Not fucking around.


I went back to Shibuya, ran into Paul out of pure luck, then we went back to the bookstore. Tak and Twist went to crash out in the museum's apartment for visiting artists, so I grabbed a shower and we all took a short nap. Twist left for the plane and Paul and I made our way to Harajuku. We got some ramen and decided to split up: I needed to buy some socks, and Paul wanted to get some Bathing Ape gear.


Synchronized breakdancing in Shibuya.


The Bathing Ape line.

Bathing Ape is an interesting Japanese phenomenon. Run by Nigo, tight with Cornelius, intimately hooked up with Adam G., Lucas, and Co. at Tokion magazine, Ape gear is the fashion equivalent of crack cocaine. When we found the shop in Harajuku, there was a line of about 50 kids JUST WAITING TO GET INSIDE. It didn't make any sense. Paul decided to brave the line and believe the hype, and was treated to limited edition $70 t-shirts and other exclusive fashion items, most emblazoned with the familiar Planet of the Apes visage. The products are cool, there is no doubt about that, but the lasting impression in our minds was, predictably, "I want to start something that has kids lining up to pay 70 dollars for one of my t-shirts."

We wandered around a bit more, checked the live music at Yoyogi park, and decided to bed down for a bit at the capsule hotel. Of course we passed out, and I woke up at 1:00 in the morning to call Andi, who expected to hent, so I walked a few blocks to Harlem, a huge hip hop club that had really good DJ's and one particular freaky deaky wearing a leopard cowboy hat that almost killed me. I had a chance to complete another leg of the Hip Hop Dream when a break dance circle broke out, but thankfully I kept my Popping and Locking in my pants and laid low. A few more beers, but I wasn't "feeling it" as they say, so I bounced. The leopard skin cowgirl didn't follow me to a love hotel, I'm afraid to say.


Paul, penthouse suite.

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