Industry insiders believed that the MUJI era had ended along with the 20th century. As the new millennium began, the Japanese household and consumer goods retailer was experiencing a period of marked financial strain. Mujirushi Ryōhin (無印良品), which translates to no-brand quality goods, later shortened simply to MUJI, started as an in-house product line for the supermarket Seiyu in the late 1970s. While other supermarkets focused their own brands solely on affordability, Seiyu sought differentiation by launching Mujirushi Ryōhin to offer high-quality products at reasonable prices under the slogan cheap for a reason. To reduce costs, Mujirushi Ryōhin used minimal packaging, consisting of clear cellophane and plain brown paper labels, and employed various waste-reduction strategies. Ikko Tanaka, the influential graphic designer brought in as art director, introduced the design concept of the beauty of simplicity. This philosophy led to the unadorned style that MUJI is now known for, marking the start of its transformation from a brandless product line into a veritable super brand.
In 1983, the first Mujirushi Ryōhin shop was established in Aoyama, Tokyo. By 1989, Ryohin Keikaku Co., Ltd was incorporated, taking ownership of the brand and separating it from Seiyu. The 1990s proved to be a decade of success—the collapse of the Japanese asset price bubble meant that cheap for a reason resonated with the public who now had cause to shop rationally after the excesses of the 1980s. However, competitors with similar business models, such as Uniqlo, the fashion retailer; Nitori, the homeware retailer; and Daiso, the largest ¥100 shop, steadily eroded MUJI's market share. Management complacency allowed the situation to worsen, resulting in a sudden downturn; from profitability in 2000, the company experienced a deficit of 3.8 billion yen in 2001, and its stock price on the Tokyo Stock Exchange plummeted to one-seventh of its former value.
Returning to 1976, Tadamitsu Matsui, a recent university graduate, was starting work in the household goods section of Seiyu's Fujimigaoka branch having been rejected by every other company he applied to. Matsui's career trajectory was a corporate fairytale, advancing from the shop floor through seniority levels and departments until becoming President and Representative Director of Ryohin Keikaku in 2001, at a crucial stage in MUJI's history. Matsui proved up to the task, and under his leadership, the company rebounded, achieving a consecutive three-year record profit run from 2005 to 2008. His approach centred on systematisation, a subject in which he is now considered something of a savant. The most prominent example is his creation of the MUJIGRAM manual, a comprehensive guide for MUJI store operations. This manual, divided into 13 A4-sized binders totalling around 2,000 pages, contains highly detailed, repeatable standards to ensure flawless consistency.
Simultaneously, MUJI adopted a modular approach to its product line. Each item was reevaluated to fit into a unified system of over 7,000 products. This approach led to the MUJI HOUSE initiative—in Japan, you can purchase anything from a pen to a prefabricated home from MUJI. To see this systematisation at its finest, MUJI Ginza, the brand's global flagship store, is the destination. Every brand offering is on display, meticulously organised through point-of-sale signage, labelling, and wayfinding graphics. At MUJI Ginza, you can procure the all-time best-selling aroma diffuser, pick up a curry bread from the bakery, enjoy a cappuccino at the coffee bar, and browse brand annuals in the library. When night falls, you can relax on MUJI pillows in a MUJI bed in a MUJI hotel room on the top floor. There are inherent contradictions in MUJI's approach—how does a brand that trades on the concept of minimalism justify producing 7,000 products? Nonetheless, it is a sight to behold.
Before reaching MUJI Ginza, we have a brief stop at a location with a quieter demeanour—a discreet shrine situated in an alleyway en route. Indeed, this is part two of our walking tour of Ginza, navigating via the Hatchō Shrines, a collection of urban micro shrines dispersed throughout the district. If you're joining us anew, I recommend starting with part one, where we learned a concise history of Ginza, reflected on the phenomenon of small shrines in Tokyo, and familiarised ourselves with Ginza's Hatchō Shrines. With a customised Google Map in hand, we roamed the 5-, 6-, 7-, and 8-chōme blocks south of the Harumi-dōri thoroughfare. This contemplative mode of exploration offers a slower way to experience one of the most outwardly commercial and tourist-heavy parts of Tokyo, allowing for reflections on history, design, and the finer details.
Starting from the B4 exit of Ginza Metro station and walking back towards the 4-chōme intersection, we find Ginza Renga-dōri, a narrow street stretching from 4- to 1-chōme, eventually meeting the perimeter of Ginza. Renga-dōri, which translates to Brick Avenue, is a remnant of Ginza Bricktown. Bricktown was developed in the early Meiji period (1868-1912) to restore the area after the Great Ginza Fire of 1872, as we learned in part one. In its heyday, all the buildings along Renga-dōri were constructed from red brick, inspired by English Georgian architecture. Although paved in brick, not a single brick structure remains today. The street now largely features polished metal and glass facades, with Gucci’s Ginza outlet marking its entrance.
A short distance inside lies a row of smaller, friendlier buildings fronted by an unassuming unagi restaurant named Noboritei, which emits a soft yellow glow as the late afternoon transitions into the evening. The restaurant inhabits the ground floor of the Subaru Building, distinguished by its fanlight-inspired door canopy. Adjacent to it is the Karyo Building, clad in faux redbrick with wooden doors. These are the kind of architectural homages to old Ginza you'll see in pockets throughout the area. In front of these structures, an alleyway diverges from Renga-dōri, leading to the back of the shops. At the end stands Hōdō Inari shrine, our fifth milestone.
Hōdō Inari is visited annually by those seeking blessings for children's healthy growth and upbringing. The shrine is dedicated to the goddess Uka No Mitama. Uka translates to grain or food, and she is the deity associated with rice. Along with Toyoiwa Inari, Hōdō Inari has one of the most contrasting settings among the Hatchō shrines, with a dense urban backdrop of extractor fans, a standard fixture on the back sides of Tokyo buildings. The local neighbourhood association, Ginza 4-chōme Ginyukai, owns and maintains the shrine and its land. The Ginyukai dutifully hosts events, puts up New Year's decorations, and provides specially made Hōdō Inari fortune slips.
Associations like these, usually comprising business owners in commercial districts like Ginza, are akin to the stagehands of Tokyo street life, working behind the scenes to maintain the city's clean, safe environment. Funding generally comes from membership fees—people are not necessarily paid for this grassroots work. The associations might also receive support or grants from local governments or tourism boards. They promote the local area and advocate for policies and infrastructure improvements that benefit businesses, such as beautification projects or enhanced public services. In the case of the Ginza 4-chōme Ginyukai, this includes the management of a quaint, tranquil shrine.
Leaving the shrine to the north, we emerge onto Matsuya-dōri, which runs west to east through Ginza. While you can cross Matsuya-dōri and continue along Renga-dōri to reach MUJI Ginza, the main entrance is on the linden tree-lined Namiki-dōri, which runs parallel. Once you've had your fill of traditional Nordic-inspired in-store music and wa-infused product design, we'll continue along Namiki and proceed to Maronie-dōri or Marronnier Avenue. It's worth walking a short distance along Maronie to appreciate the horse chestnut trees after which it is named. Then, turning back onto Renga-dōri, we come upon Yanagi-dōri. Yanagi (柳) means willow; thus, the Ginza tree-spotting experience continues—naturally, Yanagi-dōri is adorned with graceful willow trees.
Rejoining Namiki-dōri completes a zig-zag route through 4-, 3-, 2-, and 1-chōme to the next milestone, Saiwai Inari shrine. The map pin for Saiwai Inari suggests it is located on Namiki-dōri or within the eleven-storey ZX Building. Saiwai Inari once occupied a prime roadside position, distinguished by a bright red torii gate that stood out against the streetscape but now it is easy to miss. About ten years ago, due to redevelopment, it was moved back onto a side street behind the ZX Building. Herman Miller on the ground floor now takes up the shrine's former spot. During the relocation, Saiwai Inari was reconstructed with an elegant, plain wooden torii gate and a lattice wooden door, behind which the interior gently glows. The shrine was formerly named Tachiuri Inari, with tachiuri (太刀売) meaning sword merchant, a historical connection to local trade. The deity enshrined here is Inari Ōkami, associated with rice, sake, industry, and prosperity—very much in keeping with Ginza's priorities.
Continuing along Namiki-dōri and heading northeast, we emerge onto Ginza Sakura-dōri. The long streets of Ginza that run from southwest to northeast—Namiki, Azuma, Mihara, and others—all culminate at Sakura-dōri. The elevated Tokyo Expressway KK Route soars alongside, with a few businesses filled in below, including a Gold's Gym, offering what must be an intense workout experience under the weight of the city's traffic. Beyond the expressway, Ginza concludes, and the Yaesu and Kyōbashi areas begin. Sakura-dōri is named for its approximately 50 yaezakura double cherry blossom trees, which bloom in double layers. Though it is summer, this avenue transforms into a spectacle lined with pink and white blossoms during the hanami season.
Heading east along Sakura-dōri, we reach a broad crossroads with Chuo-dōri, where the Ginza 1-Chōme Kōban is situated. This charming police box acknowledges history with a design inspired by the gas lamp of the Keirin Monument that stands across the road. The monument features an inscription written by former Tokyo Governor Yūri Kōsei, who, after the great fire of 1872, led the planning of Ginza Bricktown. The monument's gas lamp is a restored lamp post from 1874. Prior to that, the city's streets were pitch-dark after sunset, necessitating handheld chōchin lanterns for nighttime navigation. This changed with the installation of 85 gas lamps to illuminate the path from Kyōbashi to Hamamatsuchō through Ginza. Nishiki-e woodblock prints from the Meiji period often depict these lamps, adding a romantic ambience to Tokyo's cityscape. Some buildings in Ginza include electric lighting with the appearance of old gas lamps, offering a comforting continuity amid contemporary developments.
The exploration of Ginza's retro architecture reaches its pinnacle just across Chuo-dōri, at the top of Mihara-dōri, in the Okuno Building, an 85-year-old former residential structure, notable for being the first in Japan to feature an elevator and private telephone lines. Ginza has a rich art scene with numerous galleries, including those of major companies like Shiseido, and smaller venues like Ginza Graphic Gallery, which we passed in part one. The Okuno Building has gained renewed attention within this artistic community, having been restored and converted to house approximately 20 small-scale galleries and antique shops. The structure was completed in 1934, and its historic features, designed by Ryoichi Kawamoto, once the head of the construction department at the Dojunkai Foundation, have been lovingly preserved.
Inside, the Okuno Building's common areas show the wear and tear of decades of use. The exposed piping and wires in its cramped corridors create a sense of ordered chaos reminiscent of the overhead cabling that typifies many Tokyo streets. As you enter through the main doors, you'll notice the original letterboxes for each apartment, now repurposed for the galleries and businesses within. On weekdays, the atmosphere feels partly like that of a private residential complex and partly like the foyer of an office building—a place where you might feel hesitant to linger. All the same, the residents seem pleased to see visitors appreciating the space. On weekends, the venue becomes busier and many of the galleries host private viewings.
Located not far from the Okuno Building stands a lesser-known pre-war structure formerly known as the Miyawaki Building. It now houses the gallery MUSEE GINZA, making it a sensible continuation of the theme of contemporary art and design displayed in historic, retro settings. The building was initially owned by an oil merchant and retains elements of its past, such as floor openings used for unloading oil. Its three stories feature a simple modernist design that uniquely blends reinforced concrete, bricks, and wood. It faced demolition in 2013, but recognising its historical significance, residents successfully campaigned to overturn the development plans. It is now the only structure of its kind along Showa-dōri, which you'll need to cross to get there.
The final overhead crossing before Shōwa-dōri enters Kyōbashi, the Gintō-Ichi pedestrian bridge, provides a vantage point to observe the thoroughfare's flow of non-stop traffic. The ten-lane Shōwa-dōri sees an average of 39,000 vehicles every twelve hours, making it the busiest road in Chūō-ku. Its development in 1928 was spurred once again by the Great Kantō Earthquake, providing the recovering city with a new backbone of modern urban infrastructure. Former Tokyo Mayor Shinpei Gotō, then Minister of Home Affairs, envisioned a 108-metre-wide road with spacious sidewalks and green belts. The plan was ultimately scaled down to 44 metres wide with less luxurious affordances for pedestrians, but it remains a formidable piece of civil engineering. If you're unable to climb the steps of Gintō-Ichi, a pedestrian crossing lies a short distance to the southwest.
Departing from Shōwa-dōri and venturing along a nameless side street branching from the corner of MUSEE Ginza brings us into Higashi-Ginza, with higashi (東) meaning east. I'd previously shortlisted Higashi-Ginza as a topic for an entire newsletter—it's the corner of Ginza where I feel most at home. During the spring of 2022, when Japan's borders were still closed to all but business travellers due to COVID-19, I visited the country on work duties. In my years living in Tokyo, I had spent little time in Ginza, but on this particular trip, the location proved convenient, and with the hotel sector struggling due to the pandemic, the cost was reasonable. My trip was long enough to benefit from a washing machine and kitchenette, which led me to book a residential suite at the Tokyu Stay on Shōwa-dōri, a few minutes walk from Higashi-Ginza Station. My appreciation for Ginza began during my weeks at the Tokyu Stay.
Each evening at dinner time, I'd cross Shōwa-dōri to sample the various restaurants in the backstreets of Higashi-Ginza. After eating, I’d stroll the area and was pleasantly surprised by what I discovered. It is the only part of Ginza with a neighbourhood feel, where you'll find a local greengrocer, a public park, and ordinary apartments. Maya Fruits does brisk business from the ground floor of a mixed-use building on the corner, with crates of fresh produce and handwritten prices cluttering the pavement. A variety of trees surround Kyōbashi Park, opposite. Although typically austere for a Tokyo park with its gravel surface, it is replete with shade and benches, which are rare in Ginza. Locals sincerely appreciate this park, an oasis in an otherwise commercial, inner-city district.
This area was once known as Kobikichō, a neighbourhood in Edo. The name derives from craftsmen known as kobiki, woodworkers who sawed logs into lumber. During the construction of Edo Castle, its sawyers resided here. On maps from the Tokugawa Period (1603–1868), Kobikichō extended from Shōwa-dōri to the Hōraibashi intersection in the south, bordered by the former Tsukiji River in the east and the Sanjūkkenbori River in the west. The area was known for theatre, particularly kabuki, and was an entertainment district with restaurants and geisha houses. After World War II, the area underwent significant changes, including the filling of the Sanjūkkenbori River and the renaming to Higashi-Ginza in 1951. It eventually became part of the broader Ginza district in 1969. Yet, the character of Kobikichō persists and can be felt when walking Kobikichō-dōri, Kobikichōnaka-dōri, and their side streets and interconnecting alleyways.
Kobikichō-dōri is where I first noticed a Hatchō shrine. Most of these shrines' altars are publicly visible to some extent, whether standing on streets, passageways, or within commercial premises. This visibility requires that you complete your prayers in plain sight. In contrast, Higashi-Ginza’s Hōju Inari offers a secluded, partially indoor space. Local business people can frequently be seen bowing before passing under the torii gates. If someone is inside, those waiting will respect their privacy and stand outside until the worshipper is finished. On my 2022 trip, Hōju Inari stood out as a mysterious sight, prompting me to notice other Hatchō Shrines as I traversed the chōme blocks. I wondered if there was a connection between them, leading me to investigate.
Hōju Inari is between the taller, modern structures of the Ginza 3-chōme post office and the Dai Ni Kōseiseikan Building, a fairly nondescript 1970s office block. This shrine has been historically important to the local community, particularly the kobiki woodworkers, due to its origins as a guardian against fire. It was established around 1615 and is known for its jiguchi-andon—traditional lanterns that feature witty Edo-era puns and illustrations, reflecting the area's cultural heritage. The Itakura clan, a samurai family of considerable influence, is said to have once overseen the shrine. It later passed through various hands before coming into the care of a local association.
We've walked some distance between Saiwai Inari and Hōju Inari, whose immediate vicinity offers several rest spots. Bashiriko, a coffee shop I highlighted in a previous newsletter dedicated to kissaten, is located less than 100 metres around the corner on a plot of land that seems to have been subdivided more than once over the years to achieve its tight width. The ground-level façade features wooden beams, a single strip of faux brick, an old-fashioned mock gas lamp, and a lightbox kanban, complemented by a few carefully chosen pot plants. A vivid red awning with the word 'coffee' in an uppercase '60s font and 'Bashiriko' in hiragana characters draws the eye to the doorway, through which very little can be seen. The atmosphere inside is library-like; the air is dead silent, and the master sits sternly at his counter at the back of the shop, waiting for orders for his pirafu and excellent blend coffee.
Around the opposite corner, you'll find Chōshiya, a vendor specialising in korokke or croquettes. The shop has a rustic feel, to put it mildly. While waiting for my order, I asked how long the shop had been in business, and the owner mentioned that they were approaching their 100th year. He doesn't seem to think it is worth fussing over as Ginza has numerous shinise (老舗)—venerable shops often over 100 years old. His humility reminds me of an athlete who doesn't feel special among other world-class performers in the Olympic Village. Even so, surviving for a century selling only breaded and fried snacks for a few hundred yen amid some of the world's most expensive real estate strikes me as a business accolade worth celebrating. Whenever I try a shinise korokke, I feel inclined to label it the best korokke I've ever eaten, and Chōshiya meets that standard. The shop only opens on weekdays and closes when the day's supply runs out.
Continuing along Kobikicho-dōri, we arrive at Harumi-dōri, outside Kabuki-za, Tokyo's main theatre dedicated to the traditional art of kabuki drama. With its tiled roof, Chinese gables, and red balustrades, one might assume this is an old structure, but it is the fifth coming of Kabuki-za, completed in 2013. The theatre has been upgraded and rebuilt periodically since its inauguration in 1889 due to the familiar factors of war, disaster, and the demands of modernity. Today's Kabuki-za includes Kabuki Tower, an otherwise uniform office building. It's worth venturing inside for a view of the theatre's roof and a reinvigorating cup of sencha, matcha, or gyokuro at Jugetsudō, a green tea shop and café on the 5th floor. The theatre's east wing has a discreet entrance to Higashi-Ginza station, and just beside it is a small lot dedicated to Kabuki Inari shrine.
Kabuki Inari used to be accessible solely through the theatre's back door, but the 2013 renovation saw it moved to a more prominent location by the station. The old shrine, exclusive to kabuki performers, must have been atmospheric. Traditionally, it served as a place for actors and staff to offer prayers and seek blessings for success, particularly on the first and last days of a performance run. The relocation has made the shrine a visible feature, allowing the public to observe this cultural tradition and pay their respects to Oinari-sama, the resident deity. In his book Lost Japan, writer and Japanologist Alex Kerr shares the story of how his involvement with the inner world of kabuki grew. He may have been fortunate enough to witness the Kabuki Inari of old, but without such connections, I'm pleased to be able to stand before the shrine today.
The onward route from Kabuki-za crosses back over Shōwa-dōri at the Miharabashi intersection. This crossing is a pleasingly offbeat alternative to the famous 4-chōme intersection, with its four corners offering a mismatched array of sights. The Nissho Kosan Building, owned by the petroleum company Idemitsu Kosan, next to Kabuki-za, has a Pronto café at the front, offering mediocre coffee but excellent people-watching from the second floor. On the southeast corner, the Duplex Ginza Tower 5/13 is a zakkyo building stacked with an ever-changing array of restaurants. Diagonally across, the Ginza Sannō Building is aesthetically unremarkable. Still, it is next to the S&B Foods billboard, a blinking landmark on the Ginza skyline visible from various points throughout the district and useful for orientation. Finally, a sight of refined poise among its neighbours, a mere two-story structure stands on the southwest corner, housing Ōnoya, a hand towel shop founded in 1868. The plot next door is a Times Carpark, suggesting that developers patiently await to acquire Ōnoya's plot before erecting another uninspiring tower. I'm quietly pleased to see Ōnoya still in business each time I walk by.
Passing under the S&B billboard, we turn right onto a side street. If you've been out navigating the streets of Ginza with the provided Google Map, you'll have developed a sense of how the grid interlocks—this is the northern end of Nakagyō 430-gō, which we sauntered briefly along in part one. Sankyo Camera, a second-hand camera shop founded in 1957, occupies a compact five-storey building here, displaying LEICA and HASSELBLAD in vibrant red and blue lettering against its neat, brick-patterned facade. Sankyo is filled with vintage cameras; the ground floor predominantly features Leicas and includes a box outside offering ¥1000 lenses. The third floor is dedicated to Japanese brands, with narrow stairs and limited floor space filled with boxes brimming with equipment. A short walk along Harumi-dōri from here, you'll also find Katsumido Camera, where the immaculate selection of analogue cameras and lenses demonstrates the meticulous care Japanese camera owners invest in their equipment, as well as the shop's dedication to restoring even the slightest blemishes. If you've ever struggled to find a specific camera or lens in good condition in your home country, Katsumido and Sankyo offer a moment of clarity—everything you need is available in one place.
Four bright red flags draw attention to a torii gate, set along a nearby stretch of Matsuya-dori, which is perpetually busy with foot traffic and vehicles due to its central location. Behind the gate is the haiden (拝殿), or front shrine, of Asahi Inari, installed for easy access worship. In the evening, shutters cover the shrine, making it appear like a shopfront. If there were ever a place to feel self-conscious about being a foreigner partaking in Shinto customs, this haiden would be it. The honden (本殿), or main shrine, is located on the roof of the Daikō Asahi Building behind, offering a more secluded experience. An elevator takes you to the eighth floor, after which you must climb the stairs to reach the roof, which entirely forms the precincts of Asahi Inari, a guardian of the local community since the late 18th century. Its name is theorised to have been inspired by scenic sunrises, as Asahi (朝日) refers to the morning sun, and the low-lying land around Ginza must once have offered such views.
The streets we've explored have various naming conventions—some are named after tree species, such as Yanagi-dōri and Sakura-dōri. In contrast, others are named historically, like Kobikichō-dōri and Renga-dōri. Another less poetic convention involves naming streets after corporations: for instance, Kōsan-dōri is named after the petrochemical firm we encountered at the Miharabashi intersection; Sony-dōri is named after the electronics and entertainment conglomerate; and Matsuya-dōri, where we are currently walking, is named after the renowned department store. We haven't discussed Ginza's department stores much so far, but the final two Hatchō shrines necessitate entering the largest two.
Matsuya was founded as the Tsuruya Kimono Store in Yokohama in 1869 and expanded into Tokyo by opening its now iconic Ginza store in 1925. Tsuruya gained attention for its stock of luxury items and eventually rebranded to Matsuya, reflecting its increasingly broad merchandise offerings beyond kimonos. Matsuya Ginza emerged as a flagship location and became a competitor in the area, rivalling Mitsukoshi, which we'll visit later, in popularity and sales. The 1970s oil crisis posed significant challenges for Matsuya, leading to financial difficulties. During a period of restructuring, Matsuya formed partnerships with Tobu and Isetan, two other department store operators, which helped to stabilise its market position.
On first impressions, Matsuya resembles any other international department store with its assortment of cosmetics and fashion from familiar, ubiquitous brands. Yet, two aspects stand out for me—the food halls on the basement floors and the lifestyle and household goods on the 7th floor. The food hall, known as the depachika (a portmanteau of depāto, meaning department store, and chika, meaning basement), is a highlight in any Japanese department store. Impeccably presented arrays of Japanese food to-go in every category, along with teas, sake, and confectionery, are vividly displayed. I don't usually purchase anything from the depachika, preferring to save my appetite for wayside restaurants. Moreover, these items are generally meant to be taken home, as there is no designated area for consumption. So, I'm mostly content with the visual feast, although a tour of the floor often yields a few free samples of items on promotion.
The household and kitchenware section features the quintessential staples of Japanese product design and craftsmanship: the most renowned examples of teapots, sake sets, and lacquerware. While this is a shrinking profession compared to the past, workshops of skilled shokunin, or artisans, still exist across the country, producing exquisite wares by hand. The items in a department store like Matsuya have found their way into a canon of sorts—revered goods with status capital beyond their functionality in the home. Sometimes, it feels more like being in a design museum than a shop. Matsuya's relationship with classic design indeed extends to an in-house exhibition space, Design Gallery 1953, managed by the Japan Design Committee. This group, comprising designers, architects, and critics, curates ten exhibitions annually.
When you've done all that, Ryūkō Fudō-son awaits on the rooftop of Matsuya Ginza. Unlike the majority of Inari shrines in the area, this is a Fudō shrine dedicated to Fudō Myō-ō, a Buddhist deity. The shrine features a statue from Ryūkō-in Temple of Mount Kōya, which has been a guardian for the store and its customers since 1929. The miniature pavilion's design is reminiscent of the Shinden-zukuri style, known for its elegant upward-curving eaves and traditional architecture. A reduced-scale Japanese garden surrounds it. The name Ryūkō (龍光), meaning dragon light, is a homophone for ryūkō (流行), meaning fashion or current trends. This coincidence is often associated with Matsuya's identity as a trendsetter in design and style.
Before heading back down towards the 4-chōme intersection, we have an essential detour to make in the opposite direction up Ginza-dōri, just beyond Itoya, one of Ginza's two famous stationery shops, the other being Kyukyodo. Stationery enthusiasts might want to step inside Itoya to marvel at the selection of letter-writing supplies, luxury fountain pens, and greeting cards. Nonetheless, we're here to reflect on a subtle monument that stands outside. It is the Origin of Ginza Monument, marking the spot in Ginza 2-Chōme where Shōgun Tokugawa Ieyasu relocated the silver mint in 1603. This event set off the entire series of developments that led to the evolution of Ginza and all that we've studied during this walk.
With the Origin of Ginza seen and ten Hatchō shrines completed, the final milestone of this Ginza odyssey stands atop Mitsukoshi, the eldest of the 4-chōme intersection's four faces. Like Matsuya, Mitsukoshi began as a kimono shop, established in 1673 as Echigoya in Nihonbashi. The shop was renamed Mitsukoshi in 1904, and the flagship Nihonbashi store, deemed an Important Cultural Property, was completed in 1935. The Ginza store opened in 1930, doubling Mitsukoshi's presence in Tokyo's luxury retail scene. For practical purposes, Mitsukoshi offers much the same as Matsuya and it too faced financial difficulties in the 1970s, leading to a merger with Isetan in 2008, forming Mitsukoshi Isetan Holdings. Despite that, the place retains an elevated sense of prestige over any other Japanese department store.
The Ginza Shusse Jizōson statue on Mitsukoshi's rooftop is our final spiritual waypoint. Jizō, affectionately and respectfully known as O-Jizō-sama, is a cherished bodhisattva in Japanese Buddhism, revered as the protector of children, particularly those who have died before their parents. Jizō statues in red bibs and hats are common throughout Japan. Their red garments symbolise parents' prayers for Jizō to safeguard their child's spirit in the afterlife and ensure a safe passage. The colour is associated with warding off evil and illness within the semiotics of Japanese tradition. Shusse (出世) means promotion or success in life, a fact reflected in the statue's history. It was discovered during canal maintenance work in the Meiji Era (1869–1912) and its creator is unknown. After being placed at a nearby street-level intersection, the statue was later moved to the rooftop of Mitsukoshi, symbolising its promotion. With its oversized red bib, This is Ginza's premier O-Jizō-sama, and its constant stream of visitors believes in its power to benefit their career advancement.
Mitsukoshi's O-Jizō-sama is sculpted with a benevolent, knowing smile. As it kindly looks down upon us, we can feel a sense of satisfaction, having now traversed all 8-chōmes of Tokyo's most opulent district and paid tribute to eleven of its surprisingly modest urban shrines. Through century-old businesses, hidden monuments, astringent cups of coffee, and historic alleyways and avenues, I hope this has provided a unique and enriching path through Ginza, allowing you to enjoy an often crowded, bucket-list destination in a slower, quieter, and more deliberate way. Creating maps and articles like this involves drawing on all my experiences and memories of an area. I spend hours researching and retracing my steps through the streets to ensure everything connects. If you've explored the streets of Ginza with my Google Map or enjoyed the read, please consider supporting my work via a Ko-fi membership. I envision similar maps and guides for every neighbourhood in the city, and memberships are one way to help create the time and space necessary to complete such a task. The vision would be a reality if every reader were to become a member for the cost of a bowl of ramen per month.
As you descend from Shusse Jizōson, I have a closing recommendation: in the southwest corner of Mitsukoshi, you will find a tall window from any of the higher floors that offers an uncompromised view of the 4-chōme intersection. This might be the best vantage point of the crossing. From here, I like to pause and inhale it all—you're at the centre of Ginza in Tokyo, Japan. The evening has just begun, and the city lights are starting to illuminate. A wealth of discoveries beckon. If you've done your ni-rei ni-hakushu ichi-rei at each of the Hatchō shrines, you've surely accrued enough good fortune to ensure that whatever comes next will be divine.
Until we meet in Ginza,
AJ
Links
Ginbura Framework Google Map
Magazine B No 53 Muji
Lost Japan