Muji makes mundane cool
Muji, founded in Japan in 1980 as purveyors of nofrills stationery, household items and apparel, opened in Toronto a little more than two months ago.
The name means “no-brand quality goods” in Japanese.
There is minimal packaging and branding. Even its shopping bags are basic brown paper with Japanese script and its website on the crease.
Fittingly, it all feels rather Zen, with soothing music and even a section of essential oils ($16.50).
I’d shopped Muji in SoHo in New York with a globetrotting friend — his go-to for essentials such as interlocking acrylic pill containers for vitamins. I snapped up a bunch and still use them. Muji’s plastic mini empty bottles are also brilliant for product refills for travel.
The place is a sprawling 4,400 square feet, which feels roomy, but a sales associate tells me is minuscule when compared to other worldwide locations.
There is a definite utilitarian feel, with merchandise stacked in neat rows without being obsessive-compulsive.
The goods are in clear or frosted plastic, white ceramic, unbleached fabric and paper: lint rollers with acrylic cases, clothes pegs in white plastic, pulp storage boxes with metal grommets and items you won’t find elsewhere including a plastic case for waxedpaper food wraps for $7 and a refill for $3.
Muji takes the mundane, like those neck support pillows you take on the airplane, and makes its cool in striped fabrics. The overstuffed dog toys are spiffy, decked out in plaids and checks ($39).
That said, home accessories almost have an Ikea esthetic with stainless-steel cookware, stackable walnut shelving and a beech coat stand. Clothing is similarly functional: Jeans, puffy vests, lots of chambray shirts/shirt dresses, gingham handkerchiefs, men-styled pyjamas for both sexes and a good serviceable trench coat — your basic starter wardrobe for a preppy person.
The sizing of clothing is geared to the Asian market. Women’s jeans don’t go past size 28; men’s jeans come in 29 to 34.
I don’t see many shoppers trying on clothing or shoes (Muji carries sneakers and ballet flats). They are clustered at the stationery department, hunkered over the rubber-stamp station and everyone is crazy about the rainbow assortment of pens and highlighters starting at $1.25 and the $2 notebooks cleverly recycled out of old passports.
There is also steady traffic at bedding, which is confusing because the dimensions on bed linens are in centimetres, but I don’t think in centimetres — I think standard, queen or king. When I unfurl a taupe linen pillowcase ($15), nobody yells at me but it’s way too big. Apparently the standard cases are 50 by 70 centimetres. Who knew?
“Did you find everything you were looking for?” asks the cashier. Yes I did. I even found stuff I wasn’t looking for like a knuckle-saving plastic washing board for stubborn stains I attack with old-timey washing soap.
Can’t beat the customer service. A staffer even holds the door open for me when I exit. ritazekas@rogers.com