Nutso for Noren

If you’ve seen even one photo of Japan then you’ve likely clapped eyes on noren, the pieces of fabric that frequently hung above entrances to shops and homes.

What started centuries ago as a way to keep dust, flies and sunshine at bay has evolved into so much more—a simple and elegant form of signage, an opportunity for creative expression, and a gentle way of simultaneously saying “You’re welcome here. . . but maybe not”.

In the old days restaurant patrons would allegedly wipe their hands on the noren after finishing up a meal. The filthier the noren, the more popular the restaurant. Yummy. These days you won’t find a lot of grubby noren, but you will find them in a wild range of colours and designs—two panels, ten panels, stubby like baby teeth, long and flowing like a horse’s mane, pristine white, elegantly decorated with words and graphics. There may be some protocol (i.e. they hang above the door, they’re not made of plywood), but otherwise anything seems to go.

Beyond their beauty and messaging power, I like the way noren elevate the simple, mundane act of walk through a doorway into a subtly dramatic piece of performance art. First, their gentle movement catches the eye and indicates an opening, an opportunity. Then they create a sense of mystery, of surprise. What exactly is happening in there? What will I discover if I walk through that doorway? And finally, as you pass through the noren you’re obliged to dip your head, a delicate bow of respect. You don’t just get to unwittingly, unthinkingly barge through the doorway. You’re obliged to take a moment to think about it, to appreciate it.