On Novala Takemoto

Novala Takemoto has become sort of a controversial figure amongst modern lolita communities. This is not without reason. Much of his writing comes across as offensive and vaguely sexist, but I can not help but adore it despite its faults. He was truly a man influenced by his time period and the general social mores it contained, but there is a certain attitude captured by his essays and poetry that I feel like captures the soul of the lolita community. The overarching trend of women that look like beautiful dolls who hide venom behind perfectly painted lips is something I think many of those who have run afoul of the worst part of this fashion can relate with, and his musings on intention and desire to wear the fashion are still supremely relatable to me.

This page will contain many of my favorite musings from the author. Be warned that some of them don't handle topics like body image the most delicately, but the writings here still resonate with me deeply.

Rules on the lolita

I want to become a lolita, you say.
So become one, I reply.
What can I do to look like a lolita?
I have no words with which to reply to this.
You need a headdress, don't you? And a pannier.
Is this coordinate strange?
Is it not wrong for lolita?
Why do you want to do lolita?
Because it's trendy, because my friends do it...
If you just do what the others do, you will look like a lolita.
If that's the case, you have no right to wear lolita.
But I want you to think about something.
Who do you live for?
You think you want to be yourself, but you are afraid of isolation.
You yell that you want to be free, but you take comfort in following convention.
When you are praised for something you don't even feel comfortable with, are you satisfied?
Girls who wear Vivienne Westwood but don't even know the Sex Pistols.
Even when wearing a jersey, a princess is a princess.
My lolita rules are mine alone.
So you are the only one who can find your own lolita rules.
My god and your god are different, aren't they?
There are angels who wear elegant dresses and play tambourines,
But there are also angels wearing armor and carrying swords whose job is to fight
I can't answer your question.
But there are a lot of hints around you.
You just haven't noticed it yet.
What feels right is your answer.
Sew frills onto the hem of your heart!
Put a tiara on top of your soul!
Have pride.

Doll

I spent time up in the castle turret, in my previously unfinished state.
The memory of the sins I commited has already faded away.
Wandering lost amidst the forest, turning here and there,
I was finally dragged by my golden hair and trapped in a rocky prison.
Day by day this dream comes to me. So this dream must have been true.

I was born in a furnace, I was made from steel.
I have no soul, and these things they call friends, I do not understand.
The people whom I call my father, my mother, I do not understand.
But there is one thing.
Only when I am cut, only when I see the red blood flow, can I return to being human.

I have no emotions.
They are not important to me, so one day I burned them all away.
I will chose a master and become his servant, kneel before him, be abused and whipped, despised;
this is how I want to live.

These are important to us.
Amethyst crystal eyes
Cast in shadows by long, dark lashes.
Perfectly crimson lips. Undershorts to protect our chastity.
To correct our bodies, a corset.
Like a vase of roses,
Dresses with layers and layers of frills.
Bandages for the deeper wounds.
Books, where these delusions were born. Sadism…
A cute little inhuman doll.
A candle and a candlestick.
They point their fingers and laugh, with many people,
Those who love me merely a little.
Trifled with, the stiff jointed dolls.
Teddy bears from which chips fly out.
And only one thing with which to gaze through to reality, a mirror.

Some day even we may fall in love.
And at that time, maybe we will become human.
But until then, we must unfold
This world full of faults.

But these dreaming young girls, until they greet the day they must grow up,
Are a little like those from a picture book...