never gave her husband anything to worry about. There was, however, one thing that did concern him somewhat, and that was her tendency to buy too many clothes. Confronted with a piece of clothing, she seemed incapable of restraint. In a flash, a strange look would come over her, and even her voice would change. The first time he saw this happen, Tony Takitani thought she had suddenly taken ill. True, he had noticed it before they married, but it started getting serious on their European honeymoon. She bought a shocking number of items during their travels. In Milan and Paris, she made the rounds of the boutiques from morning to night like one possessed. They did no touring at all. They never saw the Duomo or the Louvre. All he remembered from their trip was clothing stores. Valentino, Missoni, Yves Saint Laurent, Givenchy, Ferragamo, Armani, Cerruti, Gianfranco Ferré: with a mesmerized look in her eyes, she swept up everything she could get her hands on, and he followed after her, paying the bills. He almost worried that the raised numbers on his credit card might be worn down.
Her fever did not abate after they returned to Japan. She kept on buying new clothes almost every day. The number of articles of clothing in her possession skyrocketed. To hold them, he had several large armoires made to order. He also had a cabinet built for her shoes. Still there was not enough space for everything. In the end, he had an entire room made over as a walk-in closet. In their large house, they had rooms to spare, and money was no problem. Besides, she did such a marvelous job of wearing what she bought, and she looked so happy whenever she had new clothes, that Tony Takitani decided not to complain to her. Oh, well, he told himself, nobody’s perfect.
When the volume of her clothing became too great to fit into the special room, though, even Tony Takitani began to have some misgivings. Once, when she was out, he counted her dresses. He calculated that she could change outfits twice a day and still not repeat herself for almost two years. Any way you looked at it, she had too many dresses. He could not understand why she had to keep buying herself clothing like this, one piece after the other. She was so busy buying them, she had no time to wear them. He wondered if she might have a psychological problem. If so, he would have to apply the brakes to her habit at some point.
He took the plunge one night after dinner. I wish you would consider cutting back somewhat on the way you buy clothing, he said. It’s not a question of money, I’m not talking about that. I have absolutely no objection to your buying what you need, and it makes me happy to see you looking so pretty, but do you really need so many expensive dresses?
His wife lowered her gaze and thought about this for a time. Then she looked at him and said, You’re right, of course, I don’t need so many dresses, I know that. But even if I know it, I can’t help myself. When I see a beautiful dress, I have to buy it. Whether I need it or not, or whether I have too many or not: that’s beside the point. I just can’t stop myself.
I will, though, try to cure myself, she said (adding that it was like a drug addiction). If I keep on going this way, the house is going to fill up with my clothing before too long. And so she locked herself in the house for a week, and managed to keep away from clothing stores. This was a time of great suffering for her. She felt as if she were walking on the surface of a planet with little air. She spent each day in her roomful of clothing, taking down one piece after another to gaze at it. She would caress the material, inhale its fragrance, slip the piece on, and look at herself in the mirror, never tiring of the sight. And the more she looked, the more she wanted something new. The desire for new clothing became unbearable.
She simply couldn’t stand it.
She did, however, love her husband deeply. And she respected him. She knew that he was right. I don’t need this much clothing. I have only one body to wear it on. She called one of her