Photography

When looking for a photo the other day, I also found the first one in this little series, prompting a rummage back in time for the rest of them. It was a building that always fascinated me. The wonderful mix of signs, and in particular the pachinko ones, got me each and every visit. Plus there was its incredibly ramshackle and overgrown state. Oh, and the silver Mercedes that had inexplicably been dumped next to it. All of that right by Yoyogi station and only a short walk from Shinjuku.

It wasn’t just the exterior either. There was the wonderfully dated entrance, with stairs leading up to the last remaining business — a bookshop so densely stocked it was more akin to a maze than the home of a merchant. Books were even balanced overhead in some parts. A cramped environment, in a crumbling structure, that made it hard not to think about earthquakes and whether it really was all that wise to be wandering around in there.

The rest of the building was rather frustratingly sealed up. Then one day so was the entrance. An inevitability of course, but it was no less sad to see. As was the subsequent demolition. A bit of history gone, along with a very real sense of how much of the city must have once looked.

Like a lot of old Japanese shops, this is one to enjoy and leisurely take in all the lovely details. There’s the sign, colourful awning and the way the building seems to lean this way and that. It’s also interesting to imagine how many years such places have been in business, along with the incredible changes they must have seen.

All that said, this one is different from most. Not in the way it looks, but in regards what looks out from it.

On a much less disturbing note, I should mention that Tokyo Conversations, a new photobook made by my friend Giovanni and I, is still on Kickstarter, but the campaign ends Sunday lunch time (JST), so if you’d like to help us out, and get a book at the same time, the link is here. A publication that I’m happy to confirm contains no images of unsettling old mannequins whatsoever.

Situated on the old shopping street of the capital’s poorest neighbourhood, this dilapidated corner was never going to garner a great deal of attention. A long-closed off license and some slowly disappearing urban art are very much a niche interest even in a city like Tokyo.

That said, in its own way it was special. It also changed quite a bit over the years. The shopping street used to be covered until the roof was deemed unsafe and had to be removed. Then there was its unique artwork — the increasingly ripped and faded nature of which only added to its appeal. Plus those cracked and taped up windows that for one reason or another simply never got replaced.

All of which made it something to look out for and occasionally photograph. A building that didn’t really make sense in a modern, ever-changing metropolis. And yet there it always was with its many nods to the past and the people who’d called it home. Or at least it always was there, until one day quite recently when suddenly it wasn’t.

There is absolutely no shortage of barber shops in Tokyo, but it feels fair to say that very few look as lovely as this one. Simply finding it was special, then to make the moment even more memorable, the owner appeared at the window and kindly popped out for a quick chat.

The current building it turns out has stood there for 70 years or so, and the man himself has been in charge for the last 4 decades. However, at 81, his thoughts are finally turning to retirement, and he was philosophical about the shop’s inevitable closure — well aware that what appealed to him all those years ago is a far less attractive proposition today. And so, with nobody to take over, he’ll be the third and final generation barber to ply his trade there.

What is, was, and likely won’t be for long.