Genius, Elite, Magic, or Poison

Lately, for certain reasons, I have been studying printing and textiles (which are closely related to aerial silks too).

My studies are at the level of high school chemistry or reading catalogs from fabric and textile manufacturers at most, yet both printing and textiles are profound.

What emerges from between the lines of inorganic material specifications and ingredient lists is the history of how humanity has attempted to tame wild substances through the power of science.
Friction, heat, tension, strain, oxidation, fracture, fading, moisture absorption, static: even when we thought we had everything under control, inevitable aging, unexpected dynamic loads (like new drop techniques), and the whimsical reactions specific to the material occur endlessly; it is intriguing that using simply strong and expensive materials does not necessarily guarantee they are safe and beautiful.

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When it comes to aerial silks, it starts with nylon. If one were to deeply understand just a single substance supporting this aerial art, it would be nylon (even if it is rarely used in Japanese settings).

Nylon as a material is truly compassionate. Molecular chains hold invisible hands called hydrogen bonds, and when a performer pulls hard, they slightly loosen their grip to stretch and absorb the impact. This stretch becomes a cushion that protects our joints and internal organs during the violent movement of a drop.

They do not aim solely to never break. They yield appropriately at the molecular level, flex reasonably, and hold on at the very end. We hang from those brave physical properties.

However, nylon silks, which are mainstream in the United States, intentionally kill the structural cushion by weaving these supple nylon threads at the highest density. Because of this, they do not stretch at all compared to Japanese silks during normal aerial work, yet only at the moment of a drop (though the impact comes directly), molecular flexibility functions as the final breakwater. Minimizing height loss while avoiding situations like fracturing: that rationality is packed tightly into the choice of 100% nylon.

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Then there is polyester, frequently used in Japan. If nylon is a whimsical genius, polyester is the elite type that refined that difficult nylon into something manageable.

Elite polyester is stricter with discipline than nylon.
While nylon moves supplely through hydrogen bonds, polyester is as dense as the crystals formed by ester bonds, one might even say stubborn. Because the molecular chains are aligned without any gaps, it does not absorb water, does not oxidize due to light, does not change shape, and remains dignified.
When gripping the silk, the identity of the slight coldness or reliability felt by the hands may lie in the nature of this substance called polyester, which remains unmoved by heat or moisture.

Such polyester threads are hard and barely stretch even when pulled; as a material, it is a thorough conservative.
However, when this hard thread is woven into a soft knit with play, the story changes. Just as even hard metal stretches and shrinks if shaped like a spring, polyester silks stretch because they are made with a smooth knit.

In Japan, there are many settings that use polyester silks; or rather, speaking only of actual performance environments, I have seen almost nothing but polyester.

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If I were to add a secret ingredient, it would be polyurethane. This is like mixing a drop of magic, or a sweet poison, into high-density nylon or disciplined polyester.
This thread with rubber-like elasticity never occupies the entirety of the silk. By merely slipping in like a shadow at just a few percent, it changes the character of the fabric. Some types of silks with a doughy resilience have gained gentleness by accepting this polyurethane.
By these free-spirited rubber molecules entering between the nylon or polyester, a large amount of play is born within the entire fabric.
But these rubber molecules quietly decay every time they are exposed to oxygen or light. Magic is always for a limited time, and potent drugs always come with the price of shortening a lifespan.

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I have hung from different types of silks in various places, but my favorite is polyester silk.
While the merits of nylon silk are hard to discard, I like the unique, clingy sensation of polyester. That doughy suppleness and toughness. The quiet assurance that it will hold when I spread it wide and entrust my body to it. The vibrant color payoff and the synergy with printing technology: I like these characteristics.
(That said, perhaps it is just that I feel something special because the first silk I touched was polyester.)

But just as there is a limit to the observable universe, what is required of materials for aerial silks must theoretically exist even outside the realm I can currently perceive. Humans cannot perceive the realm of the unknown unknowns. Eventually, it will be proven that narrow choices between nylon and polyester were nothing more than a brief interlude in a corner of a vast stage. In the long run, from somewhere in the world, a completely new genius surpassing nylon and a new elite surpassing polyester should make a dashing appearance.
As long as genius aerialists who continue to push the limits of aerial work keep appearing from all over the world.