It looks like this apartment, where a friend once lived, is available again on RealTokyoEstate (or Tokyo R Fudosan) — a great site for oogling odd living spaces.
This apartment looks tiny and it is, sort of, and that’s a wall right outside the window. But it feels larger than it is, thanks to overgrown trees and shrubs on all sides. You have to walk down a green path to get to it, which is odd, because this place is no more than three minutes from that bridge where all the weekend Gothic Lolitas gather in Harajuku. Call it one of those weird time/space eddies you can still find here and there in Tokyo.
On second look at the ad there is no wall. The apartment for rent is the one a floor above, so if you move in, you also get a view of the Yamanote Line.
Not many Japanese look back with fondness on the so-called “lost decade” of recession that followed the collapse of the bubble in the early 1990s. But could the era, marked by downsizing, outsourcing and a widening gap between the haves and have-nots, in fact have led to an artistic flowering?
That’s a question that comes after looking too long through Atsushi Miura’s latest book, “igocochi” (published this April by San-ichi Shobo).
Forty-something marketing planner, director of culturestudies, a “think tank that researches consumerism, culture and cities,” and number-crunching trendspotter, Miura is best known as the writer of “Karyu Shakai” (Lower classes, from 2005), the title of which has become a media byword for our times. With “igocochi,” he’s now also something of a photographer.
In “Karyu Shakai,” Miura summed up the motivations — or rather their lack — of a generation of young Japanese who have given up on standard-issue dreams. Instead of lifetime employment and a family life in the suburbs, these “freeters” (as members of this underclass are called) prefer to flit from one temporary job to the next, settling for little more in life than a dinner of cup noodles and a tiny garret.