Kenzo Takada — Behind the Masks

The years of relentless work, passionate ambition, sleepless nights, and legendary Parisian evenings never changed Kenzo Takada’s love of freedom. If anything, they deepened it.

“The world is beautiful,” he says with an amused smile as he welcomes us into his home.

Our meeting takes place inside a magnificent Haussmann apartment in Paris. The atmosphere is unexpectedly restrained. While I naturally gravitate toward something more Babylonian, everything here is controlled with quiet precision — almost Japanese in its minimalism. On the doorbell are two discreet initials: K.T.

From this moment on, Kenzo becomes Mr. Takada.

Having tea at the home of Kenzo Takada feels less like an interview and more like entering a private world suspended between memory, elegance, and humor. Almost immediately after I sit down, he confides that he applied extra face cream the night before so his features would not appear too drawn this morning.

“Do I look alright?” he asks, gently touching his skin.

He needn’t worry. He looks decades younger than his age.

AN ENCOUNTER

Kenzo Takada grew up in Himeji, in post-war Japan, as the fifth of seven children. Possessing an astonishing memory — much like his favorite animal, the elephant — he nevertheless recalls almost nothing about his father.

“He wasn’t around,” he says quietly, unwilling to elaborate further.

Paradoxically, his mother remains a vivid and lasting presence in his mind.

“I was fascinated by my mother. She was omnipresent, and incredibly elegant in the kimonos she wore so beautifully.”

When asked what childhood evokes for him, his response is immediate and concise:

“I didn’t like school.”

There was a reason for that. Dyslexia made his academic years difficult, and even today oral expression remains a source of insecurity.

“I often feel as though I don’t know how to speak,” admits this seemingly shy man who nevertheless expresses himself through countless artistic forms.

At the age of ten, the West entered his imagination through cinema.

“My first American films opened me to Western culture. What fascinated me most were the beds. I didn’t know they existed. I asked my mother to make me one inside the cupboard where we stored cushions.”

A few years later, Tokyo’s prestigious Bunka Fashion College opened its doors to male students for the first time. Kenzo Takada immediately enrolled, despite fierce opposition from his father.

“University was never for me.”

To finance his studies, he sold tofu and worked as a construction painter.

“Yes,” he laughs, “I painted apartments for six months to pay my rent.”

He remembers feeling completely overwhelmed during his first year at Bunka.

“When I entered the school, I felt beneath everyone else. I understood nothing.”

Then came the encounter that changed everything.

“In my second year, a lecturer returned from France and transformed my life.”

Her name was Mrs. Koike.

Kenzo credits her with giving him the courage to leave Japan for Paris.

“I was able to travel because I won a competition for a Japanese fashion magazine. It allowed me to be published and earn some money.”

Following Mrs. Koike’s advice, he traveled to France by ship in order to discover the world gradually rather than arriving suddenly by plane.

On November 20, 1964, he embarked on a journey that would later define his entire creative identity. Singapore, Hong Kong, Bombay, Colombo, Djibouti, Alexandria — every stop left a visual imprint that would eventually reappear in his collections.

More than fifty years later, he still recalls every color, emotion, and sensation from the voyage.

“That trip transformed me. It opened me to the idea of cultural mixing, to the unknown, and to cuisines from around the world.”

Kenzo arrived in Paris on January 1st after celebrating New Year’s Eve aboard the ship. Yet his first impression of the city was far from romantic.

“I expected the City of Light. Instead, Paris felt grey, cold, and sad.”

He promised himself he would stay for six months.

He never truly left.

Looking back, he believes young designers today should not necessarily establish themselves fully in Paris but maintain strong connections to the city instead.

“Paris still has the greatest embroiderers, feather artisans, journalists, buyers, and craftsmanship in the world.”

Kenzo Takada arrived in Paris in 1965. By April 1970, he had opened his first boutique.

“Imagine that,” he says with disbelief even now.

After appearing twice on the cover of Elle, he became known as “the most Parisian of Japanese designers.”

On April 14th, 1970, at the age of thirty, he opened his tiny first boutique called Jungle Jap inside the Galerie Vivienne.

What followed would transform fashion history.

His work mixed audacious prints, unexpected colors, poetic silhouettes, and fearless cultural references long before fashion embraced multiculturalism as a creative force.

“Those years were completely crazy,” he recalls.

“We worked nonstop and spent every evening out.”

He remembers legendary nights with Loulou de la Falaise, whose eccentric glamour fascinated him.

“For nearly two years, we went out every night together.”

The nights belonged to places like Le Palace, Sept, and Chez Régine.

“We danced until dawn everywhere we went.”

Kenzo pauses before smiling mischievously.

“I even took flamenco lessons.”

Then, laughing harder, he confesses that he once attended Parisian parties dressed as Minnie Mouse wearing fishnet stockings.

After thirty years of pressure, fashion fatigue finally arrived.

“My dream became taking a long vacation.”

His final runway show took place on October 7th, 1999, at Le Zénith in Paris. Two months later, everything was closed.

“Suddenly there was nothing. My life had been scheduled down to the second, and then there was emptiness.”

That emptiness eventually led him toward new forms of artistic expression: painting, design, and what he calls l’art de vivre.

Approaching sixty, Kenzo Takada devoted himself increasingly to painting and piano.

“Only to relax my fingers,” he jokes.

Yet painting remained deeply personal and uncertain territory for him.

“I still cannot say I’m truly a painter. I have too many doubts.”

Inspired heavily by traditional Japanese Noh theatre, his paintings explore masks, dual identities, and emotional concealment.

“In Noh theatre, the actor leaves behind his own personality when putting on the mask.”

His self-portraits reflect precisely that tension.

“These paintings are my roots. Hiding and masking fears are very present in them.”

Even now, vulnerability remains close beneath the humor.

When asked whether he considers himself fragile, Kenzo smiles softly.

“If by fragile you mean that I often have a sore throat, then yes.”

Behind the Masks of Kenzo Takada — 10 Questions

If you were a work of art, what would you be?

A Buddha statue.

How does your first name inspire you?

It sounds serious. Perhaps too much like a businessman.

Your favorite swear word?

“Merde!” I swear in French.

Would you want to be your own friend?

Yes… although I think it would be difficult.

Green tea or vodka?

Both.

What fragrance do you wear?

Since 1989, I’ve worn Kenzo Pour Homme.

Which sense could you live without?

Touch.

Your bedside reading?

Spring Snow.

Which criticism hurt you most?

In 1971, during a fashion show in Tokyo, a journalist wrote:

“He’s a peasant who succeeded in Paris using geishas and Mount Fuji.”
I went home and cried.

What makes you laugh?

Very silly things. I do many of them myself.

What irritates you in less than ten seconds?

People who are late.

Have you lied during this interview?

No… at least I don’t think so.