Taking into account everything we’ve talked about so far, I think the biggest difference between the past and the present is whether there is a ‘right answer’ or not.

That’s true. Back then, there was no right answer. No one had the answer. So you just had to decide for yourself. It might sound strange, but I didn’t really have any specific goals at the time, like wanting to sell a certain amount. If I had to name one thing, I guess I just wanted my own garage (laughs).

Nowadays, if you want to start a business or begin something new, all you need is a smartphone and you can find most of the answers. The right and wrong choices are pretty clear, and you can predict failure to a certain extent. But back then, we didn’t know our right from left, so we just started feeling our way through it by trying things and making mistakes. By repeating that process, I think our work gradually took shape as its own kind of unique business.

That’s right. Nowadays you can make things with a certain landing point in mind, but back then we were really just feeling our way through it. Once you start, you can’t stop. There were no answers, so you just had to keep your hands moving and keep going. Even if you fail, that becomes the basis for the next decision. I think back then we were only focused on what was right in front of us, and because of that we had an incredible ability to absorb things.

I’d mess around with my bikes, ride them, break them, fix them, over and over again. Looking back now, those experiences ended up becoming the ideas and foundation for the projects and the things I make.

I’d use brackets I bought at Hands on my bike (laughs). But I didn’t think it was anything special. You don’t know if something will work until you actually try it.

That way of thinking still remains today.

It definitely still does. Like thinking, “Maybe this could work if we turned it around,” or “Maybe it would work if we shifted its original purpose a little.” I think I developed that habit of thinking during that time. In a way, that probably led to the kind of creativity we have now. This might sound a bit strange to say, but both you and I might actually have had sharper creative instincts back then.

I also feel like my relationships with people are different now.

It’s different. After an exhibition, we’d talk until morning and then set everything up again the next day. We really spent that time all together. Now the company is bigger, and I work while considering the people around me.

Back then, it wasn’t about interests or gains, it was about the time we shared and connecting with each other.

That’s right. Back then, it wasn’t about whether something would sell, it was about whether it was interesting. The people who shared that mindset are still around me today.
One thing I really felt was that Tetsu’s way of thinking was unmistakably Tokyo. During the early days of Ura-Harajuku, the vibe was much more casual than it is now, but looking back, the things created from that mindset were incredibly bold.
Coming from the countryside, I carried a bit of a complex, and honestly, I admired the way Tokyo people think and create. There’s a kind of confidence in their creativity. Maybe partly because of that, as someone from outside Tokyo, I felt like I had to make it work, otherwise there’d be no place to return to, so I pushed myself. That survival instinct was really important. Back then, I didn’t have money and I had this sense that I had to somehow carve out a place for myself. There were times when I couldn’t pay the electricity bill and the power got cut off, or the gas got shut off so I couldn’t take a bath, those times were really tough.
Right after moving to Tokyo, I went to Vantan, but I quit after just one semester. And yet, a few years later, Vantan came to interview me for a graduate feature. I hadn’t even graduated, though! The fact that we, who hadn’t studied fashion formally, managed to survive in the streetwear world feels incredibly meaningful. Of course, we were heavily influenced by overseas street brands and the friends around us, but even so.

Thinking back on all of this, what does the phrase “Motorcycle makes a man” mean to you?

Nowadays it makes perfect sense to me. Riding motorcycles taught me problem-solving, how to start over after failure, and how to connect with people. It wasn’t about knowledge; it was about attitude. I think what we learned through that trial-and-error process has had a huge influence on how we create today.

I’m sure that I learned creativity and ingenuity through motorcycles.

Exactly. Motorcycles break down all the time, and you ride them knowing that. But when they break, you fix them. If you can’t fix them, you make what’s needed. Going through that over and over shapes a person, and motorcycles taught me that.