The Art of Lei Making: More Than Just Flowers, A Symbol of Aloha and Connection

The scent hits you before you see it—plumeria, pikake, tuberose, a sweetness so dense it feels like humidity made solid. At Honolulu International Airport, arrivals are greeted by vendors whose families have been stringing leis since the 1940s, their hands moving in rhythms learned from mothers and grandmothers. A lei is placed over your shoulders, and suddenly you’re wearing something that took hours to make but is expected to last only a day or two. That contradiction—immense labor for something so temporary—is the first clue that this is not a souvenir. It’s a message.

The question this article explores is deceptively simple: what exactly is a lei, and why does it matter so much in Hawaiian culture? The answer reaches back to the first Polynesian voyagers, runs through centuries of ritual and rank, and lands in a modern Hawaiʻi where the practice quietly resists the forces of mass tourism and ecological loss. For travelers, cultural enthusiasts, and anyone curious about how a flower garland can carry the weight of an entire value system, understanding the lei is a doorway into understanding aloha itself.

Quick Reference: Common Lei Types

Each type carries its own history, and the choice of material is rarely accidental. A maile lei at a wedding, for example, binds two families together. A kukui nut lei at a graduation honors the light of knowledge. Understanding these distinctions is the first step toward treating the tradition with the gravity it deserves.

The Roots of a Tradition: From Voyagers to Airport Terminals

The custom of wearing and giving leis in Hawaiʻi traces back to the earliest Polynesian voyagers, who brought with them the practice of crafting garlands from plants, shells, seeds, and feathers. The word “lei” itself is believed to derive from Tahitian, though Hawaiian lei culture evolved into something distinctly local over generations. In ancient Hawaiʻi, leis were not merely decorative. They reflected rank, spirituality, relationships, and mana—the spiritual energy believed to exist within people and nature. Chiefs and aliʻi sometimes wore highly elaborate feather leis crafted from native birds, while common people made leis from leaves, flowers, nuts, and vines gathered from the land.

The tradition adapted dramatically during the mid-1800s steamship era, when lei vendors began lining the Aloha Tower pier to greet arriving passengers. By the 1940s, vendors such as Sophia’s had established themselves at Honolulu Airport, passing the trade through three generations. This transition from royal courts to commercial airports might seem like a dilution, but many practitioners see it as an expansion—a way of extending the core value of hospitality (hoʻokipa) to visitors. Still, the exact origin of specific techniques across different islands remains an area of ongoing discussion among ethnographers and cultural practitioners.

The materials and methods have shifted over centuries, but the central act—making something by hand with intention—has remained remarkably stable.

The Art and the Artist: Intention in Every Stitch

Making a lei is a labor of love that involves careful flower picking, washing, refrigerating, proper preparation, and careful stringing. A single lei can take anywhere from thirty minutes to several hours, depending on the material and technique. The three primary methods are kui (stringing), haku (braiding), and wili (twisting). Each demands a different relationship with the plant material—kui requires piercing each flower, while haku weaves the stems together without damaging the blooms.

Britney Alejo-Fishell, who conducts lei-making workshops in Makawao, credits her grandmother, Mary Ann Jane Kanohekahiwahiwaokalani Soares, as her inspiration. She views the tradition as ancestral knowledge passed down through generations, emphasizing that it is inherited rather than owned. For Alejo-Fishell, using locally grown flowers and foliage keeps the practice rooted to the ʻāina and community, strengthening connections for both kamaʻāina (longtime residents) and malihini (newcomers).

The Language of Flowers and Foliage

Different flowers carry distinct meanings in Hawaiian lei tradition, creating a nuanced vocabulary that speakers use to communicate affection, respect, or celebration without words. Plumeria leis, despite being made from a flower that originated in Central America and only arrived in Hawaiʻi around 1860, have become iconic symbols of welcome and beauty. Pikake (jasmine) leis evoke romance and are favored for weddings. Tuberose leis, intensely fragrant, are reserved for celebrations and milestones.

Maile leis deserve special attention. Made from fragrant green maile vines, these leis are not worn around the neck in the same way as flower leis—they are often draped or exchanged in ceremonies. Maile is used for weddings, graduations, hula performances, and important political or diplomatic occasions. Its symbolism centers on respect, honor, and binding agreements. During the Merrie Monarch Festival, the prestige of a hula school is often measured by the quality of its maile leis.

The same principle of deep cultural significance applies to other Hawaiian food and plant traditions—taro, for example, carries its own weight as a sacred ancestor. Understanding one helps unlock the others.

Lei Etiquette: What Every Visitor Should Know

Proper lei etiquette is straightforward but meaningful. When receiving a lei, bow your head slightly to make it easier for the giver to place it over your shoulders. Do not remove it in the presence of the giver, as that signals rejection of their aloha. Wear it at least briefly. The ribbon or tie should rest on your left side, over your heart. Refusing a lei is considered impolite unless there is a serious reason such as allergies—in which case, explain politely. Many local families also consider it disrespectful to place a lei on the ground or step over one, as leis represent love, honor, and emotional connection.

One important nuance involves closed versus open leis. A pregnant woman may traditionally receive an open-ended lei rather than a closed circular one. Some families view closed leis as symbolizing an “unbroken circle,” while open-ended leis represent openness and safe passage for childbirth. Open-ended leis are also sometimes used at funerals for symbolic gestures connected to transition and passage.

For those looking to engage respectfully with this tradition, a guided cultural tour or lei-making workshop provides essential context that a simple purchase cannot. Learning directly from practitioners like Alejo-Fishell offers insight into the kuleana (responsibility) that comes with the craft.

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Beyond the Necklace: Closed Leis, Open Leis, and Living Ethics

The distinction between closed and open leis is one of the most frequently misunderstood aspects of the tradition. It’s not merely a matter of aesthetics—it carries deep symbolic and practical weight.

Common Questions About Lei Culture

Can I refuse a lei if I have allergies?

Yes, severe allergies are a valid reason to politely decline. It is far better to explain honestly than to accept a lei and immediately discard it, which can feel deeply dismissive to the giver. Some lei makers can create leis using hypoallergenic materials like kukui nuts or ribbon.

Is it okay to buy a lei as a souvenir for myself?

Context matters. Buying a handmade lei from a local vendor to welcome someone or to honor a special occasion is appropriate. Buying a mass-produced, plastic lei solely for a photograph misses the cultural point entirely. Seek out local artisans and treat the purchase as the beginning of a relationship with the tradition.

What should I do with a lei after an event?

Do not throw it in the trash. Return it to the land—bury it in soil, leave it in the ocean, or hang it to dry and press the flowers. The act of disposal should be as respectful as the act of receiving. Some families hang leis to dry as keepsakes.

Can men wear leis?

Absolutely. Men commonly wear leis for graduations, weddings, ceremonies, and celebrations. Maile leis and kukui nut leis are especially popular among men, though flower leis are worn by everyone. There is no gender restriction on this tradition.

Are leis always made from flowers?

No. Leis can be made from leaves, shells, seeds, nuts, feathers, ribbon, candy, money, or even snacks. During graduation season in Hawaiʻi, it is common to see students draped in multiple leis made from various materials, creating what locals sometimes call a “mountain of leis” around the graduate’s neck.

The Living Lei: A Tradition That Connects Us All

Lei making is a microcosm of the Hawaiian value system—it prioritizes relationship (to land, to community, to past and future) over material accumulation. In a world of digital connections and disposable goods, the lei stands as a stubbornly physical, intentionally slow act of love. It is a tradition that doesn’t just represent aloha; it is aloha in action, made tangible through flowers, vines, and the patient hands of the maker. For those willing to look past the surface, every lei tells a story of where it came from, who made it, and why it matters. Understanding these layers of meaning is essential to navigating Hawaiian culture with the respect it deserves.

Sources and further reading

Grace Maeda. “The Endearing Art of Lei Making in Hawaii.” HAWAIʻI Magazine. 🔗

Keteamhawaii. “A Lei Is Never Just Flowers: Hawaiian Lei Etiquette and Meaning.” 🔗

NPIFund. “Hawaiian Leis: Understanding Their Rich Tradition, Cultural Symbolism, and the Art of Lei Making.” 🔗

Related reading on IslandHopperGuides

The Ahupuaʻa System: A Sustainable Model for Living in Harmony with the Land — explores the traditional Hawaiian land division system that informs modern sustainable practices like those used by lei makers.

Mālama ʻĀina: How Hawaiians Protect and Respect the Land — directly connects to the ethic of sustainability that guides responsible lei making today.

The Hawaiian Language Revival: A Story of Resilience and Cultural Identity — parallels the resilience of lei making as a practice that has survived colonization and commercialization.