The Untold Story of Tsuchiya Kaban: Vol.2

For our founder Kunio—along with many across the nation—what followed the golden age of rapid growth was a difficult chapter of economic depression. The collapse of Japan's bubble economy from the late 1980s to early 1990s cast a shadow over every industry.

The severe nationwide recession brought an influx of cheap imports that flooded the market, while high-quality leather materials became increasingly difficult to source. These factors delivered a major blow to the leather industry as a whole and to Randoseru production in particular.

Artisanal workshops collapsed one after another, including many of Kunio's peers. Kunio himself barely got by, making small batches of Randoseru and relying on personal connections. At times he considered finding other work, but he remained steadfast in his commitment to life as an artisan.

And yet, the struggle continued. As the workshop teetered on the brink of bankruptcy, Kunio felt at a loss. It was then that his 22-year-old son, Masanori Tsuchiya (who would become the second-generation president), sprang into action—determined to save the workshop from collapse.

In the late 1980s, Japan's bubble economy collapsed, dealing a major blow to the leather industry. Just as the workshop teetered on the brink of bankruptcy, newly appointed second-generation president Masanori Tsuchiya began doing everything he could to save it.

With no sales experience, Masanori struggled to find effective solutions. One day, someone told him: "Your father is a fool to let you take over an industry in such a recession." Though brutal, the comment held some truth—and ignited his fighting spirit. He racked his brain for ways to attract customers, visiting retailers daily and personally hand-writing promotional mailers. It was during this period of relentless effort that the idea for the "Mini Randoseru" was born—a turning point for the workshop.

The concept was simple yet profound: transform children's used Randoseru into miniature keepsakes, preserving their special memories—scratches, doodles, and all. It was painstakingly laborious work, but this heartfelt offering reflected the workshop's craftsmanship, quickly resonating across Japan and bringing in orders from families nationwide.

Beyond its commercial success, "the Mini Randoseru taught us something invaluable," Kunio reflects today. Dismantling used Randoseru revealed which parts wore out most over six years—precious data for improving future designs. More importantly, seeing how cherished these bags were renewed his sense of dedication to the craft. Word spread gradually, and customers began visiting the workshop to see the work for themselves.

Long ago, the small workshop that would become Tsuchiya Kaban was located in Hanahata, Tokyo; a quiet residential neighborhood on the edge of Tokyo. But after the Mini Randoseru brought recognition, an increasing number of customers began making the trip to see the workshop for themselves.

The small workshop was a wooden building, rich with the warmth of wood and the scent of leather. There was no noise from the outside world—only the hum of sewing machines, the tap of mallets, and the murmur of craftspeople at work. Time flowed quietly.

It was an experience that everyone—from Masanori to the craftspeople and staff—wanted to share with their customers. They hoped that every time someone carried one of their bags, they would be reminded of the workshop's warmth and devotion to craft.