The Kikumoto Department Store from the Japanese colonial period — not only great for shopping, but your eyes can also feast on ice cream!

Text & Photos /Hu Wenqing

Back in 1934, the magazine "Taiwan Women’s World" captured a glimpse of the “Kikumoto Dining Hall” on the upper floors of the Kikumoto Department Store, and the reporter wrote as follows——

“Kikumoto Dining Hall”
The afternoon sun at two o’clock shimmered like waves against the fifth-floor glass windows. In what we called the “Special Guests’ Room,” we strained to catch glimpses of the world through the gaps in the green leaves. The light filtering through was quite dreamy, and there were no shadows cast by the white curtains; instead, it bathed everything in a soft glow. The women who had just returned from their university classes wore bewildered expressions, their faces tinged with a hint of exhaustion. Their fashionable clothes featured large lapels, and their complexions were smooth and radiant, exuding an elegant charm that made one feel a little envious. The air carried a slight scent reminiscent of the city streets during lunchtime, and after a round of lively conversation, they returned to their seats. I had heard that the food in department store restaurants wasn’t very good, but judging by appearances, most of the ladies seemed quite taken with the beef pilaf. The contrast of white and red plates marked the perfect moment to go for shrimp. A noisy crowd of young office workers was whisked up by the elevator. “Five coffees, make them iced!” he said, arranging five coins into a neat circle.

It was so hot that even a reporter who usually loved udon had to think twice. The peach-flavored dessert, with its aroma and texture so meltingly sweet, conjured a dreamlike atmosphere. Two female shop assistants working the afternoon shift, without a trace of makeup, chatted and ate pork cutlet rice while sitting across from each other. Their short hair varied in length. A woman wearing a shiny, extremely thin, transparent “georgette” dress in a golden-brown hue entered gracefully—her nipples faintly visible through her bra, it was unclear whether she was a stylish young lady or a dancer. She strode in with flair. Her red handbag and large, fashionably shaped book caught everyone’s eye. She left behind watermelon and ice cream on the table, while the summer sun continued to sap our dreams. I’d heard department store meals weren’t great, but most housewives seemed quite enchanted by the beef pilaf. The contrast of white and red plates made for the perfect timing to go for shrimp. A raucous crowd of young office workers rode up on the elevator. “Five coffees, make them iced!” he said, arranging five five-sen coins in a circle.

A woman wearing a dress made of an extremely thin and transparent "georgette" in a golden tea color, with her nipples faintly visible through her lingerie, walked in with nonchalant grace. It was impossible to tell whether she was a fashionable young lady or a dancer. Her red handbag and large illustrated book caught everyone's attention. Watermelon and ice cream—on the table after she left, the midsummer sun was drinking up our dreams. I heard that the food in department stores isn’t very tasty, but from the looks of it, most housewives seem to find beef rice gratin quite appealing. The contrast of white and red, waiting for the right moment to eat the shrimp. A noisy crowd of young office workers was brought up by the elevator. 'Five iced coffees, please,' he arranged five five-yen coins into a circle.

On January 1, 1939, the "Taiwan Art New Newspaper" published a piece titled “A Stroll Through the Island Capital’s Department Store, Kikumoto,” reporting on a café crawl. The reporter, Kasanaka Seinosuke, took readers on a tongue-in-cheek tour through the various floors of the Kikumoto Department Store. Though he called it a stroll, it felt more like feasting one’s eyes on ice cream while window-shopping in the department store. His introduction went something like this:

Outside the Kikumoto Department Store, at the nine-thirty shift change, near the bus stop, uniformed staff in white-collared uniforms poured out from the first floor like smoke from a chimney. It turned out there were many beautiful female staff members—something you wouldn’t have noticed before, but now couldn’t miss.

(The uniforms and attire of Kikumoto Department Store female staff. Text and photos provided by Hu Wenqing.)

The male reporter’s gaze was first drawn to the beautiful female staff of the department store, essentially framing this stroll as an opportunity to view these women as another form of “merchandise” for customers to admire. After entering the first floor of the department store, his eyes scanned the scene, and his focus never strayed far from the women:

To the right were receptionists, looking innocent and plain, not particularly dressed up (quite rude), greeting with a “Welcome.” Without really looking closely (also quite rude), he searched around like a treasure hunter. Aside from the student-like receptionist on the right upon entry, there were two marriage-age beauties on the left who looked like sisters—but they’d need equally handsome men to match.

Moving to the right, there was the cosmetics counter, where a dark-skinned, healthy-looking beauty worked with excellent sales patter.
At the dessert (wagashi) counter, there was a female staff member who bloomed like a rose in the wilderness. She had a mole under her left chin, and the reporter stared at her lost in thought for five minutes, only for her to return a strange look.

Heading up to the second floor, the reporter continued his search for the leading lady of his dreams, all while staying cool and composed:

First, he spotted the shoe section staff, who resembled the celebrity “Kawagawa Naomi.” When he told her she looked like Kawagawa Naomi, she retorted that Kawagawa Naomi looked like her. Feeling teased and uncomfortable, he turned and walked away rather gracelessly.

Then he walked over to the tie counter, where a round-faced, friendly staff member smiled and bowed even though he hadn’t bought anything. Perhaps it was because she saw him as a good customer, she even winked at him. Impressed by her, he ended up buying a tie she recommended for 2 yen and 50 sen—even though he didn’t really need to.

(The staircase and stairwell leading up to the second floor. Text and photos provided by Hu Wenqing.)

After exploring the second floor, the reporter headed to the third floor, which sold traditional Japanese clothing (kimono) for women. With nothing to see there, he dashed straight up to the fourth floor. And the even higher floors that followed left him so delighted he couldn’t help but write effusively about how his mouth watered:

There were beautiful women everywhere—123456... too many to count. The handkerchief saleswoman, in her twenties, looked like the celebrity “Irie Takako”; the fabric saleswoman had a somewhat stern expression but was surprisingly kind; the women’s clothing saleswoman resembled “Tsutsumi Masako,” with a pleasant face, always smiling, dimples, and a few pesky pimples that were slightly distracting but still cute. The fourth floor was full of beauties—he could go on forever.

The fifth floor was the dining hall, and the reporter, with the dramatic flair of someone pulling empty pockets, bluntly stated, “No money, so I’ll skip it.”

(The fifth-floor dining hall at Kikumoto. Unfortunately, this reporter didn’t use his expense account to grab a coffee here. Text and photos provided by Hu Wenqing.)

Going even higher to the sixth floor, which sold toys, he commented:

He only had a somewhat memorable impression of one female staff member, and regarding the notebook section, he only remembered one person.

Finally, when the reporter reached the top seventh floor, he only had a slight impression of the cute elevator attendant:

She had a gold tooth when she smiled, resembling “Izumi Kiyoko” but even younger and prettier, with a curvy figure. Even if the elevator was full and you couldn’t see her, you could still hear her voice—clear and melodious like a soprano. She’d announce, “The elevator is full, please wait for the next one.” Her crisp voice stirred the imagination, and any young person who took too long to get off would get gently pushed out from behind by her.

After waiting three elevator rides up and down, he finally got on one, only to find a different elevator girl—younger, shorter, with socks pulled halfway up and a slightly messy shoe appearance—but she had a cute smile. This entire stroll felt like a triumphant general’s parade. He bought some things and drained his wallet, but his spirits were high.

This stroll not only witnessed the 1930s phenomenon of women stepping out of their homes and into the workforce at department stores, but also revealed the male gaze’s “prism of desire” shaping the image of women. Of course, through the reporter’s vivid writing, it also directly promoted the novelty and modernity of visiting a department store—riding the elevator up seven floors was an experience in itself, making it no wonder it attracted curious crowds.

This article is reprinted with authorization from “Cultural Renewal Stories”