closely linked, both literally and metaphorically.
For example, interestingly in the English language, we can both weave stories and tell lies by reference to textiles. As noted by the English Language and Usage website (in their analysis of the metaphor ‘Thought is a thread, and the raconteur is a spinner of yarns'), expressions like ‘loom of language', ‘weave a story/spell', ‘thread of discourse' and ‘warp and woof' indicate textile–story associations, while ‘fabricate evidence', ‘spin a yarn', ‘tissue of lies', ‘pull the wool over your eyes', and ‘out of whole cloth' indicate that textile metaphors are morally neutral and can be used for authentic tales as well as the invention of false anecdotes to serve the interests of the raconteur. Metaphors can be a useful mental shortcut, by explaining x in reference to y, and, given our age-old connection to textiles – their production, their constituent parts, their art and science, and characteristics – the traditions of textiles are still highly relevant in a modern context, in the expression of ideas about the future, and in gaining buy-in to something as intangible and abstract as strategy.
Even a word such as ‘context', used in storytelling, news, debates, dialogue and therapy, is an example of the intermeshing of text and textiles. Context comes from the Latin root of ‘con' (together) + ‘texere', thus denoting ‘together to weave', meaning the circumstances that form the setting for an event, statement or idea, and in terms of which it can be fully understood. ‘Pretext' is another such intermeshing. This again comes from a Latin root – ‘prae' (before) + texere, indicating ‘before to weave' and meaning a reason given in justification of a course of action that is not the real reason. ‘Subtext' is a third example, and means an underlying and often distinct theme in a piece of writing or conversation. And the idea of ‘subtle' nuances in a conversation comes from the ‘sub-tela', from Latin ‘subtilis' (thin, fine, precise) or a ‘thread passing under the warp'.
These links between text and textiles lead us to the topic for this book (everything is connected). While the idea of ‘seamless' has both a literal and a metaphorical meaning, its origins, of course, lie in textiles. According to Merriam-Webster, the literal meaning of the word seamless is ‘having no seams'; its metaphorical meaning is ‘having no awkward transitions, interruptions, or indications of disparity'. More simply, Merriam-Webster defines seamless as ‘moving from one thing to another easily and without any interruptions or problems' and as ‘perfect and having no flaws or errors'.
Again according to Merriam-Webster, its synonyms include: absolute, faultless, flawless, ideal, immaculate, impeccable, indefectible, irreproachable, letter-perfect, picture-book, picture-perfect, perfect, unblemished. Its antonyms include: amiss, bad, censurable, defective, faulty, flawed, imperfect and reproachable.
Let's expand on this idea of seamlessness, and why I believe it to be the elixir of our business and personal futures.
The mythical origins of seamlessness
While we will ultimately investigate seamlessness for its modern application, the profundity of the term takes us back in history, and is relevant to its future application as the ‘Holy Grail' of design. The idea of seamlessness in textiles, in fact, does hold religious and spiritual connotations. The ‘Seamless Robe of Jesus' (or Holy Robe) is the garment said to have been worn by Jesus during or shortly before his crucifixion. According to the Gospel of John, the soldiers who crucified Jesus cast lots when deciding who would keep the garment, rather than dividing it, precisely because it was woven in one piece, without seams, providing a mythical association to the technique of circular knitting that may have made Jesus' garment and imbues it with a supernatural quality. (See John 19:23–24 for the full details.) According to Wikipedia, and depending on which brand of Christianity you choose to listen to, the robe can today be found preserved in Trier (Germany), Argenteuil (France), or Sankt Petersburg and Moscow (Russia). The idea of the ‘seamless garment' has since been mythically and morally adopted by Christians in the ‘seamless garment philosophy', which holds that issues such as abortion, capital punishment, militarism, euthanasia, social injustice and economic injustice all require a consistent line of moral reasoning which value the sacredness of human life. The Roman Catholic pacifist Eileen Eagan, for example, said that ‘the protection of life is a seamless garment. You can't protect some life and not others.' Seamlessness in other words, runs deep.
Its literal, textile roots come from the technique of circular knitting. This is a form of knitting that creates a seamless tube and so ensures less friction on the body (which the seams may otherwise have caused on our delicate skin – I, for one, moisturise often). Seamless items are imbued with a sense of high quality, and deep empathy with their wearers. While this can certainly be done by hand-knitting, the process of circular, seamless production can also be done by machine. Let me illustrate this with an example from a business trip to Tokyo, Japan, in 2014.
I was in Tokyo to work with our long-time client, Fuji Xerox, at their flagship event for their Premier Partners in Asia Pacific. Beyond the opportunity of working with the Fuji Xerox Chairman, Tadahito Yamamoto, I was also looking forward to exploring Tokyo by foot, and in particular I had my sartorial eye set on the Loopwheeler store in Sendagaya. The irony of this attraction is that as a futurist, I am well versed in the idea that change, adaptation and agility are key to brands' survival in a fast-evolving landscape. However, it's exactly the extreme reluctance of Loopwheeler to adapt and modernise (along with Merz b. Schwanen in the Swabian Alps of Germany, it is one of the only two remaining factories producing authentic loopwheel terry cloth) which makes the brand so sustainable.
Originally, I had come across this brand in Monocle magazine's 52nd edition. While reading the 2012 article ‘Reinvent the Wheel – Wakayama' by Kenji Hall, I fell in love with the collaboration between man and machine that results in the supercomfy Loopwheeler sweatshirts. Loopwheeling equipment is always based on a tubular knit (or tube body) construction, which means that the resulting garment (usually a t-shirt or a sweatshirt) is made of a single piece of seamless fabric. In other words, the fabric is knitted around a tube and comes out without side seams, as one tubular shape. Loopwheeler takes this approach a step further – trust the Japanese to positively geek out about the process – and takes their customer empathy to the next level.
The vintage machines used by Loopwheeler are from a bygone era of industrialisation. But this doesn't render them irrelevant. On the contrary. While Hall points out in his article that ‘the machines are a throwback to an analogue era, almost driven to extinction by technological progress', the evident inefficiency of the 1920s machinery (they produce just one metre of cloth an hour, or enough for eight sweatshirts a day) is counterbalanced by founder Satoshi Suzuki's ‘focus on craftsmanship and quality', which has ‘won Loopwheeler a small, cult-like following that spans the globe' – evidenced by my pilgrimage to Suzuki's Sendagaya shopfront.
Suzuki became interested in manufacturing techniques, and how they impact on durability and softness in garments, while at university. During his visits to factories, he learned that loopwheeling machines don't stretch the textile threads taut like modern manufacturing equipment, which means that the resulting fabric can better withstand wear and tear. The machines (which according to Hall resemble large caterpillars) spin twenty-four times a minute – slower than vinyl on a record player – and, rather than the fabric being pulled down by a machine, gravity is the only force that pulls the circular tube of fabric gently down the loopwheeling machine. And as the proud owner of two Loopwheeler garments – a cardigan and a t-shirt, bought on two separate business visits to Tokyo in 2014 and 2015 – I can attest to their comfort, quality and fit. As a tangent, given the tales of cotton dust in their factory, I must also linguistically alert you that the metaphor of ‘cottoning on to an idea' has textile roots and, according to some linguists, describes the attachment of cotton to machinery, while others say it describes the comfortable attachment to its wearer. Either way, the comfortable intimacy between customer and garment is something that has become part and parcel of the cultural weave at Loopwheeler. And the quest for this seamless intimacy is what this book is all about.
The idea that
