It is one of the shortest viewings in estate agency history. As soon as the door opens, every inch of living space except the sleeping quarters is visible.
A tiny genkan entryway, which could nearly accommodate three pairs of shoes, leads to a shower cubicle on the right with just enough room to swing a sponge, next to a toilet that – door left open – one could occupy while just about rustling up dinner in a kitchenette 50cm away on the other side of the “corridor”.
The Guardian spent the night in Shanti Casa, in the Yotsuya district of Tokyo, the architectural answer to growing demand among young people who are unable to afford the capital’s high, and rising, rents.
Each micro-apartment measures just nine square metres – just under half the size of a typical studio apartment in Tokyo – their cosy proportions offset by white walls, a large window at the back and a 3.6-metre-high ceiling. The block is among 100 buildings opened in Tokyo by real estate developer Spilytus in the past seven years.
Gap in the market
Rents for micro-apartments can be as low as ¥50,000 ($376; £311) a month, rising to ¥80,000 in more fashionable locations. At Shanti Casa the monthly rent is around ¥70,000 – ¥20,000 to ¥30,000 lower than the average rental in the area.
Critics say the micro-apartments boom highlights the lack of affordable urban housing for young, underpaid workers, with quality of life sacrificed for convenience and affordability. But Keisuke Nakama, the firm’s president, says the idea is to give tenants financial breathing room while they consider their long-term futures.
“A lot of younger people these days don’t have many possessions, unlike older generations – they have a few items of clothing and not that much money, so these apartments are ideal for them,” said Nakama, whose 1,500 micro-apartments have an occupancy rate of 98%.
“We don’t expect tenants to live here for 10 or 20 years … we want to provide a place for people who are moving to Tokyo from outside the city and who can’t afford the high rents here.
“Most of them stay in these apartments for two or three years, save some money and move to a bigger place, maybe after they’ve met a partner and want to settle down.”
Cramped but restful
The Guardian’s stay in one of the firm’s model apartments lasted just 24 hours. The absence of cooking utensils meant a planned dinner of instant ramen had to be abandoned. Because of the dimensions, it felt more comfortable leaving the toilet door open while seated – one of the blessings of solitary living. Had I closed it, my knees may have never forgiven me.
I spent the night alone, but could have invited a friend, provided he or she didn’t object to sitting cross-legged on the floor to eat, and top-and-tailing in a futon with a serial snorer.
My biggest fear – of tumbling out of bed and plummeting to the floor – was never realised. In fact, the night was more restful than I usually get in my own apartment, which is almost four times bigger.
Tenants living in Shanti Casa’s 30 units are spread out over three floors. Each apartment comes with a ground floor living space, shower and toilet, and an upper floor “bedroom” accessible by a ladder.
About 60% of the tenants are male, and most are in their 20s or 30s, with just one in 10 over 40. Roughly two-thirds are in the early stage of their careers, along with a smaller number of students.
Unlike tenants in regular apartments, they do not have to pay a deposit or “key money” – a nonrefundable gift to the landlord.
Residents say they are happy to put up with the modest dimensions in return for low rents and the convenience of living close to their workplaces, shops and restaurants in bustling central locations.
‘Saving for somewhere bigger’
The idea for compact living spaces that compromised on space but not cost came to Nakama after he moved to Tokyo to work for a real estate company. The native of Oita – a largely rural prefecture in Japan’s south-west – was shocked to find that an apartment with rent of around ¥30,000 a month back home cost more than four times as much in Tokyo.
Exhausted from his long daily commutes – beginning with the first train into the city and ending with the last one out – Nakama envisioned accommodations with just enough space to eat, sleep and store a few essential belongings, and in locations that made it possible to walk or cycle to work.
Reina Suzuki, who began living in her micro-apartment in western Tokyo last summer, admitted that she had been surprised at how small it was.
“I looked at regular apartments … they were bigger than this, but the rents were really high,” said Suzuki, a company employee from Gunma prefecture, north-west of Tokyo. “At first, I found it difficult to stretch out and relax. But it’s a 10-minute walk to work, I like the interior … and I’ve got used to sleeping on the upper floor.”
Suzuki, 30, has managed to find space for a washing machine, but decided against buying other conveniences.
“I’ve never really bothered with baths, so I don’t mind not having one here,” she said. “I thought about buying a desk, but I decided it would be better to have the floor space so I can stretch my legs.”
With just a single electric hob in what passes for her kitchen, Suzuki is an enthusiastic explorer of the local restaurant scene, but occasionally makes stir-fries and salads when she wants to avoid eating out.
Like other tenants, she plans to move out in a couple of years. “I’m going to save up for somewhere bigger. When I moved in, I felt tired a lot of the time, but over the months I’ve got to quite like the place. I would even go as far as saying that I can relax here.”
