Is It Cultural Appropriation If My Daughter Wears a Kimono For Cosplay? What I Learned
The crumbs from my 14-year-old Lila’s peanut butter toast were still stuck to her algebra homework when she turned her laptop toward me last month. “Look,” she said, tapping a photo of a soft pink cotton kimono listed on Depop. “It’s exactly what I need for Nezuko for comic con. But… my friend in my cosplay group said this is cultural appropriation. Is she right?”
The cat wound around my ankles, and I froze. I’d read thinkpieces about cultural appropriation, mostly about high fashion brands stealing Indigenous patterns or celebrities dressing up as stereotypes for Halloween. I’d never expected to field that question over after-school snack time. I didn’t have a ready answer, so I did the only thing I could think of: I told Lila I didn’t know, but we’d figure it out together. That night, I texted my friend Miwa, a Japanese American art teacher who’s lived in our town for 12 years, and asked if she’d have coffee with us that weekend to talk it through.
She showed up with matcha shortbread, sat at the same kitchen table, and let Lila lead the conversation. Lila pulled up her reference photos for the cosplay, explained how much she loved Demon Slayer, how she’d saved three weeks of babysitting money to buy the outfit. “I don’t want to be rude,” she said, twisting the end of her hoodie drawstring. “But I also really want to do this cosplay. So where’s the line?”
Miwa leaned forward and said there’s no hard, universal line. That’s the part no one posts about on TikTok, she said. Some people believe any non-Japanese person wearing a kimono is appropriation, others don’t see it as a big deal at all. The difference, she said, comes down to intent and respect, not just the item itself. If you’re wearing a kimono as a joke to mock Japanese people, or a company is mass producing “sexy kimono” Halloween costumes that erase the cultural meaning for profit, that’s appropriation. If you’re wearing it because you love a character from a Japanese story, and you care enough to learn about what it means, that’s appreciation.
That stuck with me. I’d always defaulted to “if there’s any doubt, just don’t do it” — the easy, risk-free answer that avoids any chance of conflict. But that approach also teaches kids to avoid engaging with other cultures entirely, instead of learning how to engage thoughtfully. Miwa didn’t tell us yes or no. She gave us small, concrete things Lila could do to be respectful, if she still wanted to move forward.
First, Lila needed to learn the basics. Miwa pointed out that a lot of people who wear kimonos for cosplay get the wrapping wrong: putting the right side over the left is how you dress someone who’s passed away, so it’s an easy mistake to avoid if you just take two minutes to check. Lila spent that night watching three videos by Japanese creators explaining how to tie an obi correctly, and what kimonos are typically used for. She learned that most Japanese people don’t wear them daily anymore, they’re for special occasions like festivals, weddings, or coming of age ceremonies — which made sense, since Nezuko’s character is from the Taisho era, so the outfit was true to the story.
Second, when Lila posted her preview photos to her cosplay Instagram, we talked about adding a short line acknowledging the cultural context instead of just calling it a costume. She wrote, “I’ve done my best to wear this respectfully, let me know if I got anything wrong!” That didn’t take any extra time, but it opened the door for feedback instead of acting like the culture is just a prop. Third, we donated the extra $20 Lila had left in her cosplay budget to the local Japanese American cultural center, which hosts public festivals and teaches Japanese language classes for local kids. It was a small gesture, but it modeled that when we take something (joy, inspiration, a costume) from a culture that’s not ours, we can give a little something back too.
When we got to comic con, we had both the good moment and the uncomfortable one. A Japanese woman running an anime art booth stopped Lila, complimented her obi tie, and said it was refreshing to see someone who put in the effort to get it right. An hour later, Lila came over to me frowning, saying she’d overheard two teens talking about how her cosplay was appropriation. I didn’t tell her she was right or they were wrong. I just asked her what she thought. She said she’d done everything she could to be respectful, and she still wanted to enjoy the con. We got churros and went to a voice actor panel, and that was that.
I’ve talked to a lot of other parents since then who’ve had similar questions, about everything from lehengas for a school dance to bindis for a music festival. The biggest thing I’ve learned is that you don’t need a perfect answer. You just need to walk through the steps with your kid. It’s easier to say no and be done with it, but that doesn’t help them grow into people who can engage with the world thoughtfully. Instead of jumping to a yes or no, you can reach out to someone from the culture in question if you can, you can encourage your kid to learn basic context and avoid common missteps, you can model humility by acknowledging when you don’t know something.
We still don’t get every conversation right. Last week, Lila asked if her best friend’s plan to wear a sari for a school spirit week costume was okay, and we’re working through that one together, step by step. It’s not a neat, perfect process, and there’s no guarantee we won’t mess up someday. But it’s working better than any hard and fast rule I ever read online.
Please indicate: Thinking In Educating » Is It Cultural Appropriation If My Daughter Wears a Kimono For Cosplay