Tokyo easily lulls you into a sense of safety in public, unlike any other city in the world. This is a country where even the mob puts on a friendly face to foreigners. That’s why it’s all the more absurd and arresting to see violent imagery. On a date with a girl dressed as an anime princess, this fairly ordinary guy’s t-shirt reads, “Fuck art, let’s kill.” I hope the princess doesn’t understand English.
Outside the large stations, there’s always guys handing out free tissues. In front of Shinjuku’s southeast entrance, there’s often absurdly over-groomed guys distributing this amenity as advertising medium. Both guys are dressed in black, with seriously distressed jeans (one boots-in, one boots-out). I wonder if they go to the same hair dresser: similar color, although one has longer hair, the other taller hair. The guy in the face mask has obviously missed all these fashion lessons.
“Come in lovers,” Numazu’s Jump Hotel beckons. This post is a photo essay on the over-the-top “rabu hoterus” (love hotels) that surround the Numazu bizen ceramics studio. On one side of the studio is a large forested hillside, populated by birds including the lovely uguisu.
The other three sides are dozens of short-term stay hotels, with garish neon, absurd names, columns, statuary, fountains, tikki lights, plastic palm trees, free Wii, and abundant car parking. All of this looks worse in daylight.
Tokyo Moe 