What is it all worth? The aggregate of Tokyo: its buildings and infrastructure; the land and natural contours it rests on; its exports and outputs, its institutions and laws; its rituals and customs, its culture and heritage. The transit systems that bind it. The signage that imposes order. Memory, layered into the city's sediment. Reputation, shaped by distant eyes. What gets counted—and what does not.

The value of a city defies simple calculation. Like a work of art, it changes according to who observes it, at what moment, and from what perspective. Certain core elements hold their worth steadily, yet neighbourhoods fluctuate—ignored or derided in one decade, celebrated in the next. A city invites appraisal, critique, affection, or disregard. Its value refracts continually through time, memory, mood, and the movements of the market.

Japan’s Ministry of Land, Infrastructure, Transport and Tourism (MLIT) recently published its annual Chika Kōji (地価公示), a report assessing standardised land parcels as of 1 January. This report provides an essential reference point for the country’s property valuation system. An article in The Nikkei caught my attention this week, noting that the latest 2025 figures reveal Tokyo’s land prices rising by an average of 7.3% across commercial and residential sectors.

Annual land or property values in most major cities typically rise by 2% to 5%, fluctuating according to local conditions and market cycles. International differences in land valuation methodologies, regulations, and property classifications complicate direct comparisons, but Tokyo’s 7.3% rise implies a deviation worth scrutinising.

Land value offers one of the clearest through-lines in a capital city's history. It captures what is built, demolished, preserved, subdivided, or left vacant. It registers cultural shifts, changing conveniences, and evolving sentiments. Where policy, speculation, and urban survival converge, land renders abstract forces visible. Tokyo currently commands high valuation across multiple dimensions, and a brief consideration of its postwar trajectory helps explain how it reached this state.

The Second World War effectively reset Tokyo’s land values. Aerial bombings flattened extensive parts of the city, leaving large areas depopulated. In many districts, pre-1945 land values were reduced to mere symbolism. Postwar surveys recorded average prices in these zones as negligible—in practical terms, virtually zero.

In the ensuing years, land remained inexpensive yet increasingly scarce as Tokyo absorbed successive waves of rural migrants and reconstructed its infrastructure. Swift urban growth combined with substantial public investments throughout the 1960s and ’70s propelled land values upward, gathering momentum across the city. For instance, according to the Chika Kōji archives, commercial land prices in central Shinjuku rose by between 400% and 500% during this period.

This acceleration peaked during the asset-price bubble of the 1980s, an exuberant era when land in central Tokyo was briefly claimed to be worth more than all the land in California—a striking, if somewhat imprecise, illustration. By 1990, Tokyo’s priciest parcel, situated in Marunouchi near Tokyo Station, carried an official valuation exceeding ¥30 million per square metre. Adjusted for inflation, this figure equates to approximately $465,500/m² in 2025 terms. To put this into perspective, even Manhattan’s most costly real estate typically commands between $40,000 and $70,000 per square metre.

Tokyo’s land value had become largely disconnected from practical utility, income potential, or functional purpose. It was a turning point where pricing no longer reflected what plots could accommodate or generate but rather their perceived worth as assets driven by speculative finance, lax regulation, and assumptions of endless appreciation. Land became a financial instrument divorced entirely from its traditional role as a place for production or habitation.

When the bubble burst in the early 1990s, land prices collapsed, beginning a prolonged era of stagnation. Throughout Japan’s "Lost Decade," values steadily eroded amid economic inertia, deflation, and a deep-rooted credit crisis. By 2002, average commercial land prices in Tokyo had fallen nearly 70% from their peak. The same land that once fuelled vast speculative fortunes now generated returns that fell short of even the most cautious projections.

Beginning in the early 2000s, the land market gradually emerged from the deep freeze of the 1990s, entering a cautious phase of recalibration. Values rose incrementally over the following decade until they were abruptly disrupted by the 2011 Tōhoku earthquake and tsunami. Tokyo escaped direct physical damage, but the psychological impact resonated nationwide, prompting investors and residents to reassess seismic risks. In low-lying wards like Katsushika and Kōtō, situated on softer or reclaimed terrain, land prices fell roughly 3%, and overall market momentum stalled.

But Tokyo’s 23 wards were resilient. By 2013, Chiyoda Ward's land values had risen by 2.7%, driven by growing demand for earthquake-resistant properties in the city centre. This shift began to alter investment priorities and redirect development toward central, structurally resilient areas. 

Concurrently, planning and initial construction for the Tokyo Olympics began. Although marred by postponement and controversy, the build-up to the Games prompted significant redevelopment. Foreign investment accelerated, particularly from Asian markets, supported by low interest rates, policy incentives, and a favourable yen, making Tokyo increasingly appealing to institutional investors and high-net-worth buyers.

By the late 2010s, land prices in prime Tokyo districts were rising decisively. In 2019, MLIT reported a 6.9% average increase for commercial plots in central Tokyo, with Shibuya and Minato wards surpassing 10%. That year, Ginza’s priciest parcel topped ¥44 million per square metre—nearing its bubble-era peak.

The COVID-19 pandemic then caused another disruption. In 2020, Tokyo’s average land values fell for the first time in seven years due to uncertainty across commercial and retail sectors. Tourist districts like Asakusa and Ginza declined sharply amid collapsing hotel demand and foot traffic. Office vacancies rose as remote work led firms to downsize or delay relocations. 

By 2022, uneven but clear signs of recovery had emerged, particularly in residential areas and land tied to logistics infrastructure—momentum that brings us to March 2025 and the latest Chika Kōji. We’ve just moved swiftly through a complex and often contradictory period in Tokyo’s postwar history, inevitably leaving much out. Still, this compressed account serves its purpose: to bring us to the present. 

Confidence has returned. Once rendered worthless by war, neglected during post-bubble stagnation, and unsettled by disaster, land is once again being revalued. The forces at play today are subtler than those of the past, but their impact is significant. Let’s take a closer look at what is unfolding in the city.

Commercial land led growth, averaging a 10.4% rise. The sharpest increase was recorded in Sakuragaoka-chō, Shibuya, where land prices soared by 32.7%. This neighbourhood hosts the newly completed Shibuya Sakura Stage complex, described by its developer, Tokyu Land Corporation, as the "final piece of the puzzle" in a once-in-a-century redevelopment of the district. Shibuya’s large-scale transformation took root in the early 2000s as Tokyo’s recovery gathered pace. The surge in land value in Sakuragaoka-chō reflects 25 years of accumulated momentum.

Asakusa came next, claiming four of Tokyo’s ten fastest-growing commercial sites. These are clustered around Kaminarimon, the iconic gate with its imposing lantern, which annually attracts around 30 million visitors who stream along Nakamise-dōri—Japan’s most overtly touristic shotengai (商店街) shopping street¹—towards the renowned Sensō-ji temple.

The value of 1-1-2 Asakusa increased by 29%. This address houses Asakusa Square, a modest zakkyo building (雑居ビル)² blending into the streetscape behind the green faux-tiled roof of the shopping arcade on Kaminarimon-dōri. If you’ve visited Asakusa—as nearly all Tokyo-bound travellers do—and ever considered your economic footprint, here’s a clear instance. Tourism, in this case, continues to shape land values decisively.

For the 19th year running, 4‑5‑6 Ginza remains Tokyo’s most valuable commercial address. It houses Yamano Music’s flagship store, a historic retailer established in 1892. Yamano’s enduring presence illustrates how traditional businesses continue to sustain prime real-estate values, even amid intense retail competition. Located immediately north of the 4‑chōme intersection, behind the Wakō Clock Tower, the property extends from the immaculate Harumi-dōri to Gasutō-dōri—a modest backstreet frequented primarily by workers and residents.

My visits to Yamano Music are mostly to admire the pianos or browse the Enka section on the top floor; it rarely crosses my mind that I’m standing on Tokyo’s most valuable patch of land as I pay in cash for a CD from the 1970s. Right next door is Ginza Kimuraya, a bakery with more than a hundred years of history. There's something extraordinary about picking up a freshly baked loaf for a few hundred yen on such an exclusive street. Moments like this are precisely why Ginza—despite being so firmly on the beaten track—remains among my favourite neighbourhoods. It is a district still grounded in history despite its contemporary facade.

Chūō Ward—home to Ginza—led residential price growth across Tokyo, increasing by 13.9%. Across the city as a whole, residential values rose by 5.7%, comfortably exceeding typical global trends. Aobadai in Meguro Ward saw the steepest increase at 18.9%, driven by strong demand for luxury condominiums near Shibuya. Following closely was Kōnan in Minato Ward with a 16.5% rise, reflecting sustained interest in waterfront apartments, now unaffected by 2011’s anxieties over reclaimed land.

Ayase, in Adachi Ward, stood out with a 15.5% rise in residential prices. Historically viewed as a working-class ward, Adachi-ku has remained relatively affordable, yet its convenient access to central Tokyo is gaining attention. If Tokyo is a work of art, Adachi is an emerging subject. This isn't precisely gentrification—the city's social geography is less stark, and the dynamics differ—but the concept helps illustrate how the ward’s identity and value are evolving. Tokyo offers countless neighbourhoods worth discovering; Ayase now joins my long list.

Predictably, price growth was strongest in Tokyo’s five central wards: Chūō, Chiyoda, Minato, Shinjuku, and Shibuya, which averaged a residential increase of 12%. The other 18 special wards saw an average rise of 7.4%. The continued preference for larger homes with reliable transport links, driven by the remote-work trends of the pandemic, has kept outer-core wards such as Suginami and Setagaya firmly in demand.

Modest growth also extended to Tokyo’s outskirts. In Western Tokyo’s Tama region—perhaps my favourite among Greater Tokyo’s peripheral areas—residential prices increased by 3.4%, with commercial values rising by 5.3%. Growth clustered around transport hubs, whereas hilly or shrinking communities, like those beyond Musashi-Itsukaichi, recorded slight declines. These areas evoke a rural Tokyo, both in appearance and demographic trajectory. It is a point I reflect upon fondly in my book, Slow Tokyo: Exurban Exploring³.

Current conditions—such as construction labour shortages, the return of inbound tourism, and renewed investment—are likely to support further price increases in the short term. But the story isn’t straightforward. Tokyo’s shifting land values don’t merely follow economic metrics; they reveal which parts of the city are being prioritised, which ideas of what Tokyo ought to become are gaining traction, and which visions of the future are being endorsed.

Price alone does not deliver a verdict. Rising land values can signal confidence, but when they outpace wages or productivity, they distort how capital moves through the city. Asset owners benefit, while renters and first-time buyers face steeper barriers to entry. A city may appear prosperous, even as it quietly becomes harder to access.

And yet, the tension is instructive. Tokyo’s land remains one of the clearest mirrors of its ambitions and contradictions—quantified, yet never purely numeric. Land is the ledger the city continues to write.

Until we meet at 1‑1‑2 Asakusa,

AJ

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Footnotes

¹ All Along the Shōtengai
² Tokyo’s Vertical Streets
³ Slow Tokyo: Exurban Exploring