Moriyama Ward, Nagoya: Once a Hub for Doll Making

The Meitetsu Seto Line runs from Sakae in central Nagoya to Seto, a town famous for its pottery. Along this route lies Moriyama Ward, once a bustling hub for artisans involved in doll making. The reason came down to real estate. In the past, sprawling, seven-tiered displays were the norm for Hina dolls.

Many families would purchase complete sets of 15 dolls, which included the imperial couple, three court ladies, five musicians, two ministers, and three servants. This meant doll makers needed a great deal of space to store and display their creations. As a result, they flocked to Moriyama Ward, where it was easier to find the necessary space compared to central Nagoya.

"When I started in this business around age 20, I think there were about 23 doll shops in Moriyama Ward alone. Now, more than 30 years later, we're the only one left," Takaaki says.

Today, Kato Doll takes custom orders for Hina dolls directly from customers. Originally, however, they didn't do retail, instead wholesaling their dolls to shops across the country. But a slowing economy, a falling birthrate, and the fading of traditions led to a decline in demand, forcing a change.

"Retail shops became reluctant to hold inventory," Takaaki explains.

In the past, the Katos could deliver their Hina dolls to retailers a comfortable six months before the season. But as shops grew wary of carrying stock, they started placing orders with artisans like the Katos much closer to the doll-buying season, reacting to immediate consumer demand. This forced them to produce large quantities of dolls on very tight deadlines.

While this meant a major overhaul of their internal production process and schedule, it also proved to be a silver lining.

"I figured if we had to work on short deadlines anyway, we might as well take orders directly from individual customers," Takaaki recalls. "The only problem is that manufacturers aren't supposed to interfere with retailers' business—it makes them angry. So, we didn't advertise at all."

What started as a small side-business selling directly to customers has, over two decades, steadily grown through word-of-mouth.

From Making Conventional Products to Crafting One-of-a-Kind Dolls

For the Kato couple, taking individual orders sparked a major shift: they could now see the faces of the people their dolls were going home to.

"When we supply to retailers, we have no idea who will buy the dolls. That's why we create conventional pieces that seven or eight out of ten people would call 'pretty' or 'cute.' But with direct orders from individual customers, we often get requests for combinations we would never think of ourselves," says Takaaki.

They began to feel a greater sense of purpose in their doll-making than ever before.

"Our individual clients really put a lot of thought into it. It's never decided in just one consultation; they'll come back three or four times. Eventually, they settle on something, and as they leave, they say, 'Ah, that was fun.' It makes us so happy that we can provide an experience they find enjoyable," says Mayumi.

The couple laughs as they reminisce about past orders, their conversation blossoming with fond memories.

"We once had a couple who went to Kenya for their honeymoon. They told us how they saw a giraffe standing gracefully on the plains under a brilliant blue sky. The sight was so unforgettable that they even gave their daughter a name inspired by it. They asked us to create Hina dolls using those colors, blue and yellow.

It's a color scheme you would never find in a regular retail store; it just wouldn't sell. We want to be a place where customers can enjoy creating something that is uniquely their own. We'd be thrilled if people came here to express what truly resonates with them," says Takaaki.

A Desire to Make Things Properly, Even If It Takes More Effort

Takaaki's father and grandfather were also Hina doll artisans. Consequently, Takaaki began helping with the family business around elementary school. He started working in earnest at the age of 20 while still in college.

"When I was younger, I sometimes thought about becoming a teacher. But my path was already set, so going off-track wasn't an option (laughs)," says Takaaki.

Although his path as an artisan had been decided since birth, he had an opportunity to re-evaluate his work at the age of 28.

"Shortly after my daughter was born, she contracted an infection and was hovering between life and death. I'm not usually one to believe in gods, but at that moment, I even went to pray. As it turns out, one of the origins of Hina dolls is to act as a substitute to ward off misfortune from children. That made me realize that I had to make them properly," says Takaaki.

In the past, due to factors like the baby boom, there were many children. As a result, many of the Hina dolls on the market were said to be poorly made.

"At our workshop, we make the bodies from biodegradable materials like straw and *mokumen* (wood wool). We craft the body with care. Most people assume Hina dolls have feet, but since they aren't visible, most of them don't. Of course, it's easier not to make them. However, if the doll is meant to take on misfortune in a child's place, it's not a complete product if it can't also take on a leg injury. When you make feet, you can't just glue the fabric for the clothing on; you have to sew them like trousers, which is time-consuming," says Takaaki.

His father, who was his predecessor, apparently opposed this method of putting effort into parts that aren't even visible.

"He would get angry, asking, 'What's the point of such a troublesome process?' But I told him that since we were taking over, we wanted to do it our way, and we changed everything when the business was passed down to us. Retailers didn't want to pay extra for what they saw as a pointless detail, so we lost most of the clients my father and grandfather had cultivated," says Takaaki.

Mayumi, who has walked this path alongside Takaaki, does not come from a doll-making family. Yet, she emphatically calls her current work her "true calling." She met Takaaki in college when they were in the same photography club.

"I've loved making things since I was a child. Around the third grade, I used to make dolls by following instructions in books. And this place is just filled with materials, you know? (laughs). It's not like I can use them freely, but it feels like heaven," says Mayumi.

Takaaki quickly chimes in.

"We'll finish our doll-making work around 2 a.m., and as soon as that's done, she (Mayumi) starts making different dolls as a hobby. She's more of a doll maker than the doll maker," says Takaaki.

Finally, Our Work Feels Human

Throughout our cheerful conversation, one moment stood out. It was when the couple glanced at each other and remarked, "Work has gotten so much more enjoyable, hasn't it?"

"Before we began taking custom orders, we were mass-producing dolls with identical kimonos. If we were working on black, there would be rows and rows of black. The workshop would turn completely black, and I’d find myself thinking, ‘Not black again.’ But now, every single doll is unique. We have to be meticulous to avoid any mix-ups, but that’s part of the fun. It brings me so much joy to create a doll while picturing the child it’s for," says Mayumi.

"When you're in the wholesale business, retailers are stocking merchandise, so they make tough demands. 'Cheaper,' 'faster,' things like that. I was used to it, so I rarely got discouraged, but it would still get to me sometimes. On the other hand, when we're creating sets for our customers, we get to hear their appreciation directly—things like, 'We're so happy,' or 'We'll treasure it forever.' I feel like our work has finally become human again, and I feel like I'm getting my own heart back. That’s what I enjoy the most," says Takaaki.