Inside Yoshiwara, Japan’s oldest red light district

It is early evening in Yoshiwara, a sizeable block of buildings north of Asakusa, East Tokyo, just a stone’s throw from Sensoji temple – one of most visited tourist attractions in Japan. The streets are somewhat quiet, but there are black vans with tinted windows outside most of the buildings and a noticeable amount of carparks. Brothels sit side by side – around 140 of them – lit with ​’80s looking signs with glowing neon lettering reading ​‘Moulin Rouge’, ​‘Etoile’ and ​‘Good Wife’. Bouncers dressed in suits stand outside the building, while girls, mostly in their 20s, enter the buildings. 

Despite Yoshiwara being considered to be Japan’s top red-light district, with most high-end joints charging up to ¥80,000 (£370) to ¥100,000 (£460) for 120 minutes, it looks like a town trapped in time. Buildings look like relics from the bubble era, with a kitsch, retro vibe and the entire atmosphere of the district is reminiscent of a film from a lost decade, just before the economy folded. 

Yoshiwara itself has a storied history, which goes back to the Edo era (1600−1868), and was developed by the shogun to restrict the widespread sex trade to a confined area. First established in Ningyocho, it moved to the current Senzoku area after a fire burnt the original location to cinders. Fires have destroyed Yoshiwara numerous times, yet it has been constantly rebuilt, and even survived prostitution’s criminalisation in 1958. 

Due to modern Adult Entertainment Business laws, new brothels in the area can’t easily be established, so many existing buildings are refurbished, rather than replaced. Added to that are strict zoning laws, which make it incredibly difficult to simply open up shop. And though there exists an arguably high societal tolerance for commercial sex entertainment, it may not be around for much longer – it’s questionable whether Yoshiwara will survive these legal restraints in the upcoming decades. 

• Read next: The intricate, clandestine art of Japan’s traditional tattoos

Edo bordellos

When perusing ukiyo‑e – traditional wood block prints dating back to the Edo era, one of Japan’s most exalted art forms – one will invariably find hundreds, if not thousands of depictions of Yoshiwara denizens. Exaggerated female portraits of women donned with a gaudy number of hairpins, scenes from overcrowded brothels and couples in impossibly bendy poses in coitus. While most museums often euphemistically refer to the portraits as ​“beauties”, many of the women depicted are courtesans, characterised by their make-up and embellishments, and layers of colourful clothing. They were considered celebrities during the time among the commoner class and exalted as fashion and style mavens.

The Edo era was a period of peace, unlike the previous ages which were fraught with civil conflict and war. Wealth accumulated, there was a sense of freedom and consumer power, even among the lower stratum of society. A hedonistic ethos and ​‘live for the moment’ attitude dominated urban life for the commoners who were engaged with the pleasure quarters and entertainment districts. The culture of teahouses and kabuki theatre was celebrated in these artworks, which served as a form of media during the time. While what was called the ​‘floating world’ is that of everyday decadence, simultaneously there are poetic allusions to the ephemeral and transitory nature of life.

Sumptuary laws tried to restrict the flaunting of ostentatious wealth and hedonistic pursuits of the commoners. When an official decree was put in place to censor courtesan pictures; woodblock artists of the commoner class often had an anti-authoritarian mentality and never stopped, usually skirting around these laws. Many of the famous artists of the time created pieces showing cat protagonists in the likenesses of their favourite courtesans, decked out in layers of fabrics, carrying fans, and sitting around in a brothel.

While depictions of Yoshiwara are glamorous, life for the courtesans of the Edo was anything but. Researchers Stephen and Ethel Longstreet in their book Yoshiwara describe the labour as being akin to slavery and debt bondage. Many girls were sold by their family, while ​“melancholia made them its victims. Anxiety, hysteria and neuroses were common,” as were disease and alcoholism.

• Read next: Photos that capture the red lights of ​’70s Paris

Yoshiwara today

Yoshiwara nowadays has the same paradox as times of yore. While celebrated in art and culture, and prostitution is somewhat tolerated, even accepted among many people, there is still the official notion that it simply shouldn’t be mentioned, and in some cases, it is treated like it doesn’t, and shouldn’t exist. 

While there have been recent depictions of Yoshiwara in popular culture in Japan, such as the TV show Berabou (Unbound) and exhibitions about the district, including a major show at the Tokyo Fine Arts School University Art Museum, there is no mention of the fact that Yoshiwara still stands. The district is not mentioned on maps and can only be located by looking up ​‘Senzoku 4‑chome’. 

Nowadays, the area does not have the Edo era moat and girls trapped in tea houses that resemble a large wooden bird cage like the days of yore. Rather, Yoshiwara is dominated by ​‘soaplands’, which are a type of brothel where workers massage and perform intimate services for clients in a room with a large bath.

• Read next: Inside Japan’s most notorious Love Hotel

Sweet Kiss is one such soapland in Yoshiwara, which is on the cheaper end and employs around 70 women. Female manager Kana Ookawauchi says, ​“We have customers who are in their 20s, but mostly it is people in their 40s and 50s. Some of them are like grandpas. I think people who come to an inexpensive shop like ours for a short time tend to want stimulation, rather than a deep relationship.”

The rooms are small, tiled and somewhat spartan. There is a bath, and a large inflatable bed that looks like a pool toy. The other half of the room has a hard massage bed, and in the corner is a strange vertical box, which is ostensibly a sauna, as by Japanese law, full-service sex work is illegal. Legally, these brothels are in fact saunas and any sex that takes place is due to the worker and the john supposedly having spontaneous, consensual, non-commercial sex during a professional sauna service. 

Ookawauchi says that the women who work there are mostly in their 20s and 30s, although there are many older women as well. She herself was also a former worker and she says that during the time, she wanted to spend money on her idols, travel and get plastic surgery, which is the case with many girls nowadays, in that they are fueled by their interests, rather than being forced by destitution. 

Itsuki is one such girl at Sweet Kiss, who does sex work ​“to save money and spend on her hobbies”. She doesn’t have many qualms about what she does and has no desire to quit. She explains, ​“I usually wake up at 10:30am and stay there until 5pm or 6pm. I wait in the waiting room and when a customer comes in, and I’m assigned a room. When I’m done, I clean up. I have a lot of customers, usually four or five people [a day] and on average 80 minutes per booking.” Lately, due to the cheap yen, Japan has become a destination for sex tourism. Itsuki says, ​“I have more foreign customers from Asia, the most common is Chinese, Taiwanese and Korean as well as westerners and Africans.”

• Read next: Inside the weird world of audio porn

Beniko’s world

Beniko Iromachi is a photographer who documents Japan’s red-light districts. She was a sex worker for 13 years and retired when she was 32 years old. Rather than disavow her past, Iromachi decided to document these areas in vivid tones, which capture the lustful hues of the neon lights, and the minutiae of the rooms. She first picked up a camera at 48 years old, and she approaches her subject matter with authority and affection. Her personal experiences shape her unique eye and insight into details that reveal the language of codes and symbols underpinning the economy of intimacy.

“I hardly went to school, so I couldn’t read or write very well. After doing this work, I couldn’t really get a job. I was very depressed and I was working at an adult goods store, cleaning the products. I thought I should be ashamed of myself, I didn’t have anything I could say about my past to people, and I just thought that I would end my life like this, living in regret,” Beniko explains. ​“It’s not seen well socially and you wouldn’t be able to get a job if you were outed. Also, if there’s something political, like sex worker rights related, the sex worker’s opinion should be heard, but I don’t think there’s a lot of people who want to hear the voices from people on the ground.”

Walking around Yoshiwara, we drop by a small bookstore called Kastori that specialises in sex work topics where Beniko is holding an exhibition. Due to media exposure with mainstream magazines and newspapers, Beniko’s larger shows sometimes receive 1,000 visitors over a 10 day period. She also hosts tours on occasion to show the lay of the land. When we reach the entrance of Yoshiwara, where the Edo era gates were once located, she points out a massive curve in the road.

• Read next: New exhibition spotlights the ongoing impact of Japanese Women Photographers

“The topography of the district is the same as the Edo era. There is a massive bend in the main road in order to protect the privacy of the customers who come into the area.” We also pass by the Yoshiwara Benzaiten shrine, where 490 women were trapped in the blazes of the Great Kanto Earthquake that completely destroyed Yoshiwara – in fact fires destroyed the district at least 20 times. These women tried to save their lives by jumping into the pond that is still there, and is now inhabited by carps.

“Since I started photographing these places, my view of life has changed a lot.” Beniko says, ​“Rather than feel remorse about my past, I want to document the historic red-light districts all over the country. For me, Yoshiwara is a place that helped me when I had nowhere else to go. Preserving these buildings as they exist now, is also an impetus for my work as Yoshiwara might not even exist in a few decades time. While some people might not want to acknowledge it exists, I view Yoshiwara as a form of culture.” 

Manami Okazaki is a journalist and author based in Tokyo. Follow her on Instagram.

Buy your copy of Huck 83 here.

Enjoyed this article? Follow Huck on Instagram and sign up to our newsletter for more from the cutting edge of sport, music and counterculture.

Support stories like this by becoming a member of Club Huck.