TOKYO -- In The Four Parts of the World Holding the Celestial Sphere, the 19th-century French sculptor Jean-Baptiste Carpeaux portrayed four women representing Asia, Europe, Africa and the Americas holding a globe. In May, Yangon-born Japanese fashion designer Zarny Shibuya used the same sculpture, now in the Musee d'Orsay museum in Paris, as the inspiration and backdrop for a short film showcasing four haute couture dresses.

For Zarny, who says he sees the female figures supporting the globe as a counterpoint to male dominance of society, the film marked a fresh start when it was released on social media, kickstarting both his Paris debut and a new phase in his nearly two-decade fashion career.

The film, made in collaboration with Espero Atelier, a Paris-based nonprofit that provides professional sewing and embroidery training to refugees, brought Zarny's experience as a refugee closer to the center of his work.

Although he has never hidden his past and has worked with the Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, Zarny has long resisted making his personal history part of his brand, fearing that being seen as a former refugee might elicit sympathy but stop people focusing on his work.

In recent years, though, that has changed. "Now I can proudly say that I was once a refugee from Myanmar -- and that I am now a fashion refugee in Paris," Zarny says.

By "fashion refugee," he means a designer forced to seek a new home for his craft in the wake of the global spread of COVID-19, first identified in China in late 2019. "The pandemic wiped out almost everything related to craftsmanship -- sewing factories, garment companies -- in Japan. I didn't know what to do," Zarny says.

According to the Japan Textiles Importers Association, domestically produced clothing accounted for just 1.1% of Japan's apparel supply in 2025, down from 50% in 1990 and 2% in 2020. "Made in Japan" had been central to the identity of Zarny's couture brand. But as maintaining that commitment became increasingly difficult, he began looking elsewhere to rebuild his label.

"So," he says, "I fled to Paris and found Espero, just as I once fled Yangon for Japan." Zarny has not completely abandoned Japan. He has launched a sports collection there, designs interiors and has designed suits for Japanese pop singers. He now divides his time between the French and Japanese capitals, but says that haute couture remains at the heart of his identity.

In an interview with Nikkei Asia in Tokyo, conducted in a small restaurant specializing in Myanmar cuisine, Zarny talks animatedly and at length about his life and the development of his fashion career in both capitals.

"This is one of my offices," he says with a smile, talking over the music from Myanmar that fills the restaurant and gesturing at signs in Burmese, the language of Myanmar's biggest population group.

Many patrons appear to know Zarny and stop to chat, confirming that he is an approachable and trusted figure in the community. Top: A dress created by Zarny with Espero Atelier, photographed at the Musee d'Orsay in Paris. (Model: ESTHER; courtesy of Zarny) Bottom: Zarny long hesitated to make his refugee history part of his fashion brand, fearing it would overshadow his designs. "Now I can proudly say that I was once a refugee from Myanmar," he says.

When Zarny arrived in Japan in 1993, fewer than 4,000 Myanmar nationals lived in the country, and only about 80 were below age 15. He was one of them. "I was often told that I was Japan's first second-generation Myanmar activist," he says.

By Feb. 1, 2021, when Myanmar's military seized power from an elected government led by Aung San Suu Kyi, the Myanmar community in Japan stood at roughly 35,000 -- a figure that soared to more than 180,000 by the end of 2025.

Zarny is the son and grandson of political activists in Myanmar, formerly known as Burma. His father took part in a nationwide pro-democracy uprising in 1988, which brought Suu Kyi to international attention as the country's most prominent opposition leader, before fleeing to Japan at the end of the 1980s.

Earlier, his grandfather campaigned alongside Aung San, Suu Kyi's father and a leading architect of Myanmar's independence from British rule, who was assassinated by political opponents just before statehood took effect in 1948.

Zarny says it was his upper-class family's connections within the military that enabled him and his mother to follow his father to Japan. "We were forced out and barred from returning to Myanmar," he adds.

Top: Zarny, then a fourth grader, with his parents in Japan. Bottom left: In the last photograph taken with his grandparents. Bottom right: During his junior high school years. (Courtesy of Zarny) With no prospect of returning to Myanmar, the family had to build a new life in Japan. Zarny attended Japanese-language classes at a public school in Tokyo, and quickly adapted to life in the country, aided by his outgoing nature. By the early 2000s, he had begun modeling and become a prominent figure in fashion at the height of gyaru culture -- a bold street-fashion subculture that flourished in the central Tokyo district of Shibuya from the late 1990s.

At 19, he traveled to the U.S. through a college program. "I was stateless at the time," Zarny says. Although his status had caused him few practical problems in Japan, the trip changed his outlook. "I realized that to enjoy freedom as a human being, I needed to move beyond refugee status," he says, adding that it took him 10 years to gain official recognition as a refugee and another eight to become a naturalized Japanese citizen, changing his name from Zarny Htoo Htoo to Zarny Shibuya. "Shibuya, in a way, raised me. That is why I adopted it as my surname," he says.

Top, bottom right: Zarny during his modeling career. Bottom left: While studying abroad at Western Washington University in the U.S. in 2004. (Courtesy of Zarny) Zarny's career flourished. He opened an haute couture atelier in Aoyama, one of Tokyo's leading fashion districts, and designed clothing for members of Japan's imperial family, a prime minister and his wife, and pop singers. His work included the outfit Suu Kyi wore in Oslo in 2012 when she delivered a lecture accepting the Nobel Peace Prize awarded to her in 1991, when she was under house arrest.

Then the pandemic forced him to close his atelier. Five months later, Myanmar's military arrested Suu Kyi and removed her government from power. As Zarny struggled to rebuild his career, a growing number of people from Myanmar began arriving in Japan. "Somehow, I became a big-brother figure to them," he says.

Many of the newcomers are in Japan either on student visas, through the "technical intern" training program or with "specified skilled worker" residency status. Under an emergency measure introduced after the military takeover, Myanmar nationals who face difficulties returning home may be granted a renewable Designated Activities visa, permitting them to remain in Japan and, in some cases, work.

Tokyo's minimum wage of 1,280 yen ($8.08) an hour allows some to cover their living costs and send money to relatives in Myanmar, particularly if they share accommodation. Labor shortages in sectors such as convenience stores, construction and cleaning services also create opportunities. "Burmese people who come to Japan want to earn money," says Saeko Miyama of Link to Myanmar, a Yokohama-based nonprofit, adding that Designated Activities status can offer greater earning potential and a wider choice of jobs.

Zarny has designed clothing for many prominent figures, including members of Japan's imperial family. Here, Myanmar's then-opposition leader Aung San Suu Kyi wears one of his outfits shortly before delivering her Nobel Peace Prize lecture in Oslo in 2012.

Some newcomers arrive with children, and many initially struggle to make ends meet and adjust to an unfamiliar culture. "After five years in Japan, they have adapted to their new environment and become more emotionally settled," says Miyama. "Gradually, they begin to find their place in society." Many rely on networks of compatriots. "Somehow, they manage to get by within their community of fellow countrymen," Miyama says. People such as Zarny can offer them a model for building a life in Japan.

Tokyo, with its abundance of opportunities, "can be a little chaotic," Miyama says, adding that students at Japanese-language schools are especially prone to dropping out.

For Zarny, it is frustrating to see young newcomers focus on immediate needs without planning for the longer term. "They don't see the bigger picture," he says.

Pye Son Htein, a Myanmar national, studies on his smartphone in Yokohama on June 12 for a food service proficiency test required to obtain skilled worker residency status. For some Myanmar nationals, work in Japan also provides a way to support relatives back home.

Although they may not say so openly, "young people dream of returning to Myanmar," he says with a sigh. Many grew up during the country's brief period of democratic rule, greater freedom and economic growth. "I want to tell them to look to the future. I don't believe Suu Kyi's Myanmar -- or a democratic society -- will return anytime soon," Zarny says.

However, he is also concerned about what he sees as Japanese Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi's approach to foreign residents, which he regards as less welcoming than former administrations. "Looking back, I was fortunate," he says. Returning to Myanmar was never an option, so "I learned to focus on the future rather than remain trapped in the past."

Alongside his efforts to establish a fashion base in Paris, Zarny has another ambition: bringing Espero's model to Japan. His mother, a seamstress, supported him during the early years of his career. He now dreams of teaching sewing and textile skills to Myanmar people and other refugees, helping them establish themselves in Japan while strengthening the country's depleted garment industry.

"They can build a life here and help revive 'Made in Japan,'" he says. "Isn't that exciting?"