the body when serving the tea.
The rules create a safety zone in which one can
relax; you do not have to stand out when you
are an agent in a process that aims to create a
perfect moment.
“One must kill one’s personality to perform the
tea ceremony,” says Ogawa. “The geisha are very
skilful at this. They are my best students, without
a doubt.”
Kokimi has been taking lessons since the
1960s, so she is more elegant than the younger
geisha. There is a wonderful grace in her every
movement, even when she is kneeling – a
necessity in a confined space.
“She is fantastic, and yet she still improves the
longer she studies,” Ogawa says. “She has a
presence and an elegance that the others lack. She
is a real Shinbashi geisha, and you can only be
that if you are born and grow up here.”
“I hope she will continue performing for a long
time,” says Mr Watanabe, who heads Kokimi’s
Ginza booking agency, wistfully. “There are geisha
who have remained popular long after they turned
80 years old.”
Like many others, he worries about the lack
of new blood in the business – both geisha and
clients. When asked about the future, he frowns
and sighs. “After the war, there were more than
800 geisha in Tokyo, but now there are just 300.
“This is partly because demand is down but
also because it is difficult to find replacements.
Young girls are not attracted to the profession and
of those who do give it a try, there are few, I’m
sorry to say, who have any talent. We have to reject
many on the spot because it’s clear they don’t have
the stamina or the focus needed.”
One dark, rainy afternoon Watanabe’s words
are justified. An entire afternoon of traditional
songs, music, dance and theatre by amateurs and
professionals, side by side, has been booked at a
community hall in Ningyocho, about 1km north
of Ginza. It drags on until the final act.
A wealthy older gentleman has hired Kokimi’s
services. He has paid for a choir and a small
orchestra to accompany the legendary geisha,
plus a television crew to cover it. He also sings a
chorus by himself – a kind of rich man’s karaoke.
The curtain rises and the tiny geisha comes
onstage. With minute, delicate movements she
begins to play out a love story so sad that the
audience – even those who were nodding off –
suddenly sits up straight, entranced by the sight
of the lovesick girl. She is supposed to be 18 years
of age, maybe 20, a young girl at the emperor’s
court, desperately in love with a great warrior
who has promised her the world but clearly is
not about to deliver.
The lighting slowly changes from neutral
tones to shadowy reds, with a lone white spotlight
following Kokimi as she slowly descends into the
black hole of lost love. First she accuses him then
everything else including heaven above, until she,
unwillingly, takes the blame herself.
There is no toe out of place here. Every step,
every glance is accentuated in ways that would
border on the scientific were it not for the purity
and the sad, inevitable flow.
The corners of the stage where the orchestra
and the choir sit are in complete darkness. It is
subtle and well done.
On the stage of the hall in Ningyocho, Kokimi
is the seasoned practitioner who shows us the
inner workings of a heart that no longer functions.
Cold, bloodless and devoid of love it cannot,
should not exist.
This is great art, but afterwards Kokimi is
nowhere to be found. She is on her way to
Kanetanaka for the evening’s first engagement – a
dinner party of six has booked an hour of dancing.
She leaves the echo of a vastly different world
behind her, a world of perfected grace. ■
“One must kill
one’s personality
to perform the
tea ceremony. The
geisha are very
skilful at this”

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Geisha SCMP 3

  • 1. PostMagazine 19 Yasube Hosoda is a reputable gentleman far past the introduction stage. For as long as he an remember, he has been arranging geisha dinner parties at least once a month. He runs a confectionary company, and these days he has cut down on work and is focusing on the good things in life. And geisha definitely constitute a good thing. “This appreciation is in my genes,” he says. “My father introduced me to this world, as he was introduced by his father. In past times, this was the way to have fun. I still remember the first time I saw a geisha perform. I was stunned. I still think this is one of the best ways to spend an evening. A good geisha can illuminate a whole dinner party. She can make everyone relax and feel important at the same time.” Men in their 60s and 70s make up the bulk of the clients for Kokimi, Himechiyo, Kozue and the other geisha. Young businessmen and politicians would rather spend their expense accounts at exclusive hostess bars, where the ambience is more modern – and where the services can be more extensive if the money is right and the details are handled with discretion. The Tanaka family owns and runs Kanetanaka, the most prestigious geisha restaurant in Shinbashi. Mr Tanaka took over the running of the restaurant from his father and grew up surrounded by geisha, politicians, Kabuki actors and company presidents. Kanetanaka is still a good business, and is booked solid for several months at a time, but the Tanakas cannot help worrying about the future. “The young IT millionaires on TV never come here,” Tanaka laments. “I don’t know what they do for fun. They don’t seem to be interested in geisha anyway.” Kokimi nods her head in agreement. She has known Tanaka since he ran around in shorts. Like him, she is worried about the future. Geisha do what geisha have always done; there is very little room for new ideas when one performs traditional dances, songs and the tea ceremony. And if customers no longer want this, there is not much that anyone can do about it. IT IS TIME FOR A lesson in chado, the tea ceremony. The air smells of hay and green tea as Souyou Ogawa, tea master of the Edosenke school, takes charge. Despite the solemn surroundings, the atmosphere is lively and fun. The geisha take turns in preparing and serving the tea. Once in a while, Ogawa comments or gives instructions. There is only one correct way to perform the tea ceremony. There is only one accepted way of tucking the red napkin into the kimono; one way to move the body when serving the tea. The rules create a safety zone in which one can relax; you do not have to stand out when you are an agent in a process that aims to create a perfect moment. “One must kill one’s personality to perform the tea ceremony,” says Ogawa. “The geisha are very skilful at this. They are my best students, without a doubt.” Kokimi has been taking lessons since the 1960s, so she is more elegant than the younger geisha. There is a wonderful grace in her every movement, even when she is kneeling – a necessity in a confined space. “She is fantastic, and yet she still improves the longer she studies,” Ogawa says. “She has a presence and an elegance that the others lack. She is a real Shinbashi geisha, and you can only be that if you are born and grow up here.” “I hope she will continue performing for a long time,” says Mr Watanabe, who heads Kokimi’s Ginza booking agency, wistfully. “There are geisha who have remained popular long after they turned 80 years old.” Like many others, he worries about the lack of new blood in the business – both geisha and clients. When asked about the future, he frowns and sighs. “After the war, there were more than 800 geisha in Tokyo, but now there are just 300. “This is partly because demand is down but also because it is difficult to find replacements. Young girls are not attracted to the profession and of those who do give it a try, there are few, I’m sorry to say, who have any talent. We have to reject many on the spot because it’s clear they don’t have the stamina or the focus needed.” One dark, rainy afternoon Watanabe’s words are justified. An entire afternoon of traditional songs, music, dance and theatre by amateurs and professionals, side by side, has been booked at a community hall in Ningyocho, about 1km north of Ginza. It drags on until the final act. A wealthy older gentleman has hired Kokimi’s services. He has paid for a choir and a small orchestra to accompany the legendary geisha, plus a television crew to cover it. He also sings a chorus by himself – a kind of rich man’s karaoke. The curtain rises and the tiny geisha comes onstage. With minute, delicate movements she begins to play out a love story so sad that the audience – even those who were nodding off – suddenly sits up straight, entranced by the sight of the lovesick girl. She is supposed to be 18 years of age, maybe 20, a young girl at the emperor’s court, desperately in love with a great warrior who has promised her the world but clearly is not about to deliver. The lighting slowly changes from neutral tones to shadowy reds, with a lone white spotlight following Kokimi as she slowly descends into the black hole of lost love. First she accuses him then everything else including heaven above, until she, unwillingly, takes the blame herself. There is no toe out of place here. Every step, every glance is accentuated in ways that would border on the scientific were it not for the purity and the sad, inevitable flow. The corners of the stage where the orchestra and the choir sit are in complete darkness. It is subtle and well done. On the stage of the hall in Ningyocho, Kokimi is the seasoned practitioner who shows us the inner workings of a heart that no longer functions. Cold, bloodless and devoid of love it cannot, should not exist. This is great art, but afterwards Kokimi is nowhere to be found. She is on her way to Kanetanaka for the evening’s first engagement – a dinner party of six has booked an hour of dancing. She leaves the echo of a vastly different world behind her, a world of perfected grace. ■ “One must kill one’s personality to perform the tea ceremony. The geisha are very skilful at this”