On a quiet morning in the islands, you might find a lei maker sitting with a pile of crown flower buds, twisting each stem with a care that has little to do with the finished product. The act itself — selecting, bending, threading — carries weight. Langi, a lei maker featured in a BYU–Hawaii cultural piece, describes the practice as a way to show aloha: something done purely from the heart, using any part of the flower — bud, stem, petal, or leaf. This article covers what goes into that practice, the plants involved, the ecological pressures on them, and how visitors can approach lei making with the seriousness it deserves — not as a craft project, but as a connection to nature and Hawaiian culture.
More than 100 plant taxa in Hawaiʻi are already extinct, and over 200 have 50 or fewer individuals remaining in the wild.
That statistic, drawn from a National Geographic feature on Lei Day and native plants, reframes what it means to pick a flower for a lei. The choice between a non-native plumeria and an endemic ʻōhiʻa lehua is not just aesthetic — it carries conservation weight. Native plants, which once dominated lei making, have become harder to find in the two centuries since 1819, when French botanist Charles Gaudichaud-Beaupré observed Hawaiian women changing their plant materials according to the seasons. Today, introduced species like plumeria (which arrived from Central America around 1860) and jasmine (pīkake) have filled the gap, but the cultural preference for native materials persists among those who understand the stakes.
Lei making is not a souvenir activity — it is a disciplined practice tied to land stewardship, plant conservation, and a protocol system that predates contact. Visitors should expect to learn more about where their materials came from than about how to tie a knot. The best experiences will confront you with a limitation: you cannot pick certain flowers at all, and you should not try.
Understanding the lei: materials, tradition, and island protocols
Leis have been part of Hawaiian life for centuries, used in religious rituals, worn by chiefs (aliʻi), and believed to be worn by deities (akua) when they assumed human form. The materials have always been varied — flowers, leaves, nuts, feathers, fruit, seeds, and shells — but the relationship between maker and plant has shifted. Over 90 percent of native flowering plants in Hawaiʻi are endemic, meaning they grow nowhere else on Earth. That endemism creates a responsibility. Traditional gatherers take only what is needed, rotate harvesting locations, and avoid damaging rare plants — a practice rooted in the Hawaiian concept of mālama ʻāina, or caring for the land.
of Hawaiʻi’s dry forests have been lost to invasive species, wildfires, and urban development, according to the National Geographic feature.
Lei Day, celebrated on May 1, was born in 1927 (or 1929, depending on the source — both dates appear in the research) and formalized by the Hawaii Territorial Legislature with specific colors and lei types for each island. Hawaiʻi Island, for example, was assigned the color red (ulaula) and the flower ʻōhiʻa lehua. The lehua flower symbolizes strength and resilience, but the tree that produces it — ʻōhiʻa lehua — is currently threatened by a fungal disease known as Rapid ʻŌhiʻa Death. Choosing a lehua lei today means understanding that the plant itself is under pressure.
Where to learn: workshops, cultural centers, and conservation-minded experiences
Botanical gardens and ethnobotany programs
The philosophy of mālama ʻāina is not abstract at places like the University of Hawaiʻi’s Hawaiian Ethnobotany & Conservation program, where researcher Puanani Anderson-Fung studies how plant availability shapes cultural practice. Anderson-Fung’s own favorite lei, as noted in the National Geographic article, is made by her husband braiding three strands of green ti leaf and weaving lauaʻe leaves into it — a simple, repeatable design that uses common materials. Programs tied to botanical gardens often offer workshops using plants grown on-site, which avoids pressure on wild populations. These sessions tend to be smaller and more focused on plant identification than tourist-oriented classes.
Community-based workshops
Lei makers like Langi, who crafts leis with crown flower, plumeria, puakenikeni, stephanotis, tiare, song of India, and ti leaf, often teach through community centers or cultural organizations rather than commercial outlets. In Langi’s approach, thickness matters: thicker leis suit graduations or farewells, while candy leis — made with wrapped sweets — are practical and appreciated by children. Picking puakenikeni daily, Langi notes, keeps the tree producing blooms. That kind of specific, plant-level knowledge is what separates a meaningful workshop from a quick craft session. Look for classes that include a walk through a garden or a discussion of each plant’s origin. If the instructor cannot name the plant and its status (native, introduced, endangered), the experience is likely superficial.
Conservation considerations when choosing a class
Some workshops use only introduced species — plumeria, pīkake, crown flower — which reduces ecological impact. Others incorporate native plants like maile, which was historically reserved for chiefs and special ceremonies. The heritage villages across the islands occasionally host lei-making demonstrations that emphasize these distinctions. If a class advertises the use of ʻōhiʻa lehua, ask where the flowers came from. Legitimate programs source from cultivated trees, not wild harvest. The line between cultural practice and ecological harm is thin, and a good workshop will acknowledge it openly.
The maile lei, woven from the fragrant vine Alyxia stellata, was historically reserved for chiefs and special ceremonies. It is still worn today at graduations and weddings, but the plant is harder to find in the wild. Many commercial versions use substitute materials. If a workshop offers maile, ask whether the vine is cultivated or wild-harvested.
Practical planning: timing, legality, and ethical gathering
Lei Day on May 1 is the most visible moment for lei culture, but it is also the most crowded. Workshops and demonstrations book weeks in advance. The 96th Lei Day was marked in the National Geographic article (at the time of publication), with island-specific protocols still in place. If your goal is a quieter experience, aim for a workshop outside of April and May, when demand drops and instructors have more time to talk through plant identification and technique.
| Lei Type | Primary Material | Ecological Status |
|---|---|---|
| Plumeria lei | Plumeria flower (introduced from Central America, 1860) | Common, no conservation concern |
| ʻŌhiʻa lehua lei | Lehua flower (native, endemic) | Threatened by Rapid ʻŌhiʻa Death; use cultivated sources only |
| Maile lei | Maile vine (native, endemic) | Increasingly scarce; many commercial versions use substitutes |
| Ti leaf lei | Ti leaf (Polynesian introduction, widely cultivated) | Abundant; antimicrobial properties studied by scientists |
Note: Picking flowers on public land or from roadside trees is often illegal. Many native plants are protected by law, including the kokiʻo keʻokeʻo (white hibiscus) and rare lobelioids. Always confirm that your materials were legally sourced before participating in any workshop.
Ethical gathering: what to avoid
The science of lei making intersects with conservation biology in ways that surprise most visitors. The pigments in lehua and ʻōhiʻa flowers are being analyzed for their antioxidant potential, which means the plants have pharmaceutical as well as cultural value. Picking a rare flower for a personal lei is not just a cultural misstep — it can be a legal one. The rule of thumb: if you did not grow it or buy it from a licensed vendor, leave it on the branch.
Rapid ʻŌhiʻa Death, a fungal disease that has killed hundreds of thousands of ʻōhiʻa trees on Hawaiʻi Island. The fungus spreads through soil, footwear, and tools. If you hike near ʻōhiʻa forests, clean your shoes before and after. Do not transport ʻōhiʻa wood or flowers between islands.
On the ground: what to bring, how to act, and what to expect
Packing for a workshop
Most lei-making sessions require no special equipment — instructors provide needles, thread, and materials. But if you want to practice afterward, a small kit with floral wire, a curved needle, and a moisture-proof bag for cut flowers helps. The DJI Mini 3 Fly More Combo is useful for capturing aerial footage of workshop locations or botanical gardens — the compact size and vertical shooting mode make it easy to film without disrupting a class. That said, drone use is restricted in many botanical gardens and cultural sites; check regulations before flying.
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Local etiquette: what not to do with a lei
When you receive a lei, wear it with respect. Do not remove it in front of the giver — that signals rejection. Never throw a lei in the trash; return it to the earth by hanging it on a tree, burying it, or placing it in the ocean (with the caveat that some materials, like ribbon or synthetic thread, do not decompose). The cultural richness of lei making rests on the principle of reciprocity: you accept the gift, you honor the material, and you do not discard it carelessly.
What I would do differently
If I were planning a first lei-making experience, I would skip the hotel-sponsored activity and find a workshop tied to a conservation program. The difference is not in the technique — both will teach you to thread a needle through a plumeria petal — but in the context. A conservation-linked workshop will explain why plumeria is not native, why ʻōhiʻa lehua is endangered, and why the act of picking a flower carries weight. That context is the point.
- Choose workshops that emphasize plant identification and conservation status over pure craft technique.
- Never pick flowers from public land or roadside trees without verifying legality — many native plants are protected by law.
- Lei Day (May 1) is the busiest time for workshops; book weeks ahead or aim for off-peak months for a quieter experience.
Lei making in Hawaiʻi: questions visitors ask
Can I pick flowers for a lei from the side of the road?
Not legally in most cases. Many roadside plants are on public land or protected species. Plants like the kokiʻo keʻokeʻo and rare lobelioids are protected by law, and picking them can result in fines. Stick to flowers from a licensed vendor or a workshop that provides materials.
What is the difference between a single-strand and a double-strand lei?
The technique changes the shape and weight. A double-stranded lei, like the one Langi taught Camela Mataele on her first day living in Hawaiʻi, lies flatter and covers more of the neck. Single-strand leis are lighter and faster to make. Neither is more traditional — the choice depends on the occasion and the maker’s intent.
Is it disrespectful to wear a lei if I am not Hawaiian?
No, but context matters. Leis are given at graduations, weddings, funerals, and birthdays — they are gifts, not costumes. If someone gives you a lei, wear it with the same respect you would any ceremonial gift. The problem arises when visitors buy leis purely as accessories without understanding what they represent.
Why are native plants so hard to find for lei making?
Hawaiʻi has been called the “Endangered Species Capital of the World.” More than 90 percent of native flowering plants are endemic, and at least 90 percent of dry forests have been lost. Introduced species like plumeria and pīkake have become the default because they are abundant, not because they are preferred.
Can I take a lei home with me on the plane?
Yes, but with restrictions. Leis made of seeds, nuts, or untreated wood may be flagged by agricultural inspection. Flower leis are generally fine if they are free of soil and pests. The best approach is to wear the lei during your flight — it keeps it visible and reduces the chance of damage in luggage.
Closing: what a lei actually asks of you
The hardest part of lei making is not the threading. It is the recognition that every flower you hold came from a plant that is either abundant because it is invasive or rare because it is endemic. That tension — between celebration and loss, between giving and taking — is what the practice asks you to sit with. A well-made lei does not just decorate the wearer; it documents the state of the land that produced it.
Sources and further reading
The cultural richness of lei making. Ke Alakaʻi, BYU–Hawaii.
Lei Day, native plants, and the history of Hawaiian garlands. National Geographic.
The science of Lei Day: native Hawaiian plants and cultural botany. Discover Wild Science.