三浦 展著, 『下流社会 新たな階層集団の出現』, 光文社新書, 2005年, 284頁, 本体価格780円+税 Karyushakai: Aratana Kaisoshudan no Shutsugen, by Atsushi Miura, [The Lower Class: Advent of the New Group of Class]
カルチャースタディーズ研究所
主宰： 三浦 展 Atsushi Miura
消費社会研究家
マーケティング・アナリスト
カルチャースタディーズ研究所代表
http://www.culturestudies.com/
tokyo street file 99-02
Weekend/ CULTURE & MORE: Looking back on Tokyo's fading 'freeter' facade
05/30/2008
Not many Japanese look back with fondness on the so-called "lost decade" of recession that followed the collapse of the bubble in the early 1990s. But could the era, marked by downsizing, outsourcing and a widening gap between the haves and have-nots, in fact have led to an artistic flowering?
 Atsushi Miura in Nishi-Ogikubo (LOUIS TEMPLADO) |
That's a question that comes after looking too long through Atsushi Miura's latest book, "igocochi" (published by San-ichi Shobo in 2008).
Miura, a 40-something marketing planner and director of "culturestudies," a "think tank that researches consumerism, culture and cities," also happens to be one of Japan's most astute trendspotters.
He gained prominence with his 2005 book, "Karyu Shakai" (Lower classes), the title of which has become a media byword for our times.
With "igocochi," Miura is now also something of a photographer.
In "Karyu Shakai," Miura summed up the motivations--or rather their lack-- of a generation of young Japanese who have given up on standard-issue dreams. Instead of lifetime employment and a family life in the suburbs, these "freeters" (as members of this underclass are called) prefer to flit from one temporary job to the next, settling for little more in life than a dinner of cup noodles and a tiny garret.
Or so the stereotype goes.
The "igocochi" of Miura's latest title, however, means "comfortable." His book proposes the idea that these down-and-outs have forged a style all their own.
In a certain sense, this concept is a follow-up to his previous book, without the text. This visual album contains 120 photos snapped by Miura in such neighborhoods as Harajuku, Shimokitazawa, Koenji, Nishi-Ogikubo and Kichijoji--Tokyo's counterculture hubs. The last place, incidentally, is where he makes his home.
In the photos, we see hand-painted signs advertising cafes, graffiti layered upon graffiti and the sort of 1960s and 1970s bric-a-brac that accumulates in front of vintage clothing shops.
To some, "igocochi" may simply present the texture found in any big-city boho enclave on the globe. But to Miura, these photos are social research material.
"My intention was to show these images as artistic photographs," says Miura. "Although that might sound presumptive coming from an amateur."
That said, Miura calls his picture-taking forays--the photos were selected from about 10,000 frames-- his fieldwork. Another word he uses is kogengaku ("modernology," or archeology of the present).
Social commentary makes its way into "igocochi" in two transcribed conversations Miura had with a photographer and an academic.
"It was the publisher's idea to put those in," Miura insists. "Photo books are a big risk, and so the publisher wanted to include something that would set the book apart."
Most of the photos date from 1999 to 2001. He began gathering them as part of "Tokyo Street File," a series of portfolios meant to identify recession-era taste-makers. Miura aimed the material at the marketing teams of major corporations. Some of the photos also ended up on the desks of Nissan President and CEO Carlos Ghosn and Richard Branson of the Virgin business empire, Miura says, where they were promptly rejected.
"I received phone calls saying 'Thank you very much for the research material, but we don't need it. We already know this stuff,' " Miura admits.
"I was impressed that they got back to me--someone who just approached them from off the street. I also realized how well they do their homework."
The passage of time, he says, has given new meaning to the photos. Looking them over, Miura sees lost expressions of a changing landscape.
What neighborhoods such as Shimokitazawa, Koenji and Kichijoji all share is layers of history: All are, or were, traditional residential neighborhoods surrounding a central shopping street. During the mid-1990s, many businesses were shuttered. Rents dropped and bohemian "freeters" wandered in, renovating old stores into cafes, curry shops and secondhand clothing outlets. Koenji at one point had 300 vintage clothing dealers.
"For many of these young people, making money wasn't their first priority. It was more that they wanted a sense of freedom," says Miura. "It was enough to do what they want and just get by."
"By repurposing these neighborhoods, they created an environment where layers of the past and present coexist," says Miura.
With little cash, these slacker storekeepers created their own style. But their world is fading quickly as the economy ticks up and rents rise.
"It's become more aggressive," he says. "It takes a lot more capital now to open a cafe, for example, and when they do, they want to look professional. You don't see that naive style anymore, unless it's someone consciously imitating it."
Miura admits the irony: As a marketing planner, it was his job to deliver street style into the hands of big business. Now it is being co-opted.
"That's true," he says. "But by putting out this book, I wanted to say that there are people who like these places as they are and appreciate what they represent.
"If I had presented these photos, convinced that such places would disappear," he says, "then that would be like doing real archeology."(IHT/Asahi: May 30,2008)
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