Tokyo Metro: Discovering The Unexpected Backbone of the City
When I look back on my trips to Tokyo, a handful of experiences rise to the top. Most of them are what you'd expect from travel: iconic destinations, hidden restaurants, shrines tucked between skyscrapers. But one of the most vivid and meaningful memories for me, was something I never planned to see or pursue. Something that happened entirely in the in-between moments.
It was the Tokyo Metro.
When I look back on my trips to Tokyo, a handful of experiences rise to the top. Most of them are what you'd expect from travel: iconic destinations, hidden restaurants, shrines tucked between skyscrapers. But one of the most vivid and meaningful memories for me, was something I never planned to see or pursue. Something that happened entirely in the in-between moments.
It was the Tokyo Metro.
A City Built Around Its Trains
Since I didn't have a car, the rail system became my primary way of getting around— which, if you know anything about Tokyo, makes complete sense. The Tokyo Metro and its connecting lines form one of the densest, most expansive rail networks on the planet. It’s not just a typical municipal transit network, it’s Tokyo’s circulatory system; a web of rail and steel that blankets nearly all of the city’s urban sprawl.
This is the Tokyo Rail System— a frighteningly intimidating ball of colored lines and text. But once you get the hang of it, it’s very straightforward. Source: Tokyo Metro
And here's the thing: you genuinely do not need anything else to traverse the city. Not taxis, nor rental cars, not even buses. Yes, those options exist, should you want them. But in my experience, almost every place I wanted to go was accessible on foot from a station, so I never found myself wanting for other forms of transit. That feels almost miraculous, as a resident of Los Angeles, where car-ownership is an imperative.
Safety, Cleanliness, and the Little Courtesies
The contrast with LA's Metro wasn't lost on me. At the time of my visits, I never once felt unsafe on the Tokyo rail system— and while I'll acknowledge that being a tall adult male affects how I experience public spaces, the difference in atmosphere was genuinely noticeable, even more me. There was a sense of order and mutual respect that felt deeply embedded in the city’s train-riding culture.
Cleanliness was another thing. Tokyo has a well-earned reputation for tidiness, and the Metro reflected that. Nothing felt grim or neglected. Both the stations and the cars themselves were easy, clean, and just... fine. And don’t misunderstand— in this situation, being satisfactorily forgettable is exactly what you want. Ideal public transportation means getting from point A to point B without being left with a bad impression or dealing with unnecessary annoyances and inconveniences.
The interior of this rail car was absolutely spotless.
A few other small touches stood out as uniquely considerate: reserved seating for elderly passengers and women-only train cars during certain hours. These aren't dramatic gestures, but they signal a thoughtfulness about who uses the system and what they might need— a kind of quiet civic care that goes beyond the bare minimums of wheelchair ramps or brail text. I found it genuinely refreshing.
This sign was posted above select seats and indicates that they should be prioritized for passengers with special conditions.
One important caveat: my last visit was nearly a decade ago. Tokyo has changed— by many accounts, significantly— so I can only speak to what the experience was then. But that said, I still continue to see testimonials that line up with what I saw. If you've been there more recently, and your experience differs, please leave a comment and let me know.
The Visual Life of a Daily Commute
Here's where things got unexpectedly rich for me as someone who walks around with a camera.
Most of the time, the view outside a train window is walls, buildings, infrastructure— the grey impression of a city in motion. But every so often, the urban density would suddenly open up and you'd be met with long street corridors or sweeping panoramas of rooftops stretching toward the horizon. It often passed in seconds, but it always had surreal quality to it— like watching a vast expanse in a fantasy world. I chased that shot whenever I was fortunate enough to see it coming.
Then there were the ads and public signs. If you've spent any time immersed in Japanese visual culture, you know that design logic there is completely different from what we see in the West. Mascot characters pop up in unexpected places. Safety notices have a playful, almost youthful quality to them. Advertisements carry a weird quirkiness that feels distinctly Japanese — charming in a way that's hard to articulate but immediately recognizable.
For creators and photographers especially, this is worth paying attention to. The Metro is essentially a curated gallery of contemporary Japanese graphic design, constantly refreshed and impossible to see anywhere else in the world in quite the same way.
A Flash of Light and Sound
I have to mention this one, even though— fair warning— it's not for the faint of heart.
Picture this: you're sitting quietly, watching the world pass by, maybe zoning out to the gentle rhythm of the train. And then BOOM!— an incoming train rockets past in the opposite direction, filling the window with a chaotic blur of light and color for less than a second, before vanishing completely back into silence.
Needless to say, I don’t have a photo of this. They were very unexpected, and honestly, not that common. I think I only experienced this on the route from Narita Airport to Tokyo, and maybe a couple other times. It probably only happens on longer routes where the train can really get up to speed.
Speaking of unexpected, I am not a fan of jump scares. But looking back? Those moments were kind of electric. There's something about that instant of shock dissolving into awe that sticks with you. It's the rail system reminding you, briefly and dramatically, just how fast things can move in this city.
On the Crowds (It's Not as Bad as You Think)
If you're planning a trip and dreading rush hour— fair. Peak times on the Tokyo Metro are genuinely packed, the kind of packed where personal space becomes a myth and the train honestly sounds like it might just derail. Those are the moments you just have to breathe through.
Across all of my visits to Tokyo, I only had to deal with this 2 or 3 times.
But they're the exception, not the rule. Outside of rush hour, I consistently found open seats and a comfortable amount of space. The experience normalized quickly into something calm and even pleasant.
And calm is the operative word. There's an unwritten etiquette on the Metro— voices stay low, phone calls don't happen, and the general energy is one of collective quiet. You might catch a soft conversation nearby, or someone lost in a mobile game, but the train itself is a remarkably peaceful space. For anyone who finds transit exhausting, Tokyo's Metro is a surprisingly restorative exception.
For me, this was about as crowded as the trains got. Again, rush hour is the exception, but as a tourist, I never really found myself commuting during those times.
What I Didn't Expect to Find in My Camera Roll
When I got home from those trips and started combing through my photos, I noticed something: a disproportionate number of them were from the Metro. Stations, platforms, windows, signs, that fleeting skyline shot— all captured without any conscious plan to document the rail system specifically. It had just sort of happened, the way meaningful things do when you're not paying attention.
That, to me, is the most telling sign that something has real value.
The Metro wasn't a destination I'd circled in a guidebook, but to my surprise, it ended up being the connective tissue between all the experiences I had planned for. And somehow, across all of that back and forth, it became a collective experience, and one I remember most vividly from my trips.
Head to the bottom of this article to see more images from my trips. Some are from stations or the inside of cars, and others are of the neighborhoods around those stations. All of them are related to the rail experience, however.
Looking Forward (and a Question for You)
When I go back to Tokyo (and I absolutely will some day), the Metro is genuinely one of the things I'm most curious to revisit— and this time with intent. Will it match how I remember it? And how will it feel navigating it with a family in tow? I suspect the answer to the latter is: complicated. But that's part of what makes travel interesting.
For those of you who love Tokyo, Japan, or travel photography, I think there's something worth taking from this. The most memorable parts of a journey aren't always the ones you plan for. Sometimes they're the seams and fringes— the in-between moments that quietly help shape the bigger picture.
So I'd love to hear from you: Have you had a similar experience somewhere? A part of a trip that snuck up on you and ended up meaning more than you expected? Or maybe a pattern you noticed in your photos that you didn't consciously set out to capture? Drop it in the comments. I genuinely would like to know.
Lastly, here are the rest of the images I mentioned earlier. Hope you enjoy!
From Cosplay Photos to Movie Posters: How a Nerdy Hobby Became My Career
I've been working in the entertainment industry for about five years now… I had zero industry experience before landing this job, but I walked in through a side door, and that side door was Photoshopped Cosplay Photos.
I've been working in the entertainment industry for about five years now, creating original and adapted art for film and television — think Netflix, Disney+, Peacock, that level. What's funny is I had zero industry experience before landing this job. It's an agency role, the kind of place where some people have built their entire careers and life's work. But I walked in through a side door, and that side door was Photoshopped Cosplay Photos.
The Long Way Around
Before this job, I'd spent years experimenting with Photoshop and the rest of the Adobe Creative Suite — not just professionally, but in my own time too. I'd used it across a pretty random assortment of jobs: public service, wholesale electronics, social media marketing. But most of my skill came from personal work. Photography, digital art, little experiments for the fun of it. Visual communication and imagery has always been a genuine passion of mine, even when it wasn't paying the bills.
The turning point came when I was stuck in a role that just wasn't a good fit for me. The environment, the culture, even the work I was doing — after about two years, the it became something I couldn't ignore anymore. I knew I needed to make a real change, and I knew that wherever I landed next, my love of image-making was going to be part of it somehow.
The Unexpected Portfolio
Here's where it gets a little nerdy (and I'm totally fine with that).
For years, one of my favorite personal projects had been composite photography using cosplay subjects. I'm not entirely sure when or why that became my thing — I'd been going to conventions for about a decade, and somewhere along the way I got really drawn into the artistry of it all. Cosplayers were bringing fictional characters to life with incredible craft and dedication, and composite photography felt like my way of participating in that world without doing cosplay myself.
A lot of what I made ended up having this cover-art / poster-art kind of energy to it. Looking back, that makes total sense — when your subjects are pop culture characters, the work naturally starts looking like key art. At the time, though, I just thought I was making cool photos.
Finding Out Key Art Was a Real Job
Somewhere in that process, I discovered that what I'd been unconsciously gravitating toward — movie posters, box art, streaming thumbnails — is an entire industry. It's called key art, and it's exactly what you see on every poster, cover, and platform banner for movies, TV shows, and video games.
Once I had a name for it, I got focused. I spent about one to two months taking a couple of targeted courses on Creative Live (it still exists, though the platform is a bit of a zombie at this point), rebuilt my portfolio around my strongest pieces, and added in some retouching and portrait work to round things out. But honestly? I believe the cosplay composites made the biggest impact. They were the closest thing in my portfolio to actual key art — more so than the retouching or portraits, even though those skills are absolutely part of the job. They're just not the meat and potatoes of it.
Long story short: I got the job.
What I Actually Want You to Take From This
At the time, it never once occurred to me that there could be a legitimate, professional outlet for one of my nerdier hobbies. But there was — and it pays pretty well.
What made it work wasn't luck. It was taking something I genuinely loved, identifying where it overlapped with a real professional need, and then putting a little focused, intentional work into bridging the gap.
If you're sitting on something you love doing in your spare time and wondering whether it could ever amount to anything career-wise, I'd push back on that doubt. Hard. I've lived the other side of it, and I've seen enough other people do similar things to believe it's genuinely possible for almost anyone. The specific path is going to look different from person to person, and it might not even stay the same for you over time. My own industry is shifting fast right now, and the work I do could look pretty different in a year or two. But the principle holds: skills transfer, passions point somewhere real, and there's almost always a way to make what you love into something that also has value for others.
That translation — from personal passion to professional contribution — is something I think anyone has the capability to find. You might just need to look at what you're already doing with new eyes.
Below are more images I used in my portfolio, along with a few I made after getting the job, using everything I'd continued to learn on the fly. The photos were taken at various conventions across Southern California — everything from big ones like Anime Expo to smaller events like Anime Pasadena and Central Coast Comic-Con (the Ventura one, which I believe is now defunct).
If you have questions about anything, drop them in the comments. I'm also planning to put together some process tutorial videos on Patreon, so stay tuned for that. And I'd genuinely love to know — what are you passionate about, and what are you hoping to do with it? Let me know. I'd be eager to see what you guys build.
Thanks for reading. See you in the next one.
Donut Media’s Past Gas Podcast launched a series on JDM
Donut Media's Past Gas podcast just started a series last month covering the history of JDM (Japanese Domestic Market) car culture. I'm really happy to see them dedicate a series to this subject.
Photo by Iban Lopez Luna on Pexels
Donut Media's Past Gas podcast just started a series last month covering the history of JDM (Japanese Domestic Market) car culture. I'm really happy to see them dedicate a series to this subject. It's not only an important piece of automotive history in Japan, but a significant chapter in global car history as well — and honestly, a landmark moment in the broader arc of Heisei culture.
This culture, of course, crossed borders and influenced enthusiasts all over the world, particularly here in the US. Street racing and car modification were huge in the late '90s and early 2000s, and the passion for it is still very much alive today.
I'm not sure how long the series is going to run, but so far it's covered the early history of the Japanese auto industry, its venture into professional racing, the oil crisis of the 1970s (and how that shaped the design and production of Japanese vehicles), and their reception in the US. It's also gotten into illegal street racing and the foundations of JDM counterculture — things like independent zines and underground car clubs, as well as the more formalized, legitimately sanctioned versions of those same communities.
Photo by Komorebi Photo on Unsplash
Personally, I think it's a great way to get a quick, digestible understanding of the Japanese car scene: the events that led up to it, the influence it had going forward, and just an appreciation of JDM culture in general. As I mentioned, JDM is kind of a foundational component of what I'd consider the greater impact of the Heisei era. It's something a lot of fans have a real passion for, but may not necessarily know the history behind.
And that's kind of the point, isn't it? Taking our own personal experiences and memories and grounding them in a broader historical context, understanding where they all fit in. Sure, we all have our love for the culture, but I think a lot of people may not fully realize just how significant it is or how much bigger it is than we even recognize. So I'm glad Donut put this together. It's a great way to better appreciate where all of this came from.
As far as the format goes — it's a pretty straightforward podcast. It's just Nolan (the host) reading through a script they've put together. If you're a fan of JDM and car culture and want a bit of a deeper dive, this is a great way to do it. That said, don't go in expecting the high-production-value, fun and entertaining content you'd normally find on the Donut YouTube channel. This leans more academic. And for those who want to really dig in, I think that's perfectly appropriate. Just set your expectations accordingly.
Hopefully there are many more episodes to come. Right now there are six, and episode one mentions that JDM is the subject of season two (which is how it's listed in my podcast app). The only thing throwing me off is that season one apparently has 318 episodes, and season two only has six so far. I can't imagine them doing 300 episodes just on JDM — but hey, if somehow they pulled that off, I wouldn't complain.
Head on over to your podcast app of choice and subscribe to Past Gas. You can also check the show out on Spotify (first episode below). Let me know what you think.
Madoka z: My first Encounter with An Itasha
In October 2014, I found myself wandering around Akihabara, on my first trip to Japan. At some point, I ended up on a quiet side street, where I got to see some of the smaller, more niche shops.
Then, out of nowhere, I saw it: a Nissan 350Z parked next to the Akiba Cultures Zone building.
In October 2014, I found myself wandering around Akihabara, on my first trip to Japan. Most of my visit was spent on Chuo-dori (the main street that runs through the neighborhood), but at some point, I ended up on a quiet side street, where I got to see some of the smaller, more niche shops. I didn’t really have a specific thing I was looking for— I was just enjoying being in that environment and taking it all in.
Then, out of nowhere, I saw it: a Nissan 350Z parked next to the Akiba Cultures Zone building. It was sitting perfectly beneath a streetlight, like a priceless figure in a curio cabinet. Apropos, in my opinion, because this wasn’t your average Z. This one was more art than car, as it was completely covered in an elaborate Madoka Magica design that I couldn’t take my eyes off of. At the time, I didn't know what an "Itasha" was and I hadn’t ever seen anything like it before. Needless to say, I was amazed.
The Connection
Well, I can’t exactly say I’d never seen anything like it before. While I was completely in the dark about Itasha, this car did remind me a lot of the lowriders I grew up around—but with an otaku spin. In fact, if you removed Madoka from the design, it could have perfectly blended into any number of Southern California car clubs. It made liberal use of pinstripe-like and tribal elements, and the color scheme definitely screamed “lowrider” more than it did “anime”. These elements were certainly familiar, yet that didn’t leave me any less confused about what I was looking at.
I didn't really know the context—was this just for show? Or was this part of a the racing scene out here? And why was it just parked here randomly late at night? I knew I wasn’t going to get any answers, but that didn’t matter. I liked what I was looking at, so I pulled out my camera and took a quick photo.
After that, I walked off—expecting to forget about it. But just around the corner were another three vehicles just like the the Nissan. At that point, I knew I had stumbled onto something cool, and it became a fascination that has continued to today.
Then vs. Now: How Things Have Changed
Looking back from 2026, it’s crazy to see how much the scene has blown up. In 2014, I had no idea Itasha existed, and I had to be in a random alley on the other side of the planet before I would encounter one. Now, you can see them at almost any Japanese event in Southern California, and its not that uncommon to spot one in the wild (hell, I just saw a Hatsune Miku Cybertruck a couple of weeks ago in a Costco parking lot).
The cars themselves have changed a lot, too. When I first started seeing them back home, they were fairly straight-forward (as far as Itasha go)—JDM classics, with anime classics plastered all over them. But as time went on, I started seeing more variation and even blending of other car cultures. First with natural progression like stance elements and domestic vehicles, but later, I started seeing more niche things like kaido racers, kei trucks, series-accurate reproduction vehicles, and even some itasha that didn’t feature anime themes at all.
The scene is constantly evolving and its one of the most enjoyable things about this art form.
What I Learned
The biggest takeaway for me—and what I want to share—is just the value of exploring. I wasn’t looking for it. No one introduced it to me. I just took a random turn down a side street and discovered something that is now one of my favorite things in the world.
Would I have eventually discovered it anyway? Most likely, yes, considering how it’s blown up in recent years. But that’s not really the point, either. The truth of this experience is that amazing things exist in the world—most of it entirely outside of our view or immediate reach. You never know what might be waiting for you to discover it, and what kind of impact it will make on your life.
So embrace the unknown and unexpected. Hell, make time to incorporate those into your life, if they don’t come organically. Go for walks. Try new places. Change up your commute route. Do whatever you can to bring more novelty into your life.
And if you like this car, check out some of my other posts on Itasha. You can also follow @Dekocar on Instagram. They often host Itasha at local events throughout Southern California, and are a great way to see more of these gorgeous cars.
Remembering Shibuya Halloween: My Night at Tokyo’s Wildest Street Party
In honor of Halloween, I wanted to look back on one of my favorite memories from my last trip to Japan — the night I found myself in the middle of the Shibuya Halloween party in Tokyo.
In honor of Halloween, I wanted to look back on one of my favorite memories from my last trip to Japan — the night I found myself in the middle of the Shibuya Halloween party in Tokyo.
Imagine a sea of costumed people flooding the streets around Shibuya Crossing, lights flashing, signs glowing, and an atmosphere filled with energy, laughter, and creativity. It was easily the biggest and most unforgettable Halloween party I’ve ever experienced- and probably, my favorite Tokyo experience overall, so far.
A Brief History of Shibuya Halloween
For those unfamiliar, Shibuya Halloween started in the early 2000s as a spontaneous street gathering. There wasn’t an official organizer — just young people showing up in costume around Shibuya Crossing, one of Tokyo’s most famous landmarks.
As social media and tourism grew in the 2010s, so did the event. By the mid-decade, it had exploded into a massive phenomenon. Between 2016 and 2018, crowd estimates ranged from 60,000 to 70,000 people filling the streets of Shibuya.
But with that many people came challenges. In the late 2010s, city officials introduced a public drinking ban to help manage the chaos. This, likely in response to an incident where partygoers overturned a truck the year before. Then, after the tragic crowd crush in Seoul’s Itaewon district in 2022, authorities became even more cautious about large, unregulated gatherings.
Today, Shibuya Halloween is technically discouraged — the city enforces restrictions on public drinking and smoking, and on sale of alcohol during Halloween week, and police heavily patrol the area. I’ve even read that scooter and e-bike services will be suspended this year as well. That said, there is nothing really preventing people from going to the neighborhood, and so its no surprise that Instagram has plenty of images of people continuing to attend. However, the event (if you can still call it that) appears to have largely faded, leaving patrons to seek out smaller, organized events and club parties.
My Experience at Shibuya Halloween
I attended Shibuya Halloween in 2016, during the event’s peak years — though it honestly happened by accident. It was the last night of our Tokyo trip, and my friend and I were looking for something to do before our early flight the next morning. We decided to head to Shibuya, not realizing what night it was.
When we stepped off the train, we immediately knew something was happening. The station was pretty packed, and it got even more crowded once we were outside by the Hachiko statue. By the time we reached the famous scramble crossing, we were shoulder-to-shoulder with the people around us.
It was obvious that something was happening, just based on all the people who were crowding around the windows in Shibuya Station.
Despite the density, it was surprisingly orderly — no pushing or shoving, just everyone waiting patiently for the lights to change, while police corralled the crowds with light sticks and megaphones. The moment the signal turned, a wave of people surged across the intersection- the ambient sound slowly growing from a low rumble to loud chatter, laughter, and music.
Crossing into Shibuya at that moment felt electric, and any tension I may have felt quickly turned into pure joy. Everywhere you looked, people were smiling, taking photos, showing off costumes — everything from cheap store-bought outfits to elaborate cosplay-level creations. As someone who gets fired up about photography and exploration, it was a dream to attend.
A Photographer’s Perspective
My friend and I weren’t in costume, of course, but that didn’t matter. The fun was simply in being there — walking through the crowd, taking photos, and soaking in the energy.
What really stood out to me was how open and friendly everyone was about being photographed. I tend to be a bit hesitant about approaching people for a photo, but at Shibuya Halloween, that hesitation disappeared. I feel like most people understand that being seen and documented is part of the experience of being in costume, and so events like this make it easier for me to approach people and ask for a photo.
Honestly, the number of awesome costumes makes it hard for me not to ask. I’m a huge fan of pop culture, so naturally, cosplay is something that strikes a cord with me. Being able to capture an IRL character (especially when executed well) is worth the little bit of discomfort or social awkwardness that comes with the exchange.
There’s something incredibly fun about a bunch of Friezas and Pikachus hanging out together in Tokyo.
From a photography standpoint, it was incredible — a wealth of amazing subjects and lighting conditions that didn’t fight me. As far as subjects go, every corner offered a new scene: costumed characters posing under city lights, friends laughing in front of local businesses, spontaneous mashup circles forming in the middle of the crowd. I feel like I got something great no matter where I pointed my camera, and since there was a ton of light, I didn’t have to worry too much about settings- just point and shoot.
Reflections on the Event’s End
It’s strange to think that this same event is now essentially gone. Again, it appears people are still attending, but there’s no doubt that the local government is trying to kill it. It’s sad, because looking back, nothing about that night felt unsafe or unruly. The police presence kept things running smoothly, and the crowd — while massive — was positive and cooperative.
I completely understand the need for public safety and organization, but I can’t help but feel nostalgic for what Shibuya Halloween represented — a spontaneous, creative expression of Tokyo’s holiday culture. It was a little chaotic, yes, but in the best possible way.
Haunted Little Tokyo: A Local Alternative
These days, I’m at a different stage in life — family, responsibilities, and a little one at home mean late-night adventures like that are on hold for now. But I still find myself craving that same festive energy.
Here in Los Angeles, there’s an event called Haunted Little Tokyo, which I’ve always wanted to check out. It’s a much smaller Halloween celebration centered around LA’s Little Tokyo district, but from the photos I’ve seen, it gives off a similar vibe — costumes, street energy, and that mix of Japanese culture and community celebration. I won’t be able to check it out any time soon, and so I can’t say if it would scratch the same itch. But I at least did want to mention it as something local to consider if you’re interested.
Closing Thoughts
Looking back, that night in Shibuya remains one of my favorite travel memories — a time when Tokyo’s creativity and humanity were on full display. I hope that, one day, the event will return in its full glory — and that I’ll be fortunate enough to attend again.
Until then, I’ll keep revisiting my photos and remembering what it felt like to be part of that incredible night. Please take a look at the rest of the shots from that night below!
If you’ve experienced Shibuya Halloween yourself, drop a comment or share your photos — I’d love to see them. You can find me on Instagram and Threads.
Happy Halloween — and here’s to the nights that remind us how creative and connected we can be.
Kyoto Gardens: The Japanese Rooftop Oasis Few Know About
High above the chaos of downtown Los Angeles lies a hidden oasis that feels worlds away from the streets below. This is Kyoto Gardens — a rooftop sanctuary inspired by traditional Japanese garden culture.
High above the chaos of downtown Los Angeles lies a hidden oasis that feels worlds away from the streets below. This is Kyoto Gardens — a rooftop sanctuary inspired by traditional Japanese garden culture. Perched atop the DoubleTree Hotel, the garden blends Zen minimalism with the urban skyline, creating an almost shocking harmony of nature and city life. It’s the kind of balance you’d expect to find in Tokyo — not LA.
Built in 1977 by Tokyo-based Kojima Corporation, the garden was originally part of the New Otani Hotel (later the Kyoto Grand, and now the DoubleTree by Hilton). It occupies about half an acre of rooftop space above the hotel’s main entrance, filled with classic elements of a Japanese garden — ponds, stone lanterns, waterfalls, and winding paths surrounded by meticulous landscaping. Despite its small size, Kyoto Gardens uses its features to great effect, producing a variety of spaces to explore.
A Photographer’s Hidden Gem
Even though the garden is compact, it’s one of my favorite places to photograph in Los Angeles. It’s surprisingly quiet and often empty, making it easy to take your time and explore. Every few steps offer something new: shifting light, reflections in the water, and shadows across the stonework, buildings, and other structures. Because the space is so dense, you can find multiple compositions without moving more than a few feet.
And then there’s the view. Being above ground gives you clean sightlines to the nearby buildings, creating an urban backdrop that contrasts perfectly against the garden’s natural textures. It’s that same wonderful duality you feel walking through Tokyo — calm but vibrant nature, among sterile man-made surroundings.
How to Visit and Shoot
As mentioned earlier, the garden sits atop the main entrance to the DoubleTree Hotel in Little Tokyo, on the corner of 2nd Street and Los Angeles Street. There’s a small parking garage under Weller Court, next to the hotel, but honestly, any of the parking areas and garages in the area will do. The hotel is also about two blocks from the Little Tokyo / Arts District Metro Station.
Access is simple enough. You can get to Kyoto Gardens through the DoubleTree Hotel lobby via the elevator in the back. Technically, the garden is only meant for hotel guests, but I’ve never had an issue just walking in and heading up. Just be respectful and low-key — it’s a peaceful space, and I think the hotel staff know that people go and are generously leaving it accessible. Additionally, it occasionally gets rented out for events, so I wouldn’t plan a trip just to visit the garden, as there’s always a chance that it will be off limits.
As for when to photograph, you can probably shoot here at any time of day, and in any lighting conditions. Sure, golden hour is probably a safe bet, as the warm tones will compliment the greens and the water reflections and the setting sun produces softer light. However, I’ve only shot there at midday, and the garden still photographed well — there’s plenty of shaded areas and the abundant stone and water often fills dark shadows with lots of reflected light.
A Living Connection to Little Tokyo & Big Tokyo
The garden’s history feels almost symbolic of Little Tokyo itself. The hotel has changed names and ownership several times, yet the garden has endured — a quiet constant that continues to welcome visitors. In that way, it mirrors the community that surrounds it: ever changing, yet enduring, anchored by cultural roots that define its identity.
Ironically, though it’s named after Kyoto, the garden feels much more like the gardens in Tokyo (as I alluded to as the start of this article)— compact, layered, and contrasted with modern architecture. Despite the fact that it resembles a sea of buildings, Tokyo is pockmarked with countless little green spaces that pull you out into a surreal and tranquil respite that feels like you’re somewhere else entirely. Kyoto Gardens captures that exact same feeling- it’s one of the few places in Downtown LA that manages to do that.
So next time you’re in Little Tokyo, make Kyoto Gardens part of your itinerary. Bring your camera, take your time, and enjoy this hidden piece of Japan tucked above the city. And if you do capture something special, tag me on Instagram — I’d love to see what you find up there.
Dekocar at Nisei Week 2025
I finally made it back out to a Dekocar event at Nisei Week in Little Tokyo. It’s been quite a few years since I last attended—2019, if memory serves—so it felt good to return.
I finally made it back out to a Dekocar event at Nisei Week in Little Tokyo. It’s been quite a few years since I last attended—2019, if memory serves—so it felt good to return. These days it can be tough to carve out time to do anything consistently, but I’m glad I went. It was a chance to see how the scene has evolved, catch up with some familiar styles, and of course, take plenty of photos to share.
Like last time, the event took place at the Nishi Hongwanji Buddhist Temple in Little Tokyo. The venue is a bit removed from the hustle and bustle of Japanese Village Plaza and Weller Court, but after the hard time I had finding parking for Nisei Week, I can appreciate the separation. The show felt a little smaller in terms of cars compared to 2019, but also bigger in other ways. Inside the temple’s auditorium, there was an artist alley, vendors, and even a small stage for performances, adding more variety to the experience.
Highlights from the Car Displays
Returning Motifs
One car that really caught my eye was a white Mitsubishi Evo with a Boosette-themed design. Back in 2019, I photographed a similar car, and I found myself wondering if this was the same one. As it turns out, it is! The styling has definitely changed—this version features new wrap designs and is heavily modified with a body kit, spoiler, and custom hood. The look is different enough that I didn’t even recognize it at the Taste of Japan Dekocar event in May. It's only here (where I first encountered it) that my memory was finally jogged. Regardless, it was cool to see an “old face” make a comeback. In a way, it made it feel like maybe I hadn’t been gone that long from the scene. (Owner @king_boo_rider on Instagram)
Other Standout Designs
Kuromi Mazda Miata
A clean black Miata featuring the Sanrio character Kuromi. The vehicle had a striking design and it definitely stood out. (Owner @MelaniMiata on Instagram).
Tifa Lockhart BRZ
A bold Final Fantasy–themed build. It’s always fun to see game culture blend into the itasha world. Personally, I’ve always been more of an Aerith guy, but Tifa seems to be the more popular of the two. (Owner @lex.lao on Instagram)
Dragon Ball Z x LA Dodgers 370Z
One of the most unexpected mashups I’ve seen. It feels so strange, but considering the two franchises here, there’re probably A LOT of people who would be into this. Either way, I love a good Z, and that Vegeta design on the side was sick so this was definitely a favorite of mine.
Umamusume Porsche Cayman
I favor JDM above all else, so its ironic that my personal favorite of the show was this Porsche. The base paint was a striking turquoise, with a partial wrap that left much of the original color shining through. The artwork featured Twin Turbo, with a sort of pop-graffiti design. I know nothing about Umamusume, but this beautifully designed piece makes me a little curious. Between this, and all the RWBs out there, I’m starting to look a little closer at German cars now… (Owner @minhp765 on Instagram)
Gundam 00 Subaru Impreza
Gundam designs are always a staple at these shows. While I’m more familiar with older entries like Gundam Wing or 08th MS Team, it was great to see the franchise represented. (Owner @00_subaru_ on Instagram).
Ninomae Lexus LS430
I feel like Luxury cars are rare in the itasha scene, so this one stood out. It kept much of its elegant feel while also sporting a clean, modern art style on the wrap. Dropped stance, tasteful execution—definitely a highlight. (Owner @zzwderick on Instagram)
Classic JDM Presence
Not every car at the event was an itasha. There were a number of clean, classic JDM cars, including an immaculate blue Civic Si with a restored engine and minimal cosmetic mods. It was a reminder that sometimes simplicity and preservation make just as big of an impression as flashy wraps.
There were also, what appeared to be a few older rotary engine cars on display (they look like Mazdas and Datsuns?). I’m not too sure on the models, since pre-90s vehicles are a bit outside my area of familiarity. That said, they were absolutely gorgeous, and I went down a rabbit hole in trying to learn more about them.
(There were many more cars, of course. The rest of the images I took are located at the end of this article.)
Beyond the Cars
To my surprise, the event wasn’t just about vehicles. Inside the hall, there was an artist alley with merch and prints, plus a live stage. One standout moment was a performance by Hamu Cotton, a dance performer known for her anime-inspired routines. She drew an enthusiastic crowd, with plenty of fans cheering and dancing along. This added a new energy to the show compared to last visit, making it feel more like a cultural gathering than just a car meet.
Final Thoughts
Attending Dekocar at Nisei Week reminded me why I love covering these events. Even after being away for so long, there was a sense of continuity—familiar motifs mixed with new creativity, plus more variety in things to see. Compared to other events like Taste of Japan, which hosted itasha indoors with tougher lighting, I appreciated that this one was outside, where the designs could really shine.
If you’re interested in following the itasha scene, check out Dekocar on Instagram (@dekocar). They regularly post cars from events around the world and are a great resource if you want to see more.
For me, this was a refreshing return to the culture, and I’m looking forward to the next chance to document it. Stay tuned for more photo stories and coverage—both from new outings and from my archives.
In the meantime, enjoy some more car photos from the event.
Tokyo’s D1 Grand Prix: The Auto Event that Ruined Auto Events for Me
In 2016, I stumbled upon the D1 Grand Prix in Tokyo. It was my introduction to Japanese automotive culture (you know, outside of games and anime), and I loved nearly everything about it.
A few years back, I wrote a semi-critical account of my visit to Nissfest, a Nissan enthusiast event in Irwindale. Normally, I try to keep things positive, but that day I couldn’t shake my disappointment. Don’t get me wrong- I did have some fun at this event. But at the same time, my enjoyment was dwarfed by constant little annoyances and disappointments. It was baffling, because I’ve always loved going to car shows, and I spent my fair share of time at street races in my youth. Yet, something was different now, and looking back, I think my expectations were unfairly colored by my first Japanese auto event: the 2016 D1 Grand Prix in Tokyo.
D1 was my introduction to Japanese automotive culture (you know, outside of games and anime), and I loved nearly everything about it. Naturally, I thought I’d feel the same way at Nissfest, as the two events share a lot in common. Unfortunately, my experiences couldn’t have been more different, and this mismatch is making me wonder if I’m no longer suited to American tuner culture at all.
What Is the D1 Grand Prix?
If you’re reading this because “D1 Grand Prix” caught your eye, you probably know more than I do. My limited knowledge comes straight from Wikipedia: “The D1 Grand Prix (D1グランプリ), abbreviated as D1GP and subtitled Professional Drift, is a production car drifting series from Japan.”
The rest of the wiki article is a bit lengthy, but in short, D1 is one of Japan’s most prestigious and popular drifting competitions, with events that have even expanded outside Japan.
But here’s the twist: I didn’t go to D1 because I was a fan of drifting. In fact, I had absolutely no business being there. I stumbled into it completely by accident.
How I Ended Up at the D1 Grand Prix
My friend and I were in the Odaiba’s DiverCity shopping mall to pick up Tokyo Disneyland tickets from the Disney Store. Upon leaving, we went over to see the massive life-size RX-78 Gundam statue (back then it wasn’t the Unicorn Gundam yet) located just outside the mall. While I was busy taking photos, I noticed a line of people forming nearby.
The line got really long, fairly quick…
Most people would’ve shrugged and moved on. But I was in an adventurous mood and dragged my friend over to see what it was all about. Looking back, I’m actually kind of surprised got in line. My friend and I didn’t speak Japanese (at least not fluently) and the entrance sign was a little ambiguous, so there was no way to know what was in store for us.
That random decision paid off, however, as it turned into one of my favorite memories of that Tokyo trip.
Experiencing D1 Firsthand
The D1 Grand Prix was unlike any car event I’d experienced before. From the moment I walked in, I was hooked. Drift demonstrations, vendor booths, and rows of incredible cars—it had everything. One display even featured the (then new) 2nd-Gen Honda NSX (a real treat, as a fan of the first gen model). Best of all, it didn’t feel too crowded (which is unusual for anything in Tokyo, but I didn’t question it).
The drift demos were a big highlight. Cars would drift side-by-side in a small area adjacent to the vendor booths and event stage. Not just that- fans could even sign up to ride in the cars during the demonstrations, though unfortunately I couldn’t join because the forms were all in Japanese. Still, I had a blast just spectating and taking photos. The viewing area sat right up against the action, which worked out perfectly since was limited by the three prime lenses I brought for this trip: a 14mm ultra-wide, a 50mm, and a 90mm macro. You can read more about my mistaken rationale regarding these lenses in an earlier post, but suffice to say, it made some scenarios a challenge to shoot. Thankfully, that wasn’t the case with this event.
How D1 Differed From Events in the U.S.
What struck me most wasn’t the cars—it was the atmosphere. Compared to the tuner-ish events I’d attended here at home, D1 was so much more laid back. It was incredibly refreshing.
The crowd was also diverse: kids, teens, young adults, and even old guys. Everyone seemed equally excited to be there, and the vibe was energetic without being obnoxious. Unlike many of the car shows I’ve attended in the U.S., there were no burnouts, no shouting matches, no blaring sound systems competing for attention, and absolutely no “let’s see whose exhaust is loudest” contests. Just cameras snapping, music from booths, and plenty of chatter and laughter.
That absence of noise and chaos made the whole event a joy to experience. After attending D1, it’s no wonder that Nissfest left me feeling so sour.
The crowd at D1. Orderly lines and a calm atmosphere.
Meanwhile, here is a crowd shot at the last Nissfest I attended. I’m pretty sure this was an impromptu revving contest.
The Not-So-Perfect Side
Of course, not everything was flawless. The main “Grand Prix” racing portion required separate tickets, and thanks to the language barrier, I never figured out where to buy them. I also wished the event itself had been larger, since the booths and displays were so much fun to explore.
And then there were the camera guys. Yeah, I get that booth models are part of the auto scene, but some of these dudes straight up hound the ladies for photos. And its not just one or two guys. At one point there was a model showcase on the stage, and a sea of cameras arise whenever they posed for the crowd.
Them’s a looooot of cameras…
Truthfully though, I’m still undecided on how I feel about it. It’s why they’re there, after all (both the models and photographers), and the disrespectful photographers were more the exception than the norm. But it still felt off to me, and even a little cringe. Nonetheless, I’m an outsider to both D1, and the Japanese auto scene as a whole. So its possible that all this is completely normal and expected here.
This is a fairly calm-looking shot, but there was actually a random photographer to the right barking commands at them.
Final Thoughts: Why D1 Still Stands Out
D1 set a new bar for me. It had everything I enjoyed most from car events, but with almost none of what I dislike. And once you have an experience like that, its kind of hard to go back.
These days, I stick to itasha displays and classic car shows. These kinds of events have more of the kind of energy that I vibe with now. They tend to be calmer, slower-paced, and they have more opportunities to really take in what they have to offer- cars, art, and great community.
And too be fair, not all American tuner events are bad. The truth is that I’m probably just aging out of the scene. I’m not in my twenties anymore, and I have to accept the fact that my tolerance for loud noises, rubber smoke, and an overall lack of consideration has faded. But 20 years ago? I would have been all over an event like Nissfest and loving every bit of it.
Thankfully, D1 showed me that there are still events out there for me- I just gotta go looking for them. By following my curiosity, I stumbled into one of my favorite Tokyo memories. Even now, years later, it remains a high point for me, and an experience that I hope to capture again some day.
Remembering Robot Restaurant: Tokyo’s Most Bizarre and Unforgettable Dinner Experience
Picture the craziest mix of robots, lasers, and Japanese pop culture all thrown into one show. That was Robot Restaurant - a mind-blowing entertainment spot in Tokyo that had everyone talking about it. And while it only lasted for about a decade, this is one of those places whose memory will always live on in those who were lucky enough to experience it.
Picture the craziest mix of robots, lasers, and Japanese pop culture all thrown into one show. That was Robot Restaurant - a mind-blowing entertainment spot in Tokyo that had everyone talking about it. And while it only lasted for about a decade, this is one of those places whose memory will always live on in those who were lucky enough to experience it.
What Was This Place?
Robot Restaurant opened in 2012 in Tokyo's busy Shinjuku district. Don't let the name fool you - it wasn't really a restaurant (although food was available for purchase, if you wanted). Instead, this place was all about spectacle- giant fighting robots, traditional Japanese drummers and dancers, futuristic costumes, and glowing ninjas. While some people thought it was weird, many tourists couldn't get enough of it, myself included. I found it to be incredibly fun and a great way to start an evening in Tokyo.
I first saw Robot Restaurant on TV when Anthony Bourdain visited the venue on his show "Parts Unknown." He called it "the greatest show in the history of entertainment", and honestly, it wasn’t entirely hyperbole due to its “sensory overload” nature. The episode also alluded to the possibility that the restaurant was funded by the yakuza. I never saw any evidence of that personally, but it added to the allure of the place. An allure that made this crazy robot show stick with me, despite thinking that I would never get to see it myself.
The place gets its name from the robot costumes and props that are sprinkled throughout the show and the venue.
Visiting for the First Time
Some time later, I decided to treat myself to a trip to Tokyo, as a way of celebrating my recent college graduation. I didn't have many plans, but I knew one thing - I had to see that crazy restaurant I saw on Parts Unknown. So a couple of days into my trip, I found myself in Shinjuku, right in front of Robot Restaurant. The building itself was wild, covered in flashing lights and displays of giant robot women. It looked like a futuristic carnival from an old anime and I was here for it.
Walking in was equally surreal. Everything sparkled with neon lights and mirrored surfaces, and there wasn't a single boring spot on any wall or surface. Before the main show, I hung out in a lounge drinking "Ninja Beer" while a band in sci-fi costumes played surprisingly good jazz music. Shortly after, they announced the show would soon start, and we all made our way downstairs to find our seats.
The show itself? Imagine mixing Medieval Times with Japanese theater, then adding lots of women, neon, weird costumes, and robots. There were mech battles, techno dancers, taiko drumming, and even a fight between Kung Fu Panda and an evil witch! It didn't make any sense, but that's what made it all so fun! The whole thing lasted for about an hour, but sadly, it felt like minutes, and left me wanting so much more.
Changes Through the Years
I didn’t notice at the time, but I recently read that the show had gotten tamer as its popularity grew, and I’m starting to think that I agree. I only saw the show twice - once in 2014 and again in 2016, and I do remember a clear distinction between the two. The first show felt a bit more risque, with more of an emphasis on the scantily clad dancers. The second time, it was clearly less sexualized, with less revealing costumes and more mainstream appeal. Some commenters online blamed tourism and reviews added that the admission price had doubled as a result. But despite that, I still feel the show was worth visiting. Had it continued to operate, I would have no problem continuing to recommend it.
The vibe at Robot Restaurant in 2014…
…was a bit different from the vibe in 2016.
The End of Robot Restaurant
Sadly, Robot Restaurant closed in 2020 because of the COVID-19 pandemic. It’s understandable, as so many businesses around the world were unable to deal with the unique challenges that came with lockdowns and restrictions. But despite that, this particular closure felt especially heavy for me. Robot Restaurant was one of those special places that could only exist in Tokyo - a city at the epicenter of pop culture, tech, and creative entertainment.
Looking back, Robot Restaurant is a standout example of what makes Tokyo so cool - just one of the many strange, exciting, and totally unforgettable places that dot the city’s landscape. There wasn’t, and still isn’t, anything else like it anywhere in the world.
If you’re curious to know more, here is a collection of images I took from both of my visits to the show. I hope you enjoy!
Don’t Miss Little Tokyo’s Nisei Week Grand Parade
If you're a fan of Japanese culture or someone who loves documenting unique cultural experiences, then the Nisei Week Grand Parade is one of those events that should absolutely be on your radar.
If you're a fan of Japanese culture or someone who loves documenting unique cultural experiences, then the Nisei Week Grand Parade is one of those events that should absolutely be on your radar.
I’ve been attending Nisei Week for several years now. And while it’s changed quite a bit (like most things, if I’m being honest), it’s still one of my favorite events to cover. What keeps me coming back is the fact that there is no other way to experience such a wealth of Japanese culture, short of taking a trip to Japan. It’s colorful, it’s loud, it’s heartfelt—and it’s one of the best cultural celebrations you can attend on the West Coast. Best of all, it’s punctuated by a beautiful grand parade that encircles the Little Tokyo Japanese Village Plaza.
What is the Nisei Week Grand Parade?
The Nisei Week Grand Parade is the highlight of the multi-day Nisei Week festival, which celebrates Japanese American culture. The word Nisei refers to second-generation Japanese Americans, and the event originally began in the 1930s as a way to celebrate, preserve, and share Japanese heritage.
The parade itself is a unique blend of tradition and popular subculture—you’ll see taiko drummers and Bon Odori dancers one minute, then anime cosplayers, martial artists, and car clubs the next. The energy, performances, and visuals make this a must-see for anyone with an interest in Japanese culture or cultural events.
When, Where, and How to Catch It
The Grand Parade usually takes place on a Sunday afternoon (it’s on August 10th this year), typically starting around 4:00 PM. The route usually begins near 2nd Street and Central Ave, winds through the heart of Little Tokyo.
Tips for First-Time Visitors:
Arrive early to scout your spot— You’ll want to grab a spot in the shade, since the later afternoon sun can be intense. Also, some areas are a little more aesthetic than others. My favorites are the corner of 1st St & San Pedro St and the area across from the Little Tokyo Fire Tower (but only if you don’t mind the sun).
Parking can be tricky. There are parking garages and lots all over Little Tokyo, but unless you plan on being there the whole day, I would park away from Japanese Village Plaza. First off, they’re going to fill up quickly, but second, it becomes impossible to leave them once the parade starts (not that you’d want to, but you never know). Public transit is also an option, and there is a Metro station conveniently located on 1st St and Central Ave.
Bring water and sunscreen. Like I said, the sun can be brutal at this time. Also, a light bag is probably a good idea so you can keep stuff with you. You won’t want to leave your spot once everything starts.
If you’re shooting, go light on gear. One camera body and a zoom lens is ideal. A 24–70mm is a good all-arounder, but if you have something with more reach, that will help too. Photo Tip: Golden hour starts to hit just as the parade kicks off. Keep the sun in front of you and look for areas with lots of light and shadow. You can get some beautiful images at this hour.
More Than a Parade: What to Do Before and After
Little Tokyo is already one of the best places in LA for Japanese food, art, and culture— and Nisei Week adds even more to experience.
Here are a few things to check out before or after the parade:
Other Nisei Week Activities: The Grand Parade isn’t the only thing happening during Nisei Week. There is a variety of performances, exhibits, and attractions happening throughout Little Tokyo. Take some time to check a few of these out before setting up for the parade.
Japanese American National Museum: Located right across from the Metro station, this museum is a must-see for historical context and fascinating exhibits.
Street Food & Snacks: If you want the Japanese festival experience, there’s plenty to try. My personal favorite are the Imagawayaki cakes from Mitsuru Cafe. But you can also grab Takoyaki from Tanota, fresh mochi from Fugetsu-Do, and onigiri rice balls from Marukai Market.
Shopping: Kinokuniya, Japangeles, Popkiller, Anime Jungle— there’s no shortage of places to load up on Japanese books, fashion, stationery and gifts.
Street Photography (of course): Little Tokyo has always been one of my favorite places to take photos. From the crowds, to the decor, and colorful character that is LA, there’s just so much to capture and appreciate. This is definitely a place to have fun with a camera.
Final Thoughts: A Living Celebration Worth Capturing
Nisei Week isn’t just a festival— it’s a vibrant celebration of cultural, expression, and community. Whether you’re there to connect with Japanese heritage or capture it through your lens, the Grand Parade is an unforgettable experience.
If this post inspired you to visit—or if you’ve attended in the past—I’d love to see your photos. Tag me on Instagram or drop a link in the comments.
In the meantime, check out some of the images I’ve captured from previous Nisei Week Parades. It’ll give you a good idea of what’s in store.
Dekocar at Taste of Japan 2025
Itasha have become one of my favorite things to photograph in recent years. So when I saw that Dekocar was doing another display at the Taste of Japan festival in Anaheim this summer, I knew I had to check it out.
Itasha have become one of my favorite things to photograph in recent years. While my interest in the art dates back to 2014—during my first trip to Tokyo—it wasn’t until 2019 that I really began photographing them, thanks to the Dekocar showcase at Nisei Week. That event flipped a switch in me, and I’ve been on the lookout for Itasha events ever since.
So when I saw that Dekocar was doing another display at the Taste of Japan festival in Anaheim this summer, I knew I had to check it out.
Now, I’ve been to a Taste of Japan event before, and to be honest, it’s not the most dynamic festival. It’s fairly typical of a lot of free summer events we get in SoCal—mostly vendor booths and a single main stage, light on immersive experiences. Though to be fair, Nisei Week is also free, yet is a much richer cultural experience overall. So, "free" doesn't always mean lackluster—but in this case, I wasn’t expecting anything groundbreaking either.
This is a fairly typical scene at the event, though it gets much more crowded the further in you go.
When I arrived, though, I was surprised—it was packed. The event took place at the STC Anaheim Gardenwalk, a kind of multi-level outdoor mall, and this year’s crowd definitely filled the space. After wandering around a bit, I made my way down to the parking garage where the Dekocar display was being held. It turned out to be a blessing: not only was it cooler (mid-June heat is no joke), but it also gave the display a kind of underground, exclusive feel that worked surprisingly well.
One thing that really caught me off guard was how much branding Dekocar had this year. Columns were wrapped with Dekocar graphics, there were banners, LED signage—it felt like the brand had leveled up since I last saw them at Anime Impulse in 2020. Their digital footprint might still be niche, but in person, they’ve built a strong identity.
There was a DJ, a few vendor booths, and even a surprise appearance from Pocari Sweat, who apparently now have a U.S. presence and are distributing through Costco (now I need to get a membership again). They were handing out free bottles, which was a huge win considering how hot it was. Naturally, I grabbed a couple.
If I had to call out one issue with the setup, though, it’d be the lighting. The garage was pretty dim—fine for escaping the heat, but not ideal for showcasing the vibrant and intricate art of the Itasha wraps. These striking designs are meant to be seen, and poor lighting completely robs them of their impact. On the upside, the dim environment did make the LED underglow and other lighting effects really pop. A bit of a silver lining, I suppose.
Lighting is all over the place down here.
Photographically speaking, it wasn’t a disaster, even with the lighting. I shot both photo and video and didn’t run into many issues, thanks to the fact that the cars were stationary. The only time I struggled was when I tried to grab a portrait of the Pocari Sweat crew under their dark canopy (see the crew portrait above to see what I mean- my Nikon Z5’s autofocus had a tough time locking in under those conditions).
That said, creating solid images from these would take a lot of work, given the uneven lighting, harsh reflections, and dark shadows. Maybe I’ll try something with them in the future, but for now, here’s a complete set of images with basic edits:
All in all, the event was solid. The display wasn’t as big as the one I saw back at Nisei Week 2019, but it was definitely larger and more refined than the last Taste of Japan showing. Even better, I found out that Dekocar will be back at Nisei Week again this year on August 16—which I’m seriously hyped for. That event is one of my favorite memories of photographing Itasha. I’ll definitely be there, and if you’re into car culture, anime, or just want something unique to photograph, you should go too.
Just note that this is not the same weekend as the Nisei Week Grand Parade, which happens one week earlier on the 10th. If you only have one day to spend in Little Tokyo, the parade weekend offers a deeper cultural experience (plus there are usually a few Itasha in that parade anyway). But if the cars are your main draw, the Dekocar weekend is where it’s at.
If you’ve ever had a memorable encounter with Itasha—or if you know of a cool upcoming event I should check out—drop it in the comments or send me a message. I would love to check it out!
Stumbling on a Life-Size Gundam in Tokyo (and What It Taught Me About Lens Choice)
Back in 2016, I was still relatively early in my photography journey- confident enough to start making strong decisions, but not yet experienced enough to think ahead about a lot of things. It was that year when I learned (the hard way), that it was a dumb idea to only bring prime lenses on my second trip to Tokyo- especially since I didn’t really know what kind of subjects or situations I’d run into.
Back in 2016, I was still relatively early in my photography journey- confident enough to start making strong decisions, but not yet experienced enough to think ahead about a lot of things. It was that year when I learned (the hard way), that it was a dumb idea to only bring prime lenses on my second trip to Tokyo- especially since I didn’t really know what kind of subjects or situations I’d run into.
Why I Packed All Primes for Tokyo
When it comes to travel photography, conventional wisdom says to bring a versatile zoom lens (like a 24–70mm) so you’re prepared for anything.
That’s not what I did. Instead, I took three primes:
Samyang 14mm f/2.8 ultra-wide
Nikon 50mm f/1.8
Tamron 90mm f/2.8 macro
Why? I didn’t know if I would get another chance to visit Japan (in fact, this particular trip wasn’t even planned), so I wanted to make sure I got the best-possible image quality. In my mind, this meant that only prime lenses would suffice, since another bit of conventional wisdom says that primes are better than zooms. And to be fair, those primes did work brilliantly- for the first few ours.
On the first morning of my trip, I used the 14mm while my friend and I explored Tsukiji Fish Market. The ultra-wide angle view was perfect for capturing the narrow alleys, organized chaos of vendors, and all the little details crammed into every corner. It was a perfect lens choice, as it helped tell the story of the place, and yielded images that make it feel like you’re there when you look at them.
And that’s about as far as I got without running into complications.
Stumbling Upon the RX-78-2
After leaving Tsukiji, we made our way to Odaiba, a man-made island in Tokyo Bay. We weren’t there for photos—we were just trying to buy Tokyo Disneyland tickets from the Disney Store inside DiverCity Plaza.
That’s when I saw it. Towering above us, seemingly out of nowhere, stood the RX-78-2 Gundam. Six stories tall, in all its mecha majesty.
For fans of anime, this is the Gundam—the OG mobile suit from the 1979 series that sparked Japan’s decades-long obsession with giant mechs. I’d read about the statue online, but never planned to visit it, and honestly had forgotten it even existed. But there it was, and I had my camera in hand. Naturally, I started shooting.
And that’s when the limitations of my gear hit me.
When Prime Lenses Fall Short
None of my lenses were really built to capture a subject like this. The 14mm was too wide—so wide that it distorted the statue in ways that weren’t flattering. The 50mm gave me a better perspective, but I had to stand far back just to frame the full height—and even then, the angles felt a little off. Ironically, the 90mm macro lens worked best because I could pick out details: the head, the chest plate, a hand posed against the sky.
But I couldn’t do what I really wanted to do: frame the whole statue cleanly in its environment, in a way that communicated its scale and grandeur.
The statue doesn’t actually lean forward. But when you use a 14mm lens, you get that effect.
What I learned was this- if you’re walking around without a specific objective in mind, you still have an objective; that of being ready for anything. And for that, you need a lens that can handle a wide range of the most likely scenarios.
What I Wish I Had Brought
A standard zoom like a 24–70mm (around 16-50mm on cropped-sensor cameras) would’ve been the perfect companion for this kind of day. It would’ve given me just enough wide to frame the whole Gundam cleanly (I would likely need to move back more, but not as much as the 50mm would require), and just enough reach to zoom in on the details. Plus, at the time of day I was shooting, I didn’t even need the added speed of f/1.8 and f/2.8 lenses, so just about any zoom lens would have been adequate. And while my Tamron 24-70mm is also a 2.8 lens, the truth is that even an inexpensive Nikon 28–80mm kit lens would’ve been more helpful than my fixed primes that day. For the unexpected, flexibility trumps image quality potential (though if your budget allows, definitely swing for a lens with a constant f/2.8 aperture- that will only add more flexibility to your kit).
The Bigger Lesson
Despite the frustration, I still had a blast trying to problem-solve. In the moment, it felt like a puzzle: How can I make the best images possible with what I have? And despite the quirkiness of the images, I don’t regret them. I walked away with a great memory, a valuable lesson, and even with the quirks, the images are still ones that I’m happy to share. The statue was also eventually replaced with a different model, so these images have a certain sentimental value as well.
Plus, this encounter led to another amazing experience- I ended up discovering the D1 Grand Prix, Japan’s premier drifting championship. But that’s a story for another post.
So what’s the bottom line? If you don’t have a specific subject in mind, your gear needs to be as flexible as your plans. Even if your zoom lens doesn’t give you the absolute best optical performance, the versatility far outweighs the tradeoff when you’re out exploring. It’s the difference between getting a good photo- or a so-so one ( or at worst, no photo at all).
My Go-To Travel Recommendation
If you’re looking for good walk-around lens, here is what I recommend:
For Full-Frame Cameras: The standard 24–70mm f/2.8 is a tried and true option. If you’re on a budget, there are a couple of third-party options from Sigma and Tamron or you can go for a similar focal range that starts at 28mm instead of 24mm.
For Crop Sensor Cameras: Look for something in the 16–55mm range. Focal ranges differ between brands and manufacturers, but anything in that ball-park will give you something close to the 24-70mm standard found on full-frame lenses. You could also just buy a 24-70 full-frame lens, but know that your crop sensor will produce images that are more equivalent to 35-105mm (depending on your camera brand’s crop factor).
Your Kit Lens: A lot of enthusiasts will scoff at this recommendation, but the truth is that modern kit lenses, while slow (meaning not as light-sensitive), they are still pretty good optically. Plus, they cover the right focal ranges, are lightweight, and relatively small compared to their more-pro counterparts.
And above all, just get out there and shoot. Because no matter how “wrong” your gear might seem, it’s still better to be out photographing with what you have than to sit at home do anything else.