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There is a very fine line between honoring a culture and appropriating it, especially in artistic work that involves visual aesthetics, physical intimacy, and historically rich practices. As someone who ties and photographs Shibari, I think about this often.
Shibari, or Kinbaku, has deep roots in Japanese history and aesthetics. It's more than just rope. It’s a cultural language shaped by centuries of evolution. And when I bring that language into my own creative work, I try to do so with humility, curiosity, and awareness of where I stand as a non-Japanese practitioner.
Recently, I did a session with my rope bunny Kristina who is ethnically Chinese. For one of our shoots, she brought two beautiful traditional garments to incorporate into the imagery, a Qipao and a Hanfu. Both are culturally significant pieces of Chinese fashion with deep historical and regional meanings. We talked openly before the shoot about whether including them felt appropriate, and it raised a larger question:
If the rope is Japanese, and the clothing is Chinese, are we blending cultures in a respectful way or stepping into problematic territory?
In Kristina’s case, she wasn’t borrowing from another culture. She was choosing to represent her own. That matters. Cultural appropriation often involves taking elements from a culture not your own, especially when done without understanding, credit, or care. In this case, Kristina was not performing “Asian aesthetics” in a generalized or exoticized way. She was expressing her Chinese identity in a space where she felt safe, empowered, and seen.
Our intent was not to conflate Chinese and Japanese culture, nor to suggest that one stands in for the other or can simply be thrown together because they are both Asian. Instead, the clothing became part of her personal expression within the rope. A fusion of her identity, our collaboration, and the visual storytelling we were building together.
But what if she weren’t Chinese? That’s where the line gets thinner. If someone who was not ethnically Chinese wanted to wear a Qipao or Hanfu in a rope scene, particularly in a BDSM or fetish context, it needs to be handled very carefully. Traditional garments hold weight. They carry cultural pride, family heritage, and historical pain. When worn casually or for aesthetic effect alone, especially by someone outside the culture, they risk becoming costume rather than culture.
And in the realm of kink and photography, where bodies are exposed, roles are heightened, and power exchange is central, there’s an even greater risk of slipping into racial fetishization or reducing an identity to a fantasy.
This is the question that haunts a lot of cross-cultural creative work. When we photograph a model of color in traditional clothing while bound or partially nude, what message are we sending? Are we honoring their identity or unintentionally framing them through a lens of Orientalism, exoticism, or subjugation?
The answer depends on a few things:
Who is initiating the idea? In our case, Kristina brought the garments because they were meaningful to her. That distinction matters.
Is the imagery empowering or objectifying? A person owning their cultural heritage in rope on their terms can be powerful. But if the image reduces them to a stereotype, even unintentionally, the impact changes.
Are we engaging with the culture or just borrowing its aesthetics? If you can’t name the history or meaning of what you’re using, it’s worth reconsidering whether it belongs in the scene.
There’s no simple answer. But there should always be dialogue. Intent matters, but it isn’t everything. So does impact. And when we create work that blends cultural symbols especially in kink, art, or performance, we need to have ongoing, honest conversations about what we’re doing, why we’re doing it, and how it might be perceived.
In our session, Kristina wore both the Qipao and the Hanfu with grace and strength. She was not a prop, and she was not performing an idea of “Asian beauty” for someone else’s gaze. She was embodying herself. And I had the privilege of tying her and documenting that moment with care.
A few final thoughts. If you’re working with cultural imagery, especially in rope or kink, ask yourself these questions: Am I centering the person’s identity, or the visual effect? Is this about honoring, or about styling? Would I do this if no one could see the final photo?
There’s no formula, but there is responsibility. Culture isn’t just visual, it’s lived. And when we’re trusted to work with it, we owe it our respect.