Walk past any street in Tokyo and you will see the city teeming with vibrant and eclectic styles. Think of Decora fashion, a playful, maximalist defiance often captured in Shoichi Aoki’s FRUiTS magazine, or Ura-Harajuku style, streetwear imbued with punk, skate, and hip-hop influences. Or, more often than not, girls dressed in Jirai kei flood the Kabukicho district—outfits featuring frilled skirts, blouses, prominent platform heels, and MCM backpacks.

The loud outfits have become synonymous with the city’s fashion. But back in the 1980s, Yohji Yamamoto and Rei Kawakubo’s “Karasu-zoku” movement took over Tokyo’s fashion spotlight. It was about dressing head-to-toe in all-black. The androgynous midi-skirts, trousers, and coats covered the wearers’ body silhouettes. The “Karasu” crowd looked like a group of crows flocking (“Karasu” means crows in Japanese, thus the name), and their quiet fashion movement captured the public’s attention for its obscurity. Indeed, without the apparent bright colors and maximalist layering, people struggled to understand the Karasu-zoku as it quietly swallowed the fashion crowds of Tokyo into dark-colored outfits.

Black absorbs the light. Silence is discomforting. As a result, those spaces often get filled up. But perhaps this sophisticated intimidation was what the quiet yet delicate fashion like Karasu-zoku was about in Japan. It could care less about what people thought amid the color and lights of Tokyo and fed to the budding of individualism in Japan where conformity is such a valued trait.

In this city of juxtapositions, different fashion crowds often clash and collide. Although groups of Karasu-zoku no longer congregate together on the streets of Tokyo today, its ode to simplicity continues to be felt in fashion. Simple and monotonous, the uniform wearers make up the everyday Tokyo styles aside from the vibrant outfits. Salarymen in their pinstripe suits and high schoolers in their traditional school blazer uniform flood the everyday Shibuya among scores of tourists. Even the construction workers on the building sites pull off their stylish workwear with tabi boots and tobi balloon pants.

salarymen tokyo — Salarymen in Tokyo│© David Tesinsky

Despite their seemingly simplistic designs, the carefully tailored uniforms stand out quietly among the chaotic street styles in Tokyo, much like the Karasu-zoku did. These minimal looks, those that state and not shout, add a sense of calm to the overstimulating city life.

The quiet style marries hardcore functionality with fashion. In recent years, Gorpcore (the notion of wearing outdoor clothing as streetwear) swept the fashion world epitomized by Arc’Teryx waterproofs and Salomon trail shoes. With that, many Japanese tech-heavy brands, from Snow Peak to ASICS, also gained traction with their highly technical yet understated designs.

But traditionally, Japanese fashion has always valued craftsmanship, paying hyper-specific care to details and the garments used. The kimono, for example, is about carefully wrapping the tailored silk garment (left over right) around the wearer’s body and tying the obi sash tightly around the waist. Slipping on the white tabi socks and the toe-splitting geta sandals brings all the elements into one sharp look, and this level of layered details is unmatched by any other culture’s fashion.

Layering is an inherent element of Japanese fashion. That perhaps explains why the school uniforms in Japan have spawned countless recreations, from ko-gyaru’s school uniform fashion subculture to sotsu-ran (a tricked-out school uniform worn by delinquents on graduation day to flex their sense of rebellion). For ko-gyarus too, their riffed-off, flashy school uniform was about defiance against the adults, the school, and a confining society. They became known for causing a fashion shockwave with their reimagined school uniforms in the late 1990s.

Slouchy white socks draped over loafers, oversized Ralph Lauren knit cardigans loosely layered over white shirts, hyper-mini-pleated skirts, and a plaid tie at the neck were gyarus' uniform. Their outrageous customization of school uniforms was about wearing the restrictive uniform in a way that felt looser and more comfortable. Interestingly, it explored the fine line between the societal pressure that forced high school girls to conform and the individual’s choice of representing their identity.

For many, the idea of uniform means boredom. It feels like a ritual and routine that prioritizes utility and efficiency. But a new wave of designers here in Japan is adopting the uniform’s utilitarian style to their design ethos. It’s no surprise because people here excel at taking anything and running with it to the Nth degree.

Hidesign, a Tokyo-based workwear design company, draws its inspiration from the tech-heavy details of construction and factory workwear. For its Tokyo Spring 2025 collection, the brand designed an inflatable jacket with a battery-operated fan system for cooling and a hooded raincoat that can be worn over a backpack. The workwear-first brand even incorporates pockets that are specifically designed to hold onigiri (triangle-shaped rice ball aka industry workers’ to-go lunch staple).

On a more recent note, the suits designed by Soshi Otsuki (one of the eight LVMH prize winners for this year) tap exactly into the idea of Japanese fashion’s detailed craftsmanship and expert tailoring. His namesake menswear label Soshiotsuki largely takes its inspiration from traditional Japanese motifs like kimono sleeves and military-school uniforms. The suits are tailored in drapey silhouettes which give off the power dressing feel from the Showa era. But it’s in the details, ones that trace back to traditional Japanese elements, that make his suits look like no other.

The “street rat grey” colored suit jackets are a nod to rat-racing Japanese salarymen. Inspired by the kimono sleeves, large interlining pockets are even integrated into their suit linings. The shape of each blazer is also pinched with intention. One of them is specifically designed to loosely wrap around the waist, reminiscent of a karate uniform. And who would have thought that the belt buckles come built-in with metal cigarette cases and ashtrays? Otsuki’s suits are an ode to seemingly dull urban uniforms. In his world, they get recrafted with understated yet intricate details, hinting at the quiet sophistication of Japanese styles.

After all, the minimal dressing is not so much about the loud logos, clashing patterns, and layered colors but about mastering the “ma,” a traditional Japanese notion of unfilled space. Instead of filling the void, the quiet styling of Tokyoites’ elevated uniform and workwear fashions emphasize details like garments, silhouettes, and gimmicks. This captivating and deeply minimal approach to fashion, one that focuses on subtlety and profundity, yet captures another facet of the many street styles flooding Tokyo today.