Above the Scramble

The Shibuya crossing is the thing people picture when they picture Tokyo—hundreds of bodies moving in every direction at once, the whole intersection a kind of organized beautiful chaos that resolves itself every ninety seconds and then starts again. A few steps from that crossing stands Shibuya 109, a cylindrical tower of fashion floors stacked eight stories high, each one a different world.

Shibuya 109 has long been the territory of Tokyo’s school girls and the extreme subcultures they orbit—Ganguro (deep tans, bleached hair, platform shoes built like architecture), cosplay overflow, Harajuku-adjacent looks that make European street fashion seem timid by comparison. The selection is overwhelming in a specifically Japanese way: plush animals sized to hang from a backpack zipper, neon graphic tees, shoes that add six inches and still look intentional, Hello Kitty in configurations nobody asked for and everyone wants, fashion magazines full of looks that simply don’t exist anywhere else on earth.

I go to places like this not necessarily to buy but to understand how a city imagines itself—what it thinks young and stylish looks like, what it permits, what it encourages. Tokyo’s answer, via Shibuya 109, is: wilder than you planned, more colour than you thought physically possible, and absolutely no apology for either. The men’s equivalent, 109MEN’S, is a few minutes away and makes an equally convincing argument for spending money you don’t have.