The January We Spent in Tokyo

My best friend and I recently started a yearly ritual: escaping London for as much of January as our schedules (and wallets) will allow. January in London is not only dull and grey, but it also feels stagnant, quiet after the festive rush, and creatively barren. As freelancers, we find that work tends to slow down, so carving out this time for travel feels both restorative and intentional. Tokyo had been at the top of our list for a long time. After the success of our first trip in this ritual, a week in Seoul the year before, we wanted to stay true to what made that experience so memorable — somewhere rich in fashion, culture, and food. Asia felt right again. And so, Tokyo it was.

 

Many people say that traveling with a friend or partner is make or break, and I would wholeheartedly agree. I’ve had both types of relationships end shortly after a trip away. Travelling together strips back routine. You’re thrown into unfamiliar rhythms with no buffer, no dog to run home to, no long intermission. Delays happen. Plans fall through. Luggage disappears. It’s in these tiny crises, and how you move through them together, that the true shape of a relationship reveals itself. You might laugh off the big stuff and breeze through the rest. Or you might unravel at every minor inconvenience, unable to regulate your temperature in uncharted waters.

 

I’d known Mateus for ten years before we finally took our first holiday together in 2024. I was slightly nervous about this next step in our relationship, knowing all too well how previous trips with others had gone. I’m not sure why it took us so long, but it felt like the right time. I knew I loved him very much before, but somehow it has deepened with every journey we take. These adventures feel like little mirrors, held not just to each other, but to ourselves. There’s something about experiencing the unfamiliar together, a new place, a new rhythm, a new culture, that draws out stories you didn’t know the other was carrying. A slow morning through a new city, a curious object in an unfamiliar room, a long drive from the airport on two hours’ sleep and three stopovers — it’s the best way to really learn who someone is. And with the right person, you never want to stop learning.

 

Tokyo truly lives up to the hype. It’s vibrant, dynamic, and rich in every sense. It’s the world’s largest metropolitan area, home to over 37 million people in the greater metro region, making it one of the most populous cities on Earth. Their transport system is famously civilised: platforms marked with tidy queueing lines, gates to prevent anyone from falling onto the tracks, and smartly dressed station staff (known as ekiin) guiding passengers with calm precision. That said, rush hour is another story entirely. I’d argue it’s even more intense than London. The polite order dissolves into a kind of orchestrated chaos, with full-body pushing and sardine-packing that has to be experienced to be believed.

 

We’d rack up over 20,000 steps most days just wandering. We enjoyed visiting IKEA in Shibuya every evening for a “light snack” — that being two of their fish dogs each (a fish finger hot dog, far more delicious than it sounds). We’d grab Inari sushi from 7-Eleven along with Calbee butter-flavored crisps and these insane grape sorbet balls that were pure joy. Our favorite bakery was Merci Life Organics, where we went every morning and treated ourselves to something new, from curry buns to custard-filled doughnuts. It never disappointed.

 

We repeatedly returned to Laforet Harajuku, a fashion-forward complex filled with independent brands and the best selection of clothing and accessories, a reflection of Tokyo’s status as a global style capital.

We found our favorite pieces at the Oi Racecourse flea market (open on weekends), where vintage treasures awaited, from Burberry scarves to anime tees and retro bags. This was, without question, where the majority of my money was spent.

We visited 21_21 Design Sight, a cutting-edge design gallery where all the staff wear custom Issey Miyake uniforms (yes, custom Issey Miyake), and the National Art Center Tokyo, a striking Kisho Kurokawa-designed building with vast rotating exhibitions of Japanese and international art.

At the Mori Art Museum, perched high above the city, we saw the powerful Louise Bourgeois exhibition.

Cow Books in Nakameguro stole our hearts with its rare book collection and aesthetic interior.

Recoco Record Café gave us one of the most peaceful evenings: we listened to Frank Ocean’s Blonde front to back while sipping melon floats served on silver plates. Only in Tokyo could a café feel like a curated emotional experience.

 

We passed countless Shinto shrines tucked between buildings — humble, spiritual spaces that quietly anchor daily life through worship, seasonal festivals, and small offerings. Despite Tokyo’s hypermodern face, these sacred pockets remind you how tradition and futurism sit side by side in this endlessly surprising city.

 

On one of our last days, we stumbled across a baseball game in a local park. The sun was out, and every time a player sprinted from base to base, the dust would rise in the light in the most magical way. Mateus encouraged me to go over to ask if I could take their photo. As a documentary photographer, it’s sometimes difficult to navigate, as you don’t want to break the natural rhythm of a moment. But we introduced ourselves, and they welcomed us warmly. Most were older men who had been playing together for decades, bound by a quiet, brotherly pride that was both moving and unspoken.

 

Tokyo is everything people say it is — loud, vibrant, fast. But it’s also soft and still, a city that holds a deep respect for the small, sacred moments that often go unnoticed. People seem to carry an introspective understanding of themselves and a quiet intentionality in how they connect with others. Experiencing that, side by side with my best friend, made it all the more powerful. We moved through the city with curiosity, humor, and a kind of shared awe that deepened something between us. This wasn’t just another trip; it was a chapter, one of those rare and golden ones in the ongoing story of us. And it changed us, subtly but unmistakably, the way the very best places do.