I miss a lot things about the military; rigid structure, mission orientation and of course camaraderie and friendship. But one of the mainstays of military life I miss the most is the uniform. Admittedly, it was the lack of choice I had in deciding what to wear everyday. If you’re a colorblind guy like me, mixing and matching is not a science…it’s a crapshoot. I never had to worry if my shirt matched my pants and since I was in BDUs most of the time, I never had to worry about sock judgement. In all seriousness, in my entire adult life there are only two sets of clothing that ever made me pause for a second and contemplate the meaning behind what I was wearing: my Air Force uniform and my martial arts uniform.
The white training uniform worn by thousands of martial arts practitioners was instituted by Jigoro Kano, the founder of judo. As I understand it, judo was very popular in Japan at the turn of the century and young men flocked to Kano’s dojo wearing whatever they had to train in. Imagine trying to teach throws and grappling maneuvers to a bunch of dudes wearing everything from shorts to formal kimonos. So Kano (Sensei) developed a simple training outfit with thick material to withstand rigorous grabbing. He also developed the ranking system that most martial arts styles use in one way or another. The uniform many of us wear goes by a few names: keikogi, keikoi, dogi, or the Western slang, “gi.” As with most things in life, I did not find the value in wearing a keikogi until I grew a little older and wiser.
I believe a traditional martial arts dojo (Japan) or dojang (Korea) is a unique place in a rather chaotic world. For one thing, it is customary to remove your shoes when you enter a dojo. There are rules and ettiequte that force one to pause, such as bowing before you get on and off the mat, bowing to your teachers, your seniors and peers. There is a time for laughter and kidding around and a time for seriousness. And of course, you have the keikogi. If you’ve never had the experience, it’s hard to describe. You put your pants on, then your jacket (kimono) and go through seemingly intricate process of tying your belt…the nemesis of newcomers to martial arts. Once you put on your uniform and bow in (to the mat) your mindset changes…if you’re in a real dojo, anyway. At that moment in the proper training environment, there is always a sense of excitement mixed with a healthy fear, like you have put your game face on. This is strictly my opinion, but if you don’t get the slightest tinge of butterflies every time you step onto the wooden floor or on the tatami mats…you’re in the wrong place.
Looking back over my military career, I started off kind of lackluster. Like so many other kids in the 80s, I joined because I had no other plans and really no other options. A less than ambitious high school experience meant acceptance into college was going to be tough. It wouldn’t have mattered because I was a rebel without a clue anyway. The military, with it’s rules, regulations and yes, uniforms, helped to change my mindset. It made me think about these little things called “details” lest I get called out for a uniform infraction, something that happened a little too often in my first few years. Silly details that no one outside of that environment would know or care about. For example, I’m willing to bet you don’t know what a “gigline” is. My computer sure doesn’t; autocorrect won't stop trying to changing it. And I can say that having the opportunity to serve in Japan, follow my path and passion for martial arts (budo) and being exposed to the Japanese martial culture was a big part of that, not the lest of which is how I presented myself. Oh, and by the way, gigline means to line up the seams of your shirt and zipper with the edge of the belt buckle.
There’s a lot you can learn about person by how they present themselves. As in a dojo, the clothes we wear in a professional environment say a lot about our intentions. For example, I still have the three-piece tweed suit my grandfather, Luigi Magliano made for me when I was 18. I wore that suite to a job interview in June of 1983. It was job as a grounds keeper. The other applicant wore a pair of blue jeans, a t-shirt and Skoal cap. I may have been over dressed for the part, but I got the job. This was an upscale apartment complex, a gated community. I dressed like a professional because I wanted the job. Despite the last few years of the “remote work environment,” appearance still matters.
I consider myself an “old school” karate guy. I prefer a plain white or black keikogi; no patches, no symbols. I’ve never understood why people put so many patches and signs all over their uniforms. It’s almost as if they are trying to call attention to themselves, maybe? I have my students wear plain uniforms because the only intention I want in our dojo is work. Work on the physical, work on the mental, work on the spiritual self. It’s hard to sweat through patches. I once asked my sons and some of our senior students who have been with me now for over 15 years if they missed working out in t-shirts and gi pants like we did for a short time when they were kids. To my surprise, everyone said they prefer wearing a uniform because it creates the proper mindset.
What you wear matters. Your clothes and how you wear them, express your intentions. I am far more likely to remember, work with or perhaps buy from someone who took the time to prepare themselves. It tells me a lot about your work ethic and your product. And by the way, no matter what business you’re in, the first product you should care about…is yourself.
Dave Magliano
Tatsu Dojo
Jissenkan Budo
Dojo Cho
Comments