The summer sun was heating the windows of my small studio, and the fan gently stirred the edges of the fabrics on my table.
While working, I glanced at my phone. A new notification appeared on my official LINE account — a simple “New Friend Added.”
Nothing unusual. Yet somehow, it felt different.
For months, I had been in a quiet struggle.
Working within a small local community, trying new ideas, wondering how to grow.
There were days when I whispered to myself, “What should I do next…”
Then a message arrived from that new contact.
“I’d like to discuss a costume for a commercial.”
My heart jumped.
It felt like a new story had opened on the other side of the screen.
I’ve always dreamed that one day, inquiries for custom costumes would come not only from across Japan, but from around the world.
But dreams can feel distant when you’re standing in a small workshop in a small town.
Sometimes I wondered if I should have moved to a big city when I was younger.
Ten years ago, I even stepped away from sewing entirely, discouraged by the future of the apparel industry.
But discovering the world of costume design — especially figure skating costumes — brought me back to the sewing machine.
So when a local stylist reached out, I felt both excitement and fear.
“Am I really good enough for a real commercial project…?”
We met at a café, my bag full of fabric samples.
After an hour of discussion, I learned the costume would be worn by a young girl in a commercial for a well‑known product.
My chest tightened with excitement.
My experience in figure skating costume design suddenly felt meaningful — the attention to color, movement, and character.
When I later saw the finished commercial, I understood the stylist’s vision.
The relationship between the product, the girl’s character, and the color palette was simply perfect.
After finishing the costume, I sent photos to the stylist.
The lace I used for the hem created a delicate, translucent effect.
But the reply came back:
“The transparency might cause issues with background compositing.”
Of course — the world of video production has its own invisible rules.
I quickly remade the frill using solid white fabric.
Every production site has its own wisdom.
Things you would never notice unless you’re there.
Each one becomes a new lesson for me.
I was also invited to the filming studio.
In the lights, sound, and movement, I saw the costume I made come alive.
They even allowed me to write about the project once the commercial was released.
I was deeply grateful.
The schedule was tight, but every morning when I stepped into my workspace, surrounded by fabric, I felt nothing but joy.
This experience — this feeling — is something I will never forget.
