Kintsugi: the Japanese art of repair and the myth of 'senju'

We’ve grown used to parting with things easily. When something breaks, we treat it as a cue to replace it: a new phone, new clothes, new dishes. In Japan, the outlook is different. If an object has shared a piece of your life, the thinking goes, it has earned the right to be kept, not discarded.

You sometimes hear that Japanese people have a special word—“senju”—said to mean the art of respecting old possessions. That isn’t quite right. The word does exist in Japanese, but it means something else—such as “a thousand hands” in religious imagery or the name of an anime character. There’s no confirmed meaning of “senju” as “respect for old things.”

There is, however, a genuinely Japanese art that conveys the spirit of this approach with clarity: kintsugi.

What is kintsugi?

Kintsugi is a way of repairing broken ceramics by bonding the fragments with a special lacquer mixed with gold or silver powder. Instead of hiding the cracks, it highlights them. The result is more than a restored cup; it reads like a record of use: here it slipped, there it was cherished. Every seam speaks of what the object has been through.

But kintsugi is not just about tableware. It’s an attitude toward things: broken doesn’t equal ruined. Paradoxically, repair can make an item more valuable. It becomes unique because it carries time and memory.

Why this matters

In Japan, people try not to discard what can still serve. There is the concept of mottainai—regret over waste. It applies to everything: food, clothing, energy, even time.

This mindset nudges people toward care—of themselves, of the world around them, and of the objects in their orbit. The logic is disarmingly practical.

The world is catching on

Today, more and more people outside Japan are taking interest in kintsugi. It is visually striking, but the appeal lies in its meaning. In a world where swapping the old for the new is effortless, a philosophy of repair starts to feel valuable.

Kintsugi suggests that every object can have a second life—and perhaps a third. In that idea there is respect, a kind of quiet wisdom, and maybe even a hint at how to live more simply and honestly: not tossing things at the first crack.

And what about “senju”?

Although the pleasing word “senju” doesn’t mean what many assume, the impulse to honor well-used things is very much present in Japanese culture. It’s called by other names—and expressed less in words than in habits.

Mend a cup with a golden seam. Fold an old shirt with care. Don’t discard—keep. It’s not only about objects; it’s a way of relating to life.