What Yoshi Knows
I found Yoshi one afternoon in the crush of Shibuya’s shopping streets, impossible to miss. Red coat, chains catching the light, a poncho that probably had a story behind it. Embroidered pants in bright colors, high heels, rings stacked on his fingers, red-dyed hair, a colorful sweater, a patched hood. Every piece competing for space in the crowd, no apologies.
Tokyo people don’t apologize for color. You can dress like that, show up like that, and it’s just normal. Nobody treats you like you’ve made a mistake.
Come October in Berlin, the city converts to black. The second the temperature drops, everyone retreats into the same uniform. Black coats, black pants, black shoes. The streets look like a funeral procession. Munich, Hamburg, same story. Autumn arrives and everybody agrees to disappear.
I keep thinking about Yoshi and all those details. The more you look, the more you find—a ring you missed at first glance, an embroidery that only shows from certain angles. The casual confidence to layer all of that together and walk out the door.
That’s the real difference. In Tokyo, color in autumn is normal. In Berlin, it’s a statement, which means someone will judge it, which means most people don’t bother. They just dress for the cold like everyone else. Practical. Safe. I understand the logic. But Yoshi had figured out something: you can be alive in October, or you can be invisible. He chose alive.