The Cowichan you think you know.
When you hear “Cowichan,” what kind of knit comes to mind?
I imagine something with more oil in it, a little sticky to the touch. And then there’s the distinctive design, with large animal or geometric motifs knitted in—something you recognize as a Cowichan at a glance. Thick, heavy, and a little rustic. That’s the image I have.
Of course, I think that’s part of the appeal of a Cowichan. Its distinctive presence is hard to replicate in an ordinary knit, and I’m sure many people love its timeless character.
But this cantáte Cowichan is a little different.
Hello. I’m Tomioka from cliché.
<cantáte>
" Quiet Season Hand-Knit Zip Jacket "
¥242,000 including tax
When I first picked it up, what struck me was the texture of the material. It’s a Cowichan, but not as oily as I’d expected. If anything, it feels a little dry and smooth. Despite its thickness, it feels surprisingly light to the touch.
It’s made from a distinctive blend of wool and cashmere yarns twisted together with linen.
It combines the warmth of wool and the softness of cashmere with the distinctive dry texture of linen. It’s a warm knit that doesn’t feel overly soft or damp. That slightly contradictory feel is what makes this Cowichan interesting.
It can also be worn at times of year that don’t quite match the usual image of a Cowichan. Of course, it’s warm enough for midwinter, but there’s no need to limit it to the coldest months. You can start wearing it around October and keep it in rotation until early spring, around March. Change what you wear underneath as the temperature shifts, and you can wear this knit for longer than you might expect.
Still, I had one question.
To begin with, why do Cowichans have such an oily, sticky image?
So why does this Cowichan barely have that feel? I was curious, so I asked Matsushima.
The answer turned out to be surprisingly simple.
“Because we wash it properly.”
At first, I wondered what he meant. Washing a knit after it’s made didn’t seem particularly unusual to me.
But after hearing the story, it seems Cowichans have a somewhat unusual history.
According to Matsushima, traditional Cowichans were often made for personal use and generally weren’t intended to be washed after they were knitted.
And a Cowichan made with yarn that thick, knitted so densely, is very heavy. It gets even heavier when wet, so washing it isn’t easy.
As a result, they were often worn with the natural oils in the yarn still intact.
In other words, the oily feel I’d considered part of what makes a Cowichan isn’t necessarily essential to Cowichan knitwear.
The oils left behind because the garment wasn’t washed came to be recognized as a characteristic Cowichan texture. When you think of it that way, it’s a rather interesting story.
On the other hand, I rarely notice the same stickiness when handling machine-knitted sweaters. Of course, it varies depending on the material and treatment, but it’s not unusual for conventional knitwear to be washed and finished after knitting.
This cantáte Cowichan also goes through a proper washing process. So while it retains the thickness and volume you’d expect of a Cowichan, it feels dry against the skin, without feeling overly oily.
At first, I thought it didn’t feel sticky because it contained linen. Of course, linen’s dry texture must play a part, but that wasn’t the whole story.
Choosing a material and deciding how to finish it are two different things.
Even with similar yarns, the final impression when worn changes depending on the finishing process. It’s a detail that’s hard to notice just by looking at the finished garment.
This Cowichan also has another feature that sets it apart from typical knitwear: it’s hand-knit.
Hand-knitting sounds luxurious in itself. It takes time and effort, and there’s a character to the fabric that’s difficult to achieve by machine.
But I don’t want to end the conversation about this Cowichan with a simple “It’s amazing because it’s hand-knit.”
What matters is what hand-knitting makes possible.
This Cowichan takes shape as it’s knitted. The way it sits on the shoulders, the ease of movement in the arms, where to add volume and where to bring it in—all of these details are considered in the structure of the knit itself.
With a typical woven garment, you create a three-dimensional shape by drafting a pattern, cutting the fabric, and sewing the pieces together. Knitwear, on the other hand, is made by knitting yarn into fabric, and the knitting itself can create the shape.
And the hand-knit fabric has a certain amount of air trapped within it.
In your hands, it’s certainly not a lightweight knit. In fact, with this much yarn, it has a fair bit of weight to it. Yet when you actually put it on, you barely notice the weight as much as you’d expect.
I think it feels lighter than the numbers might suggest because the knit moves with the body and rests comfortably on the shoulders and arms.
Not eliminating the weight, but making it less noticeable.
When we hear the words “hand-knit,” it’s easy to focus on the artisan’s skill or the time it takes to make. But what matters to the person wearing it is how all that work translates into comfort.
It’s not good simply because it takes time to make. Taking the time results in a real difference when you wear it. When a garment is like that, I think there’s value in understanding how it was made.
Another thing that caught my attention was the front zipper pull.
Waxed deerskin is used here.
When it was first delivered, I looked at it and thought, “Huh? Is this defective? Did the cord melt in the heat?”
There was wax left on the surface of the leather, giving it a different look from the leather zipper pulls I was used to seeing. At first, I didn’t think it was intentional.
Curious, I asked Matsushima, and he said, “That’s what makes it good.”
After hearing that, I took another look.
It is indeed a little more rugged than an ordinary leather cord, with a worn-in look. Against the neatly finished knit, it has a slightly different character.
But honestly, I still don’t really understand it.
Perhaps I’ll need a little more time before I can see what makes it special. As I get older and see and wear a wider range of clothes, perhaps one day it will suddenly make sense.
But as I looked at this pull, I noticed one more thing.
I feel that many of cantáte’s outerwear pieces show the zipper from the front. Rather than hiding it, they seem to treat the metal’s presence as part of the design.
But this Cowichan is different.
It has a zipper, but you can barely see it from the front.
The zipper sits naturally within the substantial knit, so from the front, the texture of the knit itself is what catches your eye first.
If the metal zipper were clearly visible here, it might have felt a little more sporty.
And by concealing it, the overall look becomes cleaner. It retains the volume and ruggedness characteristic of a Cowichan, while taking on a calm, understated feel.
Rather than making something look good by adding more, it’s about creating balance by keeping things out of sight.
When I think about it that way, even the way this zipper is integrated seems to have a clear purpose.
The waxed deerskin zipper pull is still a little beyond me. But I think I’ve begun to understand why the zipper is kept discreet.
When each detail is well considered, the whole garment comes together. And it’s precisely because the overall design feels complete that you notice the small details you might otherwise overlook.
I was thinking about all this as I looked at the front zipper.
Now, I’ve written quite a bit about the materials and construction, but I don’t think you need to overthink it when you wear it.
The Cowichan has a distinctive history and background. It can be fun to learn about that and enjoy wearing it in a traditional way.
But that doesn’t mean you have to wear it in a way that reflects its history.
This Cowichan has a restrained pattern and a discreet zipper. The material has a dry texture, along with the soft dimension unique to hand knitting.
That makes it easier to pair with all kinds of clothes than you might expect.
It comes in one size, but the overall fit is roomy, so you can wear it over a sweatshirt or knit, as well as over a jacket.
Around October, wear it over a T-shirt or lightweight knit. When it gets a little colder, you can pair it with a sweatshirt or a heavier knit.
Denim pants make for an easy, natural pairing, while wool trousers soften the Cowichan’s slightly rugged feel.
Personally, I like wearing this Cowichan over a sweatshirt set.
Even with a very relaxed combination like a sweatshirt set, simply adding this knit on top makes it an outfit you can wear out. The Cowichan’s volume also balances nicely with the softness of the sweatshirt.
It’s also fun to wear it over a jacket.
Normally, you’d wear a coat over a jacket. But this Cowichan has enough room, and its soft knit settles against the body, so you can comfortably throw it on over a jacket.
Wear it as a knit, as a jacket, or even like a coat?
You don’t have to settle on just one way to wear it.
And precisely because it’s so well made, I hope you’ll wear it in everyday life without worrying too much about it.
At first, based on the name Cowichan, I thought it would be a garment with limited styling options. I had a strong image of wearing it ruggedly with denim.
But as I handled it, wore it, and looked over the finer details, that impression gradually changed.
The material I’d expected to be oily is carefully washed to give it a dry finish. The hand-knit sweater I’d thought would be heavy is shaped to sit comfortably against the body. Despite the Cowichan’s rugged look, the zipper is discreet and the overall silhouette is clean.
It was quite different from the Cowichan I’d first imagined.
But that doesn’t mean it has lost what makes it a Cowichan.
The substantial knit and the distinctive presence of hand knitting are both still there.
It preserves the qualities of a classic garment while gradually adapting it to life today.
I think that’s what makes this Cowichan interesting.
And perhaps when a garment has been considered in such detail, there’s no need for the wearer to overthink it, too.
I still don’t fully understand what makes that waxed deerskin zipper pull so good.
But I think that’s perfectly fine for now.
You don’t need to understand everything from the outset or feel completely convinced before wearing it. After wearing it for a few years, you may even come to love aspects you don’t understand now.
The maker has their reasons for making it, and the wearer has their own way of enjoying it.
First, try throwing it on casually over the clothes you usually wear.
I think it will give you an impression that’s a little different from the Cowichan sweater you probably first imagined.
cliché Tomioka
