The fast-fashionization of Shibari: Why we need to slow down

Not that I'm a super traditional person. Actually, I’d be considered a practitioner of a disruptive and hyper-modern approach. How I view myself and my style, though, is a story for another day.

While I believe there is space for everyone and everything to co-exist, harmony isn't a given. It has to be built through deliberate effort.

To build that harmony, we need to be capable of looking at and critiquing what has existed in this practice for decades. That includes confronting the historical revisionism Shibari continues to suffer from because mysticism and exotification sell better than the crude, messy, and sacred truth. It also means acknowledging how Shibari has served as a hotbed for various normalized violences for far too long.

Highlighting these internal issues doesn't erase our well-deserved critique of the broader big-tech culture shift we are experiencing, both outside and within the Shibari world. Let's just say the side effects have been showing for a while now: the fast-paced delivery spawned by the "Amazonification" of products, the "Netflixication" of back-to-back dopamine hits through short tutorials, and the artificial creation of new instructors just to fill quotas so subscription rates won't drop. The tea has been spilled over and over, and I wonder how much longer we are going to pretend not to notice when the floor is already damp. Today, anyone can present themselves as a Shibari master with 40K followers on TikTok or Instagram after practicing for only two years.

Back in the day, it used to be said that Shibari was so underground that only a privileged few could travel to Japan once every three years and bring back what they learned to their niche local friends. It was so hard to access that some clubs wouldn't accept foreigners without an invitation from an existing member.

Suddenly, within a few years, things started traveling much faster. Newer people were integrating everything in higher volumes: more new events, more venues, and smaller cities with far more activity. I loved the growth, but I don't enjoy the algorithm-driven social media cage we find ourselves in now. I remember how, amid this rapid expansion, some of those old-fashioned practitioners were punching the air seeing their beloved "secret practice" go mainstream, gracing magazine covers and being co-opted by pop icons like Lady Gaga.

From underground sanctuaries to algorithm-driven grids

We point fingers when "everyone" is learning mainly from the self-proclaimed best tutorial sites. During or right after lockdown, that massive jump toward our small screens was possibly our only way to survive a new apocalypse without leaving our homes. While many small Shibari communities and businesses didn't survive, some adapted and new ones emerged.

But years have passed, and I’ve watched new participants step into the scene acting in a peculiar way. People repeat patterns without depth, and their mannerisms feel like a psychological sci-fi thriller with a confusing plot, leaving you with that feeling of "I can't point a finger, but I have seen this before." This is no longer just a temporary trend. It has come to stay, and I feel deeply conflicted about it.

I keep seeing the same cycle play out: new participants entering the space and default-copying the exact same formulas, trends, and mannerisms they see online. It feels like an assembly line where people sacrifice their own unique curiosity just to blend in. Or maybe this is just one of the symptoms of having a heavily fragmented connection in a relatively obscure practice, leaving too many routes open for interpretation and navigation.

Maybe my words feel like a sharp knife, and my critiques are too hard for some to stomach. However, my intention is not to shame or call anyone out. This is all an exercise in my own shadow projection. While my index finger is pointing at some of you, I have three fingers pointing right back at me. But if the shoe fits, wear it.

Some of you might feel validated knowing that no one came out of the womb knowing how to tie a knot perfectly. At our essence, we are all parrots, and some of us just got better at recycling until it looks and sounds brand new.

However, I'm not a subscriber to "fake it until you make it" or purely copying until you find yourself. I have my own approach to that, which I will share another time. I believe there are options other than those two extremes.

The illusion of connection in the digital age

Then one day we blink and notice that things are growing in a very different direction. The excitement has shifted, and the screen is no longer just a storefront or a secondary medium to share and connect. Is it only me who feels like the majority might be enjoying this practice in isolation through a small screen, rather than smelling puzzle tatami mats and having that awkward moment trying to find a low-key location hidden down a back alley?

I get it. Online tutorials offer privacy, a judgment-free zone, and access for marginalized folks, queer people, or those living in small towns without local rope venues. Yes, it democratized the practice for people without local spaces, but it came at the cost of depth and physical community. I feel we are craving deep personal connections and closeness more than ever, yet most don't know how to approach or build them.

And you know what? I would have taken full advantage of this too if I had discovered Shibari in this digital era. I would have saved myself hundreds of dollars while learning a ton from the comfort of my home. In my wildest dreams, I wished I could have connected earlier with people across other continents. My generation came into it slowly, but we prioritized local, intimate connections.

Some will obsess all day about community while others will disappear into their own individualism. To me, neither extreme is the answer. I'm sorry to be a typical Libra coming in here with "balance" and a bunch of confusion served up as a salad. But don't you think we are having fewer intriguing conversations and much less shared experience between people from vastly different upbringings?

Groups separate more and more. We grow further apart, willing to tolerate fewer differences rather than working through them.

We create our own distance and settle for a false sense of community inside small cliques, only to fall apart and get exiled repeatedly (unless you surrender your own perspective to the group, prioritizing comfort over connection because disagreement feels too dangerous, but I digress).

The Manifesto: How to practice slow Shibari

Life is simply too short to consume it that fast. I choose to pursue everything that brings me joy at a slower pace. My attention goes fully to what is worthy of my time, and I craft my environment daily without attachment to a fixed outcome, just fluid evolution.

To me, Shibari grows slowly. I wish every beginner, or anyone who has been in the scene for two to four years, could see that.

I don't mean slow like a slug dragging itself across the ground while time passes. I mean slow like letting a fine cheese mature: taking the time to appreciate the subtle nuances that emerge at different stages, without rushing the process with artificial agents to speed it up.

Shibari is something I nurture and care for deeply, but my whole life doesn't revolve around it. I let it be, return to it over time, and appreciate how the flavor continues to transform.

If I had to start over again in this digital-led era, here's what I'd actually do:

Go find the local, awkward, unglamorous practice spaces, the ones that don't photograph well for a grid. That's usually where the real learning is happening anyway.

Book a class with a teacher you've been putting off for no actual reason. Worst case, nothing changes. Best case, you get humbled in a good way.

Pick one single thing and sit with it for three months. Not five new ties by next month. One. I know how unglamorous that sounds. Do it anyway.

Have the harder conversations, with whoever you tie with, with your local peers, and actually sit in the messiness, unresolved parts instead of rushing past them because discomfort feels unproductive.

And above all: slow the ride down.

If slowing down is resonating, this is most of what my coaching sessions are actually about.

– Pauline M.