Made-to-order, wearing a life without a pattern in Wasei-eigo - A playful essay on words

Sometimes, I find myself looking at my own cuffs.
When buttoning a ready-made shirt, a sense of discomfort—just a few millimeters, or perhaps a fraction of a millimeter—sometimes lingers at my fingertips. Perhaps it is into that faint gap that we want to slip the magical word 'made-to-order'.

To begin with, doesn't the sound of 'made-to-order' have a certain ring to it that makes you stand up straight, yet feels sweet at the same time?
Interestingly, if you were to walk around Savile Row in London carrying this word, the local tailors would likely tilt their heads in confusion.
That is because this is a custom-made product born and nurtured by the Japanese, known as 'Wasei-eigo' (Japanese-made English).

Originally, the quintessential English term for 'custom-tailored' is 'bespoke'.
Tracing its etymology, it refers to a state of having been 'spoken for'.
The customer and the artisan engage in dialogue, sitting knee-to-knee, debating this and that to craft a single garment. A dense time of communication flows there, transcending a mere 'order'.

This concept entered Japan in earnest between the Meiji and Taisho eras. It was an age when the footsteps of civilization and enlightenment were audible, and Western clothing became a status symbol.
At the time, it was called 'chumon-fuku' (ordered clothing) or simply 'oatsurae' (custom-made).
Eventually, 'order' and 'made' got married, and after passing through the high economic growth period of the Showa era, the word 'made-to-order' was born, becoming completely familiar in our daily lives.

Once, the places where this word felt appropriate were limited.

First and foremost, it was the temple of fashion.
The salons tucked away in the back of department stores or the small tailors on street corners. These were a kind of sanctuary where adults were permitted to have a 'pattern of their own'.
The name embroidered on the lining of a suit, the existence of an artisan who understands your body down to the millimeter. Perhaps it was a form of self-validation.

As time went on, the ecosystem of this word expanded significantly.

It advanced into the category of living spaces, or lifestyle. Adjusting the height of a kitchen counter to your waist, or matching study shelves to the size of your favorite books.
The act of bringing physical 'things' closer to oneself was like a ritual to regain control over one's life.

And now, in the modern age, the term 'made-to-order' is no longer confined to tangible things.

For example, in the world of IT and digital technology.
Without even realizing it, we rearrange smartphone settings and app layouts to be 'exclusively for ourselves'.
Music playlists suggested by algorithms or supplement prescriptions based on genetic testing.
These, too, could be called a form of digital made-to-order.

Recently, I have even seen it used in more unusual ways.

The design of time, such as 'made-to-order funerals' or 'made-to-order weddings'.
Even in ceremonial occasions that value formal beauty, we seek a custom order called 'our own style'.
There is even the term 'made-to-order education plans'. Behind a society that demands efficiency, it seems we are more obsessed than ever with being 'individuals'.

But, I find myself thinking a little.
Is a world where everything is 'tailored' exactly to our wishes truly comfortable?

Just as the 'bespoke' of the past had its etymological roots in 'dialogue', the original made-to-order must have included a sense of 'things not going as planned'.
The artisan's dedication clashes with your own preferences. Your body adapts to the characteristics of the material. Before a perfectly fitting garment is completed, there was the constraint of fitting yourself into a mold, and the sense of liberation that came after transcending it.

Are we not skipping the dialogue and ordering only the 'results' now? Such anxiety occasionally brushes against my chest as I wear my ready-made shirt.

Words are living creatures that change their shape to match the times.
The word 'made-to-order' was also born in Japan as Wasei-eigo, becoming a mirror that reflects our current desires and ideals.
It might be the shadow of an earnest prayer that we wish to be 'special'.

Next time you have something made new, why not try placing an order that intentionally leaves 'not everything decided'?
Try surrendering yourself to the artisan's whims or the individuality of the material.
I have a feeling that the 'discrepancy' that exceeds your own imagination might, unexpectedly, be the gift that fits you best in life.