This audio is generated by AI, so pronunciation and expressions may not be fully accurate. The narration is only in English.
With annual rainfall well above the global average, Japan's climate ensures that umbrellas are less an accessory than everyday infrastructure. Early summer brings the tsuyu rainy season, and in recent years sudden, localized downpours—often described as "guerrilla rainstorms"—have become increasingly common in cities like Tokyo. Approximately 130 million umbrellas are sold annually across Japan, many of them low-cost plastic models priced at around 500 yen.
In Japan, the term "vinyl umbrella" often refers to these inexpensive, widely available models commonly sold at convenience stores. Within that vast market, one Tokyo-based manufacturer—White Rose, headquartered in Taito City's Asakusa area—continues to produce vinyl umbrellas domestically. Unlike mass-produced disposable versions, its umbrellas are designed for durability and repair, positioned not as throwaway items but as long-term tools.
"We see the umbrella as something that protects humans from what falls from the sky," says Sudo Tsukasa, White Rose's 10th-generation representative. "Rain, wind, snow—and now ultraviolet rays and heat. At the end of the day, an umbrella only has value if it protects people."
The company's origins date back to 1721 in the Edo period (1603-1868), when it began as a tobacco wholesaler. Over time, it shifted into rain gear, handling oil-paper rainwear and later Western-style fabric umbrellas.
Across centuries, one pattern has remained consistent: repurposing materials in new ways. After World War II, the ninth-generation leader, Sudo's father, encountered vinyl tablecloth material newly introduced from the United States. At the time, umbrellas were primarily made of cotton fabric, which could fade or allow water to seep through.
The idea of applying vinyl directly to the umbrella frame—rather than sewing fabric panels—was unconventional. The resulting vinyl umbrella was waterproof and resistant to color loss. But it also disrupted the existing production system, which depended on sewing techniques passed down through skilled craftspeople.
Vinyl required heat welding instead of stitching. As a result, traditional umbrella retailers and department stores resisted the innovation. "We could manufacture them," Sudo says, "but we were told not to sell them."
The company responded by visiting shops one by one in central Tokyo, placing umbrellas on consignment in pharmacies and clothing stores—anywhere willing to let customers try them. Gradually, the product began to find its audience.
A significant turning point came during the Tokyo 1964 Olympic Games. An American buyer visiting Japan learned about the vinyl umbrellas and introduced them to the New York market. In a city accustomed to wind and rain, the umbrellas' waterproof performance stood out.
For several years, much of the company's output was exported to the United States. Eventually, however, overseas manufacturers began producing lower-cost versions, and the market shifted toward cheaper imports.
Back in Japan, cultural shifts were underway. In the late 1960s and 1970s, emerging fashion retailers sought unconventional materials and accessories. Transparent vinyl umbrellas—absent from traditional umbrella shops—appeared in curated boutiques and lifestyle stores. What had once been rejected as too radical gradually became a defining feature of Tokyo's streets.
Today, clear umbrellas are ubiquitous in Japan. But for Sudo, transparency is not merely an aesthetic choice. "When we first made transparent umbrellas, people said they wouldn't sell because you could see the ribs," he recalls. "But visibility is important."
In dense urban environments, clear canopies allow pedestrians to see approaching traffic and fellow walkers. They also allow others to see the person beneath it. Sudo notes that this mutual visibility encourages subtle acts of consideration—adjusting one's path for elderly individuals, children, or those with mobility challenges.
For this reason, the company avoids heavy printing or decorative patterns that might obstruct sightlines. Safety outweighs ornamentation.
Plastic umbrellas are often associated with disposability. Sudo takes the opposite view. "An umbrella will eventually break," he says. "If we repair it, we learn why."
The company offers repair services and replacement parts. Returned umbrellas reveal patterns: if a particular section fails repeatedly, reinforcements are added in subsequent designs. Without that feedback loop, weaknesses might persist unnoticed.
The goal is longevity—5, 10, even 15 years of use. Wooden handles are selected to develop character over time, encouraging users to keep rather than discard them.
For Sudo, this approach is less a modern sustainability trend than a continuation of Edo-period craftsmanship: improve incrementally, repair when possible, and avoid unnecessary waste.
Customer feedback continues to shape new products. A transparent folding umbrella emerged after repeated requests, though engineering it required several years of experimentation due to structural and material constraints.
More recently, the company has collaborated on a compact, handheld parasol incorporating radiative cooling material originally developed to protect outdoor electronic equipment from solar heat. The material reflects heat outward, reducing temperature buildup beneath the canopy—an increasingly relevant feature as Tokyo summers intensify.
Based in Asakusa, an area historically known for craftsmanship, the company developed within networks of suppliers and artisans. Although manufacturing has gradually dispersed from central Tokyo, Sudo says the culture of exchange remains influential.
Tokyo itself serves as a national hub for information and trends. Yet Asakusa carries particular cultural resonance.
"When I say I'm from Asakusa," Sudo notes, "people understand that I'm the one making the umbrella."
That sense of place and continuity also shapes how White Rose presents its work. Its products are not simply items for sale, but part of the story of Tokyo's artisan culture, in which sensibilities from the Edo period continue to shape life in the modern city. Supporting these efforts, and sharing their value and appeal both in Japan and abroad, is the Tokyo Metropolitan Government's Edo Tokyo Kirari Project.
The shop now attracts international visitors, many drawn by online wind-resistance demonstration videos. While umbrella culture varies globally—raincoats are often preferred in many countries—Sudo believes durable, transparent umbrellas have relevance in regions with strong wind and frequent rain. Compact folding models are especially popular with travelers seeking functional souvenirs.
Ultimately, Sudo is not attempting to replace the inexpensive umbrella found at convenience stores. Instead, he offers an alternative perspective: that even an everyday object can embody craftsmanship, safety, and long-term thinking.
In a city shaped by sudden rain and crowded sidewalks, a clear canopy may seem unremarkable. Yet in Sudo's hands, it becomes something more—an object designed not simply for convenience but for protection, repair, and longevity.
The Edo Tokyo Kirari Project introduces representative Tokyo brands, based on the concept of "Old meets New". We have selected enterprises that possess evident quality and beautiful design, and that represent a wellspring of new, inspired approaches to fulfilling contemporary lifestyle needs.It is our earnest hope for everyone to experience the fascination of Tokyo's proudest treasures and to incorporate their use into daily life. We believe that it is only in the actual use and appreciation of these articles that their wonderful craftsmanship can be passed on for posterity.We invite you to discover your own personal favorite and enjoy the story and depth behind each creation.https://en.edotokyokirari.jp/
