Only Spring

Spring’s the only season that makes sense in Tokyo. Winter flattens everything to gray, summer’s unbearable—either the heat wraps around you like a wet towel or it’s raining sideways for a week. Autumn’s fine if you like melancholy. But spring is the only window where you can exist outside without losing your mind to temperature or water.

The cherry blossoms are half of it. Everyone knows about them, but walking through Harajuku when they’re falling is something else. For a couple of weeks the city’s just carpeted in them. Petals in everything.

Then there’s what people wear. That’s when you see it clearest—the moment Tokyo remembers it has permission to use color. The kids in Harajuku aren’t celebrating, they’re done waiting. Neon, clashing patterns, things that would look absurd any other month feel like the only reasonable response. Dog, Sagi Dolls, Sankuanz—brands change but the principle stays the same: brightness as refusal.

I think about this when I’m designing. There’s something about a seasonal reset that lets people be louder. Makes me wonder what we’re all sitting on the rest of the year.