I have always had a passion for creating, and sewing has been my main creative outlet for several years now. I occasionally make gifts for friends, hem my clothes, and create projects I randomly come up with. Another passion of mine is all things Disney. I especially love the theme parks and find myself totally immersed and inspired while I’m there. I’m constantly looking at the construction, theming, colors, and layout of all the lands. Lucky for me, my most recent project has been a combination of my two passions.
As an avid Disneyland fan, I collected a lot of plastic Disney Parks shopping bags throughout the years. Trip after trip I found myself leaving with a bag in hand. I saw a pile of Disney bags in my closet grow and debated throwing them away. “Mottainai” is a Japanese term that means a sense of regret over waste. Growing up as a Japanese American, this is a phrase that has been engraved in my mind, so I knew I didn’t want to waste all these Disney shopping bags and decided to find a way to give them a new life.
And so my quarantine brainchild was born! My first creation was a puffer jacket made completely out of plastic shopping bags. The result was fun but unfortunately not practical at all. After staring at this jacket that was just hanging in my closet, I began to think of a more usable way the plastic bag could be upcycled. I ended up experimenting with a tote bag made from Disney Parks shopping bags. I worked on it for weeks, trying to make a perfect every-day tote bag but struggled with giving it durability and structure. Finally, after adding a canvas lining and thick canvas straps, I couldn’t have been happier with the result.
I start by taking used or new plastic shopping bags, cut them to size, and layer the bags with a clear vinyl, to add durability. Then, I cut out a canvas lining to match and begin to sew it like I would any other fabric. One of the most important steps in the process is cutting the materials accurately and to size. Lastly I add straps and finishing touches. Completing each bag is a long process that I take a lot of pride in, and I would hope that whoever uses one of them can see the love and attention that went into making it.
Something I enjoy about making these totes is that every shopping bag is different. Some are in pristine condition, and others have small tears and imperfections. It’s a lot of fun to see the character behind each shopping bag and imagine a story behind it. I’ve ordered several shopping bags from people online and one of my favorite things is finding receipts in the bags. One of my favorite finds was in an old California Adventure bag and the receipt was from the early 2000’s. I Imagined a family from out of state doing a bunch of souvenir shopping for their friends back home.
My greatest happiness comes from repurposing something that would otherwise be left in someone’s closet and creating something people would be excited to use. Now these bags have a much longer life and can be used over and over again. A dream of mine would be to see less single use bags being used in the park and more of my reusable totes. Knowing how much care, detail, and work went into creating these bags and seeing someone using it and loving it would bring me so much joy.
About the Creator
Grant Fukui
i make stuff out of bags
Keep reading
More stories from writers in Families and other communities.
Wise~Guys
— Look Behind what's in Front of You ~ Make Good Choices — Hey, So how you Doin'..! Made~Men — Mobster Movies romanticise a distinctive, elegant appearance, impeccable attire style, along with the 'Families' expressive lingo. Making their 'Bones' gave them Panache — with vintage fedoras, tailored pin-striped suits, mirror-polished wing-tip shoes adorned with tassels; with their 'Gun Moll' gorgeous dates on their arms.
By Jay Kantor13 days ago in Families
Home Through the Winter Rain
Winter arrived gently that year, not with snowstorms or icy winds, but with steady rain that seemed to fall without end. The sky was a soft gray, heavy and calm, and the air smelled of wet roads and cold earth. On one such evening, a small family climbed into their own car, ready to begin the familiar drive home. The engine started with a low, comforting sound. The headlights cut through the mist, glowing warmly against the rain. The parents sat in the front seats, wrapped in thick coats, their breaths forming faint clouds before the heater slowly warmed the air. The mother adjusted the mirror, smiling softly as she glanced back at the children. The father rested his hands on the steering wheel, careful and steady, already focused on the road ahead. In the back seat, the children were bundled together like little birds hiding from the cold. Their jackets were bright against the dark interior of the car, and their shoes were still damp from puddles they had jumped in earlier that day. One child hugged a stuffed bear tightly, its fur worn soft from years of love. Another leaned close to the window, watching the raindrops slide down the glass in twisting paths. “Look,” one of them whispered, tracing a finger along the foggy window. “That one is winning.” The rain seemed alive outside, each drop racing the others, merging and separating, disappearing at the bottom of the glass. Streetlights reflected in the wet road, stretching into long golden lines that shimmered and broke apart as the car moved forward. The heater clicked louder now, filling the car with warmth. Slowly, gloves were pulled off, scarves loosened. The tight cold of winter faded into something soft and safe. The radio played quietly in the background—an old song the parents knew by heart. They didn’t sing out loud, but their heads moved gently to the rhythm. As the car traveled through the rain, the father slowed at each turn, careful not to rush. Tires whispered against the wet road. The mother pointed out familiar places as they passed—a closed bakery, a dark park, a row of houses glowing faintly from inside. Everything looked different in the rain, quieter, calmer, as if the world itself was resting. The children grew sleepy, their earlier excitement fading into peaceful silence. One rested their head against the other’s shoulder. The stuffed bear slipped onto the seat between them. Outside, the rain tapped steadily on the roof, a soft rhythm like a lullaby. “Do you remember,” the mother said gently, “when we used to drive like this before you were born?” The father smiled. “Long drives. Late nights. Just us and the road.” “And now,” she said, glancing back again, “we’re all here.” The children didn’t fully hear the words, but they felt their meaning. They felt it in the warmth of the car, in the way the parents’ voices sounded calm and close, in the steady movement carrying them safely forward. The road curved toward the edge of town. Trees stood bare, their branches dark and shining with rain. Water pooled along the sides of the street, reflecting the passing lights like tiny mirrors. Somewhere far away, a dog barked once, then fell silent again. One child stirred and yawned. “Are we almost home?” “Soon,” the father answered softly. That word—home—settled into the car like another blanket. Home meant dry clothes and warm soup. It meant lights in the windows and shoes left by the door. It meant safety from the cold rain and the long gray sky. As they drove, the rain began to slow. The drops grew smaller, lighter, until they were more like a mist. The clouds above thinned just enough to let a pale glow through, not quite moonlight, but something close. The world felt gentler somehow, as if winter itself had decided to be kind. The car turned onto a quiet street. Houses lined the road, each one familiar, each one holding its own small stories. The father parked slowly, switching off the engine. Suddenly, the world felt very still. The rain whispered one last time, then faded into silence. The children woke fully now, blinking and stretching. Coats were zipped, hats pulled on. The mother gathered the stuffed bear and handed it back with a smile. The father stepped out first, opening the door and letting in a breath of cool winter air. They walked together toward their house, shoes splashing softly in shallow puddles. The porch light glowed warmly, welcoming them home. Inside, the house smelled faintly of dinner and clean air. The door closed behind them, shutting out the cold and the rain. Jackets were hung up. Shoes were lined neatly by the door. The children laughed quietly, already talking about tomorrow. The parents watched them for a moment, tired but content. Outside, winter continued its slow rain. Inside, the family moved easily through their evening, wrapped in comfort and love. And though the night was cold, and the roads were wet, the journey had been enough—because they had made it home together.
By Sahir E Shafqat3 days ago in Families
Getting Serious About Comedy (Part I)
If I were asked to remark on my life and the childhood that paved some road leading me to this point, I would have to say something about all the funny people who surrounded me for the last 26,872 days (and counting). Somewhere along that road, I became a big fan of laughter and the comedy that spawns it – and, I mean not only my own laughter, but the laughter of others, some of which I have actually been responsible for inducing.
By John Oliver Smith5 days ago in Humor
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.