Today, most know Hachioji as the gateway city to Mount Takao, a sacred mountain peak drawing millions in search of nature and renewal. Yet beyond the famous hiking trails lies a lesser-known aspect of this city, shaped by silk, song, and the spirit of craftsmanship. From the Taisho era (1912–1926) through the postwar years of the 1950s, Hachioji flourished as a textile capital, earning national recognition as the heart of the Tama region’s weaving industry. With prosperity came culture, and nestled in the Nakamachi district was a hanamachi—the only geisha quarter in the Tama area. Merchants from across Japan would gather here, entertained by geisha with the traditional three-stringed instrument shamisen and nihonbuyo (classical Japanese dance) after completing their business in town.

But as synthetic dyes from overseas gradually displaced domestic fabrication methods, Hachioji’s textile trade began to wane around 1985. And with its decline, the vibrant world of the geisha concurrently began to fade into quiet shadow. It was during this period of transformation, as the once-bustling karyūkai (geisha world) grew still, that a young woman found herself drawn to a life steeped in grace and discipline.

Megumi, now the shujin (proprietor) of Yukinoe—the okiya, or traditional geisha house, at the heart of Hachioji’s cultural revival—first stepped into this world in the mid-1980s. At the time, she was working as a server at a local ryōtei, a traditional Japanese restaurant, when she was approached by the late Taiko-san of the Miyukiya, a local okiya.

“What drew me in at first was a vague but sincere admiration—for the elegance of the kimono, the refined gestures of womanhood, and the beauty of Japan I had seen in old films,” Megumi recalls. “But once I began, I found myself wanting to try everything. The more I practiced, the more joy I found in each performance. It became my world.”

The Path of the Geisha: Tradition, Etiquette, and Expression

In Hachioji at the time, it was rare—almost unheard of—for someone in their twenties to enter the world of geisha. When Megumi stepped into the hanamachi at that age, she stood out as something of a curiosity. “People were surprised and intrigued—‘Why is someone so young here?’—but I was warmly welcomed by both the senior geisha and our guests,” she recalls with a smile. “There were hardly any young people around. The geisha just above me in rank were nearly 20 years older, and those above them were from my mother’s generation.”

By day, she practiced Nihonbuyo and played the shamisen. By night, she attended ozashiki (a type of formal gathering or banquet), learning not only the arts but also the manners, games, and ways to host guests gracefully. Megumi absorbed everything eagerly, like a sprouting bud reaching for the sun.

What drew her in, beyond the techniques of performance, was a quality she saw in her senior geisha—an ineffable beauty shaped by years of experience. “There was a kind of sorrow or wistfulness they carried in their presence—something that made their movements and expressions incredibly captivating. Unlike I, trying so hard to follow every form, they had a natural, effortless yet captivating grace. It was its own kind of refined charm. I always wondered how I might capture that feeling.”

Beyond the skills and presence, Megumi was also introduced to a world filled with traditional tools and rituals. Warming sake, for instance, had nothing to do with utilizing microwaves. Instead, it began with pouring sake from a large bottle into a tokkuri—a ceramic flask designed for serving. The tokkuri was then placed inside a doko (銅壺), a traditional copper vessel set within a hibachi (heating device), where it would slowly warm in hot water.

“We used to heat it slowly, just letting it sit in the hot water inside the doko, testing it with our hands every so often—never rushing, never letting it get too hot. It was all about waiting for that perfect moment when it felt just right. It was simple, quiet, and peaceful—so different from how fast everything moves now.”

Language in the ozashiki adhered to strict codes, where certain sounds, like “shi,” and inauspicious words—known as imikotoba—were carefully avoided. Imikotoba refers to words avoided due to associations with misfortune or bad luck. This practice was rooted in cultural beliefs, as the sound “shi” is pronounced the same as “death”(死) in Japanese, making it considered unlucky.

Following this naming convention, oshibori (wet towels) are otefuki, sushi becomes osumoji, and shoyu (soy sauce) becomes murasaki. Also, surume (dried squid) contains the word suru, which can suggest “grinding down” or “losing,” and has long been associated with wasting money—especially in gambling. To avoid this unlucky nuance, the name was changed to atarime, from ataru, meaning “to win.”

There was even a term for geisha without clients—ocha hiku, meaning ‘to grind tea.’ This referred to the idle time when no guests were present, a moment in the yūkaku (red-light districts) where tea was ground without purpose, symbolizing a lack of clients. During these moments, no guest would come upstairs to begin the service. The geisha simply waited, her time unused. When a guest finally arrived, the first thing served was tea—called agari, instead of ocha, as the term ‘ocha’ was avoided to reflect that the work had not yet started.

Megumi speaks with warmth and humor about her early days, when she was still growing accustomed to the language of the geisha world. “Isn’t it fascinating? I’d hear the older geisha say ‘osumoji’ and gradually come to understand they were talking about sushi. No one sat me down and explained—it was something I came to recognize naturally, just by being there. I found it so interesting, I filled pages and pages in my notebook with these words.”

Her curiosity became part of her charm. Guests were delighted by her enthusiasm and would gently nudge her along: “Try it this way,” they’d say, offering small lessons in the unspoken customs of the ozashiki. In time, she became not just a participant, but an integral part of that world.

“Even now, every day brings new discoveries. There are realizations and moments of insight that only come from truly being in a place. And as time passes, new understandings emerge—things that only make sense when you reach that point. It’s an ongoing cycle of discovery. That’s why I believe every small awareness, every little realization, builds upon the last, quietly guiding me forward.”

“At the same time, every stage of life kind of has its own timing. There are things you can only put into words when you’re a teenager, others that finally settle in during your thirties, and little truths that only really make sense with age. It’s like everything has its own shun (旬)—its own season that gently shows itself when the time is right.”

Hachioji’s Geisha Live Beyond Tradition

Today, geisha are not only preservers of tradition, but also figures of admiration. While Tokyo has six main hanamachi districts, including Akasaka and Shinbashi, Hachioji’s hanamachi stands out for its strong connection with the local community. The geishas here regularly participate in city events and even lead cultural workshops in local schools—activities that are rare elsewhere. Geisha are also called upon for a wide range of occasions, from memorial services and weddings to milestone celebrations and casual women’s gatherings, demonstrating their deep integration into the rhythm of everyday life. Megumi says, “The way geisha are cherished by the community—it’s something truly unique to Hachioji.”

Across generations, the cultural value of geisha has been rediscovered and appreciated anew. As their ties with the community grew stronger, geisha came to be regarded as symbols of dignity and refinement—embodying both cleanliness and grace. This shift in perception was driven by Megumi, who worked tirelessly to reshape the image of the geisha. She opened the door, inviting the public in, hoping to introduce more people to the richness of this world.

“It’s my hometown, of course I love it,” she says. “I’m proud to say, ‘There are geisha in the city I care about—Hachioji.’ And I truly enjoy what I do.”

Note: Maiko are typically girls aged 15 and older, starting their training after junior high school, though in the past, girls as young as 10 or 13 also became maiko. A maiko is an apprentice working to become a geisha (and geiko), and most are active between 15 and 20. The terms geisha and geiko refer to the same profession, with regional variations in naming.

A geisha and geiko is a fully trained performer who has completed her maiko apprenticeship. Geisha are usually 20 or older, and many continue their careers throughout their lives. Both perform traditional arts such as singing, Nihonbuyo (classical Japanese dance), and playing the traditional three-stringed instrument shamisen.

In this context, it is rare for someone to start training in their twenties, making Megumi’s decision to begin her apprenticeship at that age quite exceptional.

In the Stillness, Mastery is Born

One performance that symbolized Megumi’s personal challenge and resolve as a geisha was Shunkyō Kagamijishi (春興鏡獅子)—a classical piece known for its dramatic, whirling mane dance using a long wig. This movement, which even male performers require considerable strength to execute, is said to be driven not from the head but from the hips. Achieving a graceful and powerful motion demands significant skill. For a November performance, she trained through the height of summer—walking with the long wig and practicing repeatedly in spacious areas, focused solely on perfecting the art of the mane’s movement.

“I knew my frame lacked impact, but to have performed it in my fifties felt like a real accomplishment. Not many people take on this piece—not because of the physical demand, but because of the high costs involved. It took me around four years to repay the expenses after the performance. In the past, the geisha world relied on the support of tanimachi—patrons—and many events were possible through sponsorships. These days, such support is rare, so putting on a large-scale performance means funding it entirely yourself.”

“You can still be a geisha without performing, but what you gain from sharing your art—those experiences, the personal growth—they’re irreplaceable. Investing in yourself becomes a precious treasure. Taking the stage for a major performance is deeply meaningful.”

She continues, “In tea ceremony, there’s a saying: taru wo shiru—to know contentment. Being satisfied with what you have is a beautiful thing. But when something’s missing, that empty space can spark creativity. It pushes you to struggle, to adapt, and to find new ways forward. I actually think lacking something can be more interesting than having it all. Maybe I’m a bit greedy! (laughs) Once I get curious, I can’t help but imagine how things could be even better.”

Megumi now devotes much of her energy to mentoring younger geisha, constantly thinking about how the hanamachi can continue to survive and thrive. She speaks of her path as a geisha not simply as a profession, but as the very shape of her life—and feels deeply grateful to be part of this world. And when it comes to refining one’s art, she says the most important thing is to remain humble.

“There are people who are born with a natural gift, a special kind of glow. But what truly matters most is not letting pride take over. The moment you think, ‘I’ve mastered it,’ your growth stops. Being too stoic isn’t healthy either, but complacency inevitably shows in your art. I remind myself of this all the time—if your performance carries that air of ‘Look how good I am,’ it creates a subtle discomfort in those watching. True beauty in art comes from stripping away the excess.”

“The more earnestly you want to do well, the more you tend to pack everything in. But in reality, how quietly you can express something—that’s where the real art lies. In dance, for example, it’s often more beautiful to avoid exaggerated movements. Of course, you need to emphasize certain moments properly, but if you overdo it, it starts to feel off-putting. “That’s something my shishō (master teacher) often reminds me of,” she says with a gentle laugh, softly adding that she’s still refining her own steps.

About Hachioji

Hachioji, the most populous city in Tama, is a place where natural beauty and rich history converge. Mount Takao, revered as a spiritual landmark for centuries, graces the city with its breathtaking seasonal vistas, drawing both locals and visitors alike. Once a hub of sericulture and textile production, this heritage continues to echo throughout the city. Particularly around Mount Takao, the legacy of silkworm farmers and merchants is preserved in the old shops, traditional buildings, and sericulture remnants, offering a glimpse into the area’s rich cultural legacy.

こちらの記事は英語で執筆されており、ブラウザの自動翻訳により名前の漢字表記が正しく表示されないこと、不自然な日本語が表示されることがあるようです。お手数ですが、英語原文での閲覧をお試しください。