There’s a word used in Japanese subcultures that is used to describe somebody obsessive. It’s usually people with a serious love of video games, anime, or manga, but the word otaku could easily apply to sneakerheads – too. Such is the passion that prevails along the knotted streets of Tokyo’s Shibuya ward. Here, often buried down dark alleyways or hidden underground, you can discover a grail footwear experience. Not just because of the access to rare kicks, but because Tokyoites’ unique attitude towards style can often make it feel like you’re on another planet.
It’s certainly true that no obsession in Tokyo is ever really considered too extreme. Perhaps that’s because it’s often less about the subject and more about the act of belonging. When discussing his 2022 book, The Obsessed: Otaku, Tribes, and Subcultures of Japan, author Irwin Wong explained that “Japan is very community oriented. Even for those who strike out and do outlandish things. Some people get into subcultures as they were on the fringes of society, and joining these groups gave them a sense of identity and belonging.”
The history behind Tokyo sneaker culture
While a desire to fit in is understandable amongst the strict social hierarchies of Japan, to appreciate the aesthetic that goes along with it you need to head back to the Empire, when utilitarian items most suited for work – the kimono, hakama, and happi coat – were the order of the day. This was only something that would change during the US occupation that followed the Second World War.
When the American GIs bugged out in 1952, they left behind a host of surplus clothing – the type often seen on Hollywood stars of the mid-20th century. It would have a lasting effect on the country’s youth, leading first to an Ivy League, preppy style known as Ametora (American traditional). Whether in natural defiance of its own traditional garb, or simply because of the unique embrace – and then extension – it would apply to Western trends, a wild array of subcultures rapidly developed in Japan. Nowhere more so than Tokyo.
In a recent blog post, Jonathan Lukaceck, the owner of Japanese selvedge label, One Ear Brand, explained it further. “I think in general, Japan is a place that absorbs cultures relatively quickly, and somehow creates a fusion reaction, outputting something distinct for a Japanese audience.”
He was not wrong.
From Visual Kei, an androgynous style like glam rock, to Lolita: a look inspired by Victorian clothing. Kawaii: basically, looking cute, to Decora: an excessive use of accessories (in defiance of Coco Chanel’s famed advice to remove one before you leave the house). There’s Ganguro, which ditches a pale complexion in favour of a dark tan and wildly contrasting makeup. Kogal: the love of wearing a school uniform, Cosplay: dressing like Batman (or other fantasy characters), and Mori Kei which, put simply, is the art of looking like you live in a forest. Away from fashion, Vanning stands out. In this subculture you buy a van (the automobile, not the shoe) and well, make it a better van.
Brilliantly, this is just the tip of the iceberg.
Tokyo sneaker culture steps up
While foreign influence on Japanese fashion can be traced back to the ’50s, it wasn’t really until the 1980s that the streetwear phenomena began to take hold. Back then, pre-internet Tokyo required something of a cultural conduit. A likely sort who could take the global style temperature and translate it back to Tokyo-time. One leading light was Hiroshi Fujiwara who, through friendships with the likes of Vivienne Westwood and former Sex Pistols manager Malcolm McLaren, would head to London and New York and then ferry back the best in fashion and music to Japan. In turn, Fujiwara became mentor to the homegrown design luminaries we know today; Nigo and Jun Takahashi – but more on those guys later.
Thanks to the likes of Fujiwara, the sneaker boom kicked off in Tokyo during the ’80s, too. And while the passion for Western fashion usually followed a line of vintage drip, in truth this wasn’t far off when sneakers went big in the US, too. Up until that point, sports footwear was nothing more than performance related – things you would wear to run and jump. This mentality only really changed in 1985, once the US hip hop community embraced Michael Jordan’s Nike Jordan 1 shoe, and took it from court-to-street, as well as celebrating it in movies such as Spike Lee’s Do The Right Thing. Suddenly kicks were cultural, they assigned you a tribe.
The Nike air force one
Retro Nike silhouettes like the legendary Air Force One – a shoe that actually performed poorly during its launch in the US – became iconic in Japan; a foreshadow of the unique appreciation for specific shoes that would develop here. Joined by New Balance and later adidas, demand for sneakers in Japan steadily built – until a mid-’90s crime wave changed everything.
The success of Nike’s Air Max 95 shoe in Japan caught everybody off guard – Nike included. The reception in other places had been lukewarm at best. Designed by Sergio Lozano as opposed to legendary Nike designer Tinker Hatfield, the style was pretty off-piste for the brand, with minimal Swoosh and the first ever visible air sole at the front. Touches of neon also represented a style shift, so much so that Lozano actually struggled to get the design signed off in the first place by the company’s head honchos at Oregon. By the time it got to Tokyo, however, a shoe retailing at $500 was reselling for $1,000 and more, especially in its original yellow colourway. It was a first glimpse of the serious resale market to come.
Unfortunately, such was the demand that, even if you were lucky enough to own a pair, you might also be unlucky enough to have them taken from you on the street, as a spate of muggings known as Air Max Hunting went on to shock conservative Japan.
Urahara sparks streetwear craze
The signs had been there two years earlier, on the streets of Urahara. Short for ura-Harajuku (hidden Harajuku), the stylish district nestled in Shibuya, it was home to a growing fashion set.
By 1993, Fujiwara had helped Nigo and Takahashi open the now legendary boutique store, Nowhere, boosting a global reputation as a style destination in the process. Packed with international streetwear, nowhere was the first place to sell Nigo’s fledgling label, A Bathing Ape, and Jun Takahashi’s brand, Undercover.
The pair, who had met at Tokyo’s Bunka fashion college, would go on to help define the industry of hype. Nigo (now creative director at Kenzo) in particular, had a brand ethos built on rarity, with production runs that catered to just 10 percent of demand. The queues that regularly snaked out of the store because of this were a precursor to shoe raffles and the act of camping outside on drop day that we see around the world today. Typically, as Urahara’s reputation continued to grow, it was only a matter of time before the big brands moved in.
Navigating the best sneaker hunting spots
Today, while not quite as edgy – with the likes of Paul Smith and Burberry fighting for space next to homegrown brands – the small winding streets remain your best spot for style in Tokyo. For a sneaker hunt, with so many amazing stores in one place you’ll also maximise your output.
Here’s how you might do it…
Start your day with one of the OGs at Worm Tokyo. A small space with boxes piled high, it might not look much, but here you’ll find a mighty selection of shrink-wrapped grails from Yeezy to Yamamoto. A recent visit there also saw a Jordan shoe selling for roughly $38,000.
Next up head to A + S for some elegant Japanese minimalism, as well as kicks and streetwear that crosses borders from Nike to Margiela. End your morning with the Tokyo sneaker store that started them all – Atmos. Recently purchased by Foot Locker for $360 million, Atmos opened in 2000, and now has 49 stores worldwide, with 39 of them in Japan. Home to its own much sought after collabs as well as a host of rare items that you won’t find anywhere else in the world, this one is really not to be missed.
Although it’s wise not to let your focus shift on a day spent hunting sneakers, you should also make the most of your surroundings. This is one of Tokyo’s most charming neighbourhoods. While there, make a pit-stop at Marion Crepes for some classic Harajuku street food. Found on Takeshita Street, what began as a food truck – founder Iwao Kishi came back from seven years in France with a thing for crepes – is now a shop. Unsurprisingly, Kishi put his own spin on the treat, meaning you can pick up matcha, and azuki bean crepes amongst other unusual combinations.
Once refuelled, continue the high-low footwear experience. Head to the ever-so-slightly ramshackle but home of super rare collabs Fool’s Judge, before making a trip to Kith. With a wavy, well-lit ceiling and a general ethereal glow, the interior there looks otherworldly. A brand in its own right, Kith reps some of the best sneaker drops, too. Case in point, a collab with Nike on an Air Force One shoe. Dropping in just one Tokyo store during the pandemic – with the world locked outside – this is quite possibly the rarest sneaker on the planet right now. An example of how global circumstances can impact the industry of hype, too.
Although focussing on Harajuku, stretch your legs a little further to close and enjoy the simple grail-shoe-goodness on show at Mita Sneakers. Rare kicks and unusual collab’s abound here. Bonus travel fix – you can retire to Ameyoko market around the corner as soon as you’re done. Once there, pick up some delicious takoyaki (doughy ball-shaped snacks filled with octopus) from street food stall Minatoya as reward for a day well spent.
The ultimate city for sole searchers
Considering the cultural output of Japan, it should perhaps come as no surprise that this nation of collectors offers a comprehensive sneaker experience, too. But that’s not why it has become a must-visit grail-shoe destination. The simple fact is that tastes here are just unlike anywhere else in the world.
Silhouettes that didn’t quite resonate in the West fly in Japan, while a desire to take an existing style and flex it differently in the local market means that you’ll discover colourways and collabs beyond your wildest dreams. And as you struggle back to your hotel, laden with bags and wondering whether to wear or display your new finds, you can be safe in the knowledge that, well, you’re now probably something of an otaku, too.
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