ORDERING SPACES, MAKING PLACES:

WOMEN’S USES OF NON-DOMESTIC SPACES IN TOKYO, JAPAN, 1868–1937

by

Yuko Nakamura

A Dissertation Submitted in

Partial Fulfillment of the

Requirements for the Degree of

Doctor of Philosophy

in Architecture

at

The University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee

December 2018




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 ABSTRACT

ORDERING SPACES, MAKING PLACES:

WOMEN’S USES OF NON-DOMESTIC SPACES IN TOKYO, JAPAN, 1868–1937

by

Yuko Nakamura

The University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, 2018

Under the Supervision of Professor Arijit Sen

This dissertation explores Japanese women’s uses of non-domestic spaces in the modern

period (1868–1945), focusing on the transformations that were occurring in the new capital city

of Tokyo. After the 1868 Meiji Restoration, a modern government took over in place of the

Tokugawa shogunate, the feudal military government that had ruled Japan for nearly three

centuries, based on a hereditary status-based system. The fall of Tokugawa social order liberated

Japanese people from the principle that John W. Hall famously called “rule by status.” Yet, it

also complicated the ways in which the society was organized. Because the status system had

defined where people lived and visited on an everyday basis, the mechanisms for ordering spaces

in cities also drastically transformed after the fall of the Tokugawa regime.

In this time of instability and negotiation, women began venturing outside of the familiar

spaces of home. At the same time, various male stakeholders with social, political, and economic

power – such as national government officials and corporate managers – employed multiple

strategies to establish a new socio-spatial order across the city of Tokyo. It was men who, for the

most part, designated which spaces were to be used and how, according to what they deemed

appropriate. Yet, I argue that women played limited, but surprisingly active roles in contesting

these mechanisms. Through three case studies of incidents that involved women venturing into

ii
non-domestic spaces, I show how women worked with and against these forces, inventing

alternative uses of non-domestic spaces of their own.

To examine some of the forces propelling women’s increasing presence outside of the

home, this dissertation builds on two methods for understanding cities and architecture: an

approach that examines urbanity as a process and the ethnography of architecture. Using the

urbanity-as-a-process approach, this dissertation interrogates modern Tokyo as an ongoing,

complex project that was constructed by multiple stakeholders and forces, rather than designed

merely by professionals, such as architects, planners, and policy makers. Drawing on the

ethnography of architecture approach, the chapters also privilege interpretations that emphasize

the uses and perceptions of specific spaces, rather than their forms and construction.

Each case study focuses on what was at the time a new kind of urban space, whose spatial

mechanisms for gendering were still flexible and unstable. The first case study traces the

development of the campus for Tsuda College – a women-only school in Tokyo – from 1900 to

1931. It shows how Tsuda College students, teachers, and administrators contested the

exclusionary system of higher education in Japan by identifying and scraping up alternative

resources. The second case study looks into the process by which two women’s organizations –

Tōyō Eiwa Girls’ School Alumnae Association and Japan Women’s Association for Education –

expanded their spatial networks for socializing between 1873 and 1912, focusing on their uses of

parks. The national government intended to push violent and noisy men, who met in the parks for

political gatherings, out of the parks to achieve their purpose of having regular gatherings. This

chapter demonstrates how socializing women took advantage of the national government’s need

to achieve their purpose of having regular gatherings. The third case study explores how

managers at the flagship location of Mitsukoshi Department Store used female employees as

iii
what I call “sensory capital” from 1900 to 1924. This chapter demonstrates that managers

constantly manipulated the bodies of saleswomen, through complex strategies to ensure their

coexistence with male employees at work and separation outside work. It also shows how

saleswomen subverted the systematic management of their bodies.

Taking all these case studies together, I suggest that it was not only women who were

gauging their changing place in the city and in Japanese society after the collapse of the

Tokugawa social order; this process was also significant for the elite men who established most

of the gendering systems. In doing so, this dissertation complicates traditional historical

narratives of architecture and urban spaces in modern Tokyo; namely, it reconceptualizes the

modernization of the built environment in Tokyo as an unstable, inconsistent process of

exploration and negotiation, rather than a perfectly calculated process of progress and

development. More broadly, by using materials that have not traditionally been deemed as

architectural evidence, this dissertation offers a model for how to excavate the spatial

interactions of under-documented, marginalized populations. By demonstrating that people can

make architectural contributions even without engaging in the physical construction of buildings,

the dissertation promotes a more democratic view of architecture and its significance in everyday

life.

iv
© Copyright by Yuko Nakamura, 2018
All Rights Reserved

v
 TABLE OF CONTENTS

List of Figures vii

List of Tables x

Acknowledgments xi

Introduction
From Edo to Tokyo: Reordering Space and Society in Modern Japan 1

Chapter 1: Spaces for Learning

Gender and the Making of a Campus for Higher Education, 1872–1931 26

Chapter 2: Spaces for Gathering

Socializing and Social Ordering in Urban Parks, 1873–1912 81

Chapter 3: Spaces for Working

Discipline and Female Staff as Sensory Capital at a Department Store, 1895–1927 141

Conclusion
Reordering City Space as Women’s Place 205

Figures and Tables 221

Bibliography 287

Curriculum Vitae 314

vi
 LIST OF FIGURES

Figure 1.1. A diagram showing the position of specialized schools in Japan’s educational
system, after is revision by the 1918 University Order. 221

Figure 1.2. Maps showing the locations of Tsuda College’s first to fourth sites as well as
candidates for the fourth site. 222

Figure 1.3. A map showing the first, second, and third sites of Tsuda College as well as
transportation. 223

Figure 1.4. Tsuda College’s first building in Ichiban Chō, Kōjimachi, Tokyo, 1900. 224

Figure 1.5. Tsuda College’s second site in Motozono Chō, Kōjimachi, Tokyo, 1901. 225

Figure 1.6. School of Science building in TIU Hongō Campus, Tokyo, c.1885. 226

Figure 1.7. School of Engineering building in TIU Hongō Campus, Tokyo, c.1888. 227

Figure 1.8. Brick building at Keiō Gijuku in Mita, Tokyo, c.1887. 228

Figure 1.9. Tokyo Specialized School in Waseda, Tokyo, c.1890. 228

Figure 1.10. A schematic plan of the first building in Ichiban Chō, 1900. 229

Figure 1.11. A site plan of Tsuda College campus at the third location, July 1902. 230

Figure 1.12. A site plan of Tsuda College campus at the third location, March 1903. 230

Figure 1.13. A site plan of Tsuda College campus at the third location, February 1904. 231

Figure 1.14. A site plan of Tsuda College campus at the third location, August 1908. 231

Figure 1.15. A site plan of Tsuda College campus at the third location, February 1917. 232

Figure 1.16. A site plan of Tsuda College campus at the third location, August 1922. 232

Figure 1.17. A graph showing how Tsuda College financed the site purchases, 1901–28. 233

Figure 1.18. A graph showing Tsuda College’s enrollment, 1900–39. 234

Figure 1.19. Lower level floor plan of Henry Woods’ Hall. 235

Figure 1.20. Upper level floor plan of Henry Woods’ Hall. 236

Figure 1.21. Lower level floor plan of the additional dormitory (north dormitory). 237

vii
Figure 1.22. Lower level floor plan of the additional dormitory (north dormitory). 238

Figure 1.23. Henry Woods Hall, c. 1910. 239

Figure 1.24. Maps showing how shigaichi 市街地 (densely inhabited urban districts) expanded
between 1880 and 1932 in Tokyo. 239

Figure 1.25. Maps showing the locations of higher education campuses built before and after the
1923 Great Kanto Earthquake until the end of WWII. 240

Figure 1.26. Map comparison of the pre- and post-relocation of TUC. 241

Figure 1.27. An aerial view of the campus, 1931. 242

Figure 1.28. Getting on the school bus at Kokubunji Station, c.1931. 243

Figure 1.29. Street between the station and the new site of JWU. c.1930. 245

Figure 1.30. The condition of new site of TWCU. 246

Figure 1.31. A site plan of the fourth campus in Kodaira, Tokyo. 247

Figure 1.32. A site plan of the fourth site with the buildings that were completed upon
relocation. 248

Figure 1.33. First floor plan of the new lecture hall in the fourth site, Kodaira, Tokyo. 249

Figure 1.34. The lecture hall at the fourth campus of Tsuda College, c.1931. 250

Figure 1.35. A double-occupancy room in the dormitory, 1931. 250

Figure 1.36. TUC lecture hall, c.1933. 251

Figure 1.37. An Edo map of the area where the first, second, and third sites of Tsuda College.
252

Figure 2.1. Comparison of 1881 and 1909 maps around Meguro Station. 253

Figure 2.2. Suribachi Hill, c.1890s. 272

Figure 2.3. Seiyōken, c.1890s. 273

Figure 2.4. Seiyōken c.1870s. 274

Figure 2.5. A partial bird-eye view of Ueno Park, c.1890s. 275

Figure 3.1. An exterior view of Mitsui Kimono Store, c.1901. 276

Figure 3.2. The sit-and-sell space on the lower floor, c.1900. 277

viii
Figures 3.3 (top) and 3.4 (bottom). The upper-floor selling space, c.1900. 278

Figure 3.5. A schematic floor plan of Mitsui Kimono Store, c.1900. 279

Figure 3.6. A schematic floor plan of Mitsui Kimono Store, c.1901. 280

Figure 3.7. The central hall of the 1908 building. 281

Figure 3.8. A complimentary lounge in the 1908 building. 282

Figure 3.9. A first floor plan of the 1908 building by Yokokawa Architects. 283

Figure 3.10. A view of the first floor taken from the third floor on a scrap fabric sale day, April
1, 1909. 284

Figure 3.11. A section drawing showing the locations of the departments served better by female
staff. 285

Figure 3.12. Mitsukoshi female staff in the uniform, September 15, 1921. 286

ix
 LIST OF TABLES

Table 1.1. Rural site acquisition methods and prices. 244

Table 2.1. TEGSAA gathering dates, venues, and attendees. 254

Table 2.2. JWAE gathering dates, venues, and attendees. 256

x
 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Like many Ph.D. students, I could not complete this dissertation without much help from kind,

intelligent people in the world. First and foremost, I thank my dissertation committee members.

Professor Arijit Sen, the chair, patiently read my early drafts and filled copies of them with his

handwritten comments. Other committee members also offered so many insightful suggestions

and questions on my draft. Especially, Professor Jessica Sewell (University of Virginia), whose

work on San Franciscan women and the city inspired this dissertation, read my drafts line by line

and gave me numerous comments that helped me think more deeply about this topic. Professors

Anna Andrzejewski and James P. Leary (University of Wisconsin-Madison) have been guiding

my Ph.D. study from the beginning. Their methods and theoretical attitudes have shaped this

project. Professor Takeshi Ito (now at Aoyama Gakuin University) welcomed me to his lab at the

University of Tokyo. As an established academic in Japanese urban and architectural history,

Professor Ito helped me gain access to archives and other resources in Japan, as well as gave me

opportunities to speak at several seminars. His other advisees are all very intelligent, and

conversations with them are one of the reasons why I managed to conduct research far from my

major professor. One of the reasons why I could not choose any other city than Tokyo for my

dissertation was one of his classes that I took in my undergraduate study at the University of

Tokyo. It was such an honor to receive his meticulous advising a decade after I sat in the class.

For the most part of this research project, I was remote from my home institution and

based in Tokyo, a necessary consequence for this kind of immersive research. The company and

help from other scholars in the city made this project successful. Especially, I thank Professor

Masashi Haneda (University of Tokyo), who hosted me as a visiting fellow at the Institute for

xi
Advanced Studies on Asia. He gave me access to an office where I can focus on writing and

connected me with fellow emerging scholars of global history. As an executive vice president of

the university, Professor Haneda was and is always incredibly busy, but always available. When

I saw a light on in his office, I often interrupted Professor Haneda for conversations. In addition

to his helpful scholarly insights, Professor Haneda’s research productivity and commitment to

the scholarship helped me stay hopeful about the academia in general.

This dissertation would not be possible without materials offered by generous people and

some of the archives that are not normally open to the public. I am especially grateful for the

help of Mr. Minoru Tachibana, Ms. Mariko Muramatsu, and Ms. Yasuko Koizumi, who shared

personal stories of their own and families. In addition, special thanks to archivists, Ms.Yasuyo

Murata (Tsuda College), Ms. Mikako Kishimoto (Japan Women’s University), Mr. Hiroshi

Kawakami (Mitsukoshi Isetan Holdings), and Ms. Fumiyo Sakai (Toyo Eiwa University), for

giving me opportunities to have a look at valuable documents of their alumnae. I cannot be

grateful enough for their generosity. In addition, I thank wonderful librarians at the University of

Tokyo, Ms. Kyoko Taniguchi (Institute for Advanced Studies on Asia) and Ms. Kazue Yonekura

(Department of Architecture), for their reference assistance. Without their help, I would not have

been able to obtain copies of some materials that were difficult to come by.

Several fellow students and established academics have patiently read my drafts, gave

helpful comments, and agree to have numerous and lengthy discussions with me, at various

points in time. Especially, thank you so much to: Professor Yuko Fujino (Tokyo Women’s

Christian University) for her two-hour research discussion on gender history of modern Japan,

Mr. Tim Young (Stanford University) and Dr. Gloria Yang Yu (Columbia University, Kyushu

University) for their patient reading, listening, and comments on my drafts and scripts. I am also

xii
indebted to many other fellow academics. Special thanks to Professor Kosei Hatsuda, Professor

Bebio Vieira Amaro, Dr. Sahar Hosseini, Professor Koji Yamamoto, Dr. Maho Ikeda, Professor

Shinji Nohara, Dr. Tomoaki Shinoda, Dr. Yuko Abe, Dr. Maho Suzuki, Mr. Hirofumi

Kawaguchi, and Mr. Takao Terui. I also presented several versions of the case at eleven different

conferences and seminars. While I cannot individually name each of them, I am grateful for the

comments and attention of a few hundred audience.

My parents, who have never lived outside the rural town in which they were born, gave

up the idea of rural submissive daughter at some point in their lives. They accept and appreciate

anything I do, including the international academic endeavors and speaking in the languages, of

which they have little understanding. Their love and trust in my capabilities are endless and

everlasting, and I am always grateful to for that. Now, I am excited to take them around the

world and show off what I have learned to them. I would also like to express my gratitude to my

intellectual father and undergraduate thesis advisor, Professor Eiji Hato (University of Tokyo).

Without witnessing his enthusiasm and sincerity toward cities research and people who make

cities, the idea of pursuing a Ph.D. in the United States would not have even occurred to me. I

appreciate countless pieces of sushi that we ate over profound conversations about the future of

cities for people and what we can and should do for them.

Finally, Dr. Dara S. Gruber, thanks a million for your friendship and generosity in the last

stretch of my writing. Countless cups of herbal tea that we had together, as well as your

intelligence and intellect, helped me stay somewhat sane, while I worked full-time and wrote the

dissertation full-time. You are the reason why I am alive today, and I look forward to finally

spending some time with you outdoors before you return. And at the end, we prove that sassy

women always win at everything.

xiii
  

Introduction
From Edo to Tokyo: Reordering Space and Society in Modern Japan

Women Outside the Home in Modern Japan

Around the turn of the twentieth century, women began venturing into non-domestic spaces in

Tokyo – the new capital city of Japan. They left home for a significant stretch of time to learn,

socialize, and work. For example, in April 1901, a woman named Kiyota Eiko took a rickshaw

from a terminal station in Tokyo to matriculate at Tsuda College, a newly established women’s

school.1 About a year and a half later, members of the Tōyō Eiwa Girls’ School Alumnae

Association [Tōyō Eiwa Jogakkō Dōsōkai 東洋英和女学校同窓会, TEGSAA] met at a tea shop

in Ueno Park, one of the first public parks in Japan.2 About half a year after Kiyota’s

matriculation at Tsuda College, Furuya Tsuru was hired as one of the first saleswomen at Mitsui

Kimono Textile Store [Mitsui Gofuku Ten 三井呉服店], which would later become Mitsukoshi

Department Store, a leading department store in Japan.3 These three incidents of Japanese

women going out into the world upset the prevailing gender ideology in modern Japan. Similar

to the ideology of female domesticity in the West, modern Japanese women were most intensely

associated with the space of the home. The well-known ideal of “good wife, wise mother [ryōsai

kenbo 良妻賢母]” emerged at the turn of the twentieth century, right around the time when these

                                                                                               
1
Kiyota Eiko 清田栄子, “Motozono Chō Jidai No Omoide 元園町時代の思ひ出 [Memories of Motozono Chō],”
Kaihō 会報 [Alumnae Report] 36 (November 1931): 10–14.
2
Tōyō Eiwa Jogakkō Dōsōkai 東洋英和女学校同窓会, “Honkai Kiji 本会記事 [News of the Association],” Tōyō
Eiwa Jogakkō Dōsōkai Hōkoku 東洋英和女学校同窓会報告 [Tōyō Eiwa Girls’ School Alumnae Association
Bulletin] (November 1902): 1–3.
3
Anon., “Ganso No Fujin 3: Sono Koro Misemono No Yōni Mezurashigarareta Joten’in 元祖の婦人 3: その頃見
世物のように珍しがられた女店員 [Women Originator 3: Female Store Staff Who Were Considered Novel and
as a Spectacle],” Yomiuri Shinbun 読売新聞, August 12, 1927, 7; Furuya Tsuru 古谷ツル, “Otoko Tenin Wa
Nanjira No Teki to Omoe No Oshie 男店員は汝等の敵と思への訓へ [The Principle of Remember Male Store
Staff Are Your Enemy],” Shōten Kai 商店界 [World of Retailing] 13, no. 7 (1933): 104.

1
  

these women were leaving the home.4 How can we make sense of these women’s experiences at

schools, public parks, and workplaces? To what extent was the ideology of female domesticity

enforced in reality? What brought them outside of the home and kept them in these spaces for a

significant amount of time? Who were the stakeholders who helped and/or hindered their

activities? How did women interact with these various stakeholders, who often made efforts to

control or limit their movements into these spaces?

In this dissertation, which focuses on Tokyo, I explore how women’s uses of non-

domestic spaces were transforming in the modern period (1868–1945). To explore some of the

forces propelling women’s increasing presence outside of the home, each chapter of this

dissertation turns to one of the three incidents described above. Stakeholders with social,

political, and economic power – such as national government officials and corporate managers –

employed multiple strategies to establish social order on campuses and in parks and department

stores. They designated which spaces were to be used and how, according to what they deemed

appropriate. Yet, I argue that women played limited, but surprisingly active roles in contesting

these mechanisms. Using case studies drawn from these three incidents, I show that by working

with and against these forces, women invented alternative uses of non-domestic spaces. I discuss

their emerging uses of the city in two major contexts: the global shift in the relationships

between women and space, and the reordering of Japanese society and space, particularly in the

new capital of Tokyo.

                                                                                               
4
On the ideal of “good wife, wise mother, see Koyama Shizuko 小山静子, Ryōsai Kenbo to Iu Kihan 良妻賢母と
いう規範 [The Norm of Good Wife, Wise Mother] (Tokyo: Keisō Shobō, 1991).

2
  

Women, Space, and Modernity

On the one hand, women’s increasing use of public spaces for education, socializing, and

work can be understood as part of a global phenomenon. However, as most of the scholarly work

on women and space in Japan has traditionally focused on domestic spaces, women’s presence in

public spaces has been underexplored. In modern Japan, the ideal of “good wife, wise mother”

expected them to be at home to take care of their family members, especially children. Because

of the close association between home and modern Japanese women, home economists,

geographers, and cultural historians have tended to focus on women’s increasing contributions to

changes in the domestic space during this period. For instance, using articles and floorplans

published in women’s magazines, home economist Kubo Katsuyo has investigated how

housewives in the early twentieth century learned ways to improve their domestic environment

through the media, demonstrating that women actively engaged in homemaking.5 Somewhat

similarly, geographer Kageyama Honami illustrates how a women-only apartment helped

professional women and single mothers secure autonomous residence in the city by segregating

men from their domestic space.6 Meanwhile, the cultural historian Jordan Sand shows how

houses and material culture, which used to be indicative of the owners’ social status, became

more tied to consumerism and understood as self-expression in the modern period.7 To varied

extents, these scholars have revealed the domestic as a terrain where modern women could have

                                                                                               
5
Kubo Katsuyo 久保加津代, Josei Zasshi Ni Sumaidukuri Wo Manabu: Taishō Demokurashī-Ki Wo Chushin Ni 女
性雑誌に住まいづくりを学ぶ: 大正デモクラシー期を中心に [Learning Home Making from Women’s
Magazines: Focusing on the Democracy Period of Taishō] (Tokyo: Domesu Shuppan, 2002).
6
Kageyama Honami 影山穂波, Toshi Kūkan to Jendā 都市空間とジェンダー [Urban Space and Gender]
(Tokyo: Kokon Shoin, 2004).
7
Jordan Sand, House and Home in Modern Japan: Architecture, Domestic Space, and Bourgeois Culture, 1880–
1930 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2005).

3
  

more freedom to express their own identities.8 This dissertation draws upon this body of

literature, but, in contrast, focuses on women’s uses of non-domestic spaces – an area that

remains relatively underexplored by scholars.

While the “good wife, wise mother” continued to be the ideal throughout the period

before World War II, historians have recently pointed to a shift within this ideal, especially in the

mid-1910s onward. In other words, what constituted the ideal woman – and, by extension, the

spaces she could be expected to enter – transformed over time, although the phrasing remained

the same. For example, historian Koyama Shizuko has shown how expectations surrounding

women’s wage work to supplement family income were incorporated into the ideal, in part

because of the expansion of girls’ education in Japan, along with the influence of the global

movement of women’s liberation and the scientific management of everyday life.9 Similarly,

historian Kimura Ryōko has demonstrated that housewives were expected to be active outside of

the home as well, for self-cultivation, charity, and work, depending on changing societal

norms.10 As these historians have contended, World War I (1914–18) was a watershed moment,

when these new expectations surrounding women’s roles began to be incorporated into the ideal.

From the battlefields in Europe, reports on Western women’s capabilities on the home front were

constantly shared in the Japanese media, which generated similar expectations for Japanese

women. Thus, as cultural historian Barbara Sato has illustrated in her book, Japanese women

                                                                                               
8
For similar studies on women and home in the West, see, for example, Gwendolyn Wright, Building the Dream: A
Social History of Housing in America (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1981); Dolores. Hayden, The Grand Domestic
Revolution: A History of Feminist Designs for American Homes, Neighborhoods, and Cities (Cambridge: MIT
Press, 1981).
9
Koyama, The Norm of Good Wife, Wise Mother, 148–70.
10
Kimura Ryōko 木村涼子, “Shufu” No Tanjō: Fujin Zasshi to Joseitachi No Kindai 〈主婦〉の誕生: 婦人雑誌
と女性たちの近代 [The Birth of “Housewives”: Women’s Magazines and Their Modern Era] (Tokyo: Yoshikawa
Kobunkan, 2010).

4
  

with new identities, such as modern girls, professional women, and self-motivated housewives,

emerged and flourished in the interwar period.11

Aside from sporadic appearances in field survey reports from this period, however, the

interactions between these new women and spaces in Tokyo have barely been explored in

scholarship on modern Japan.12 In order to address these questions, then, I take inspiration from

recent studies on women in various cities in the West, which can hint at the significant role of

these spaces, defined as public, played in the emergence of this new category of women, who

were defying norms of female domesticity. Social, cultural, and architectural historians have

uncovered how women gauged their places in other modern cities, such as in New York, Boston,

Chicago, and San Francisco.13 Among them, architectural historian Jessica Sewell grapples with

the interplay between the social and spatial structures of a city most explicitly in her study on

women in the city of San Francisco around the turn of the twentieth century. Following women’s

everyday lives in the city, from transportation spaces to restaurants, cafes, theaters, and

department stores, Sewell demonstrates the significance of the built environment as an

instrument and product of changing gender structures in modern America.14 While the situation

in Tokyo was not exactly the same as San Francisco or any other modern city in the West, it

shared a similar context, as a city that was understood as part of global modernity. In particular,

                                                                                               
11
Barbara Sato, The New Japanese Woman: Modernity, Media, and Women in Interwar Japan (Durham: Duke
University Press, 2003).
12
For example, in his 1925 field study, urban ethnographer Kon Wajirō counted the numbers of men and women in
Ginza commercial district, where Mitsukoshi’s branch was located. Kon’s report indicates women’s presence on the
streets, while their number was only about half of their male counterparts. The numbers of pedestrians: men:
women: students (male): workers (male): shop boys: others = 43: 24: 12: 8: 7: 6: 1. See Kon Wajirō 今和次郎,
“Tokyo Ginza Gai Fūzoku Kiroku 東京銀座街風俗記録 [Recording Cultures of Ginza District in Tokyo],” in
Kogengaku Nyumon 考現学入門 [Introduction to Modernology] (Tokyo: Chikuma Shobō, 1987), 98–99.
13
Christine Stansell, City of Women: Sex and Class in New York, 1789–1860 (New York: Knopf, 1986); Sarah
Deutsch, Women and the City: Gender, Space, and Power in Boston, 1870–1940 (New York: Oxford University
Press, 2000); Jessica E. Sewell, Women and the Everyday City: Public Space in San Francisco, 1890–1915
(Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2011); Emily Ann Remus, “The Making of the Consumer City:
Gender, Space, and Class in Chicago, 1871–1914” (PhD diss., University of Chicago, 2014).
14
Sewell, Women and the Everyday City: Public Space in San Francisco, 1890–1915.

5
  

as the national government adopted the Westernization of lifestyles and cultures as a technology

for modernizing Japanese society, Tokyo became the experimental ground for testing new ideas

for a city of modernity.15 Could Japanese women like Kiyota, TEGSAA members, and Furuya

use these spaces outside of the home to gauge their place in the city and in society more broadly,

like San Franciscan women? If so, how?

Reordering Society and Space in Modern Tokyo

At the same time, the processes by which these women ended up interacting with the new

urban spaces in Tokyo, such as campuses for higher education, parks, and department stores,

were specific to the changing social, cultural, political, and economic structures in the modern

capital city of Japan. Political events that culminated with the 1868 Meiji Restoration brought an

end to more than two centuries of the regime of the Tokugawa shogunate – the feudal military

government of Japan. In the subsequent years, the nascent Meiji government, which eventually

established Japan as a modern state, struggled to figure out how to govern a society whose

status-based order had collapsed. Women’s place in society was also redefined in this process of

establishing new socio-spatial orders.

The Fall of the Status System

For nearly three centuries prior to this political upheaval, Japan was an agricultural

society ruled by the military government of the Tokugawa shogunate. Tokugawa is the name of

the family that succeeded the hereditary commander-in-chief position, called the shogun, since

the establishment of the military government in 1603. Using military power, the shogun and his

                                                                                               
15
Architectural historian Suzuki Hiroyuki characterized Westernization as a technology for modernization. See
Suzuki Hiroyuki 鈴木博之, “Kindai Toha Nanika 近代とは何か [What Is the Modern Period?],” in Kindai Toha
Nanika 近代とは何か [What Is the Modern Period?], ed. Yamagishi Tsuneto 山岸常人 Suzuki Hiroyuki 鈴木博
之, Ishiyama Osamu 石山修武, Itō Takeshi 伊藤毅 (Tokyo: Tokyo Daigaku Shuppankai, 2005), 5.

6
  

retainer lords dominated land ownership and tenure across a wide territory. As the Japanese

historian John Whitney Hall has famously summarized, the shogunate’s fundamental principle

was “rule by status.”16 The population was roughly classified into two basic social statuses:

samurai [also known as bushi 武士] and commoners [heimin 平民]. Samurai, the upper status,

included the lords and the lords’ retainers, as well as lower-ranking samurai. Those who ranked

as commoners, on the other hand, included farmers, craftspeople, and merchants. As much as

four-fifths of the Japanese population were farmers, who cultivated rural lands and collectively

paid taxes to the government. Craftspeople and merchants, meanwhile, lived and worked in

urban neighborhoods [machi 町] and served various roles within their communities in exchange

for certain privileges. Samurai oversaw the operations of both rural farming communities and

urban neighborhoods. Because these statuses were hereditary, there was little possibility of social

mobility. Furthermore, in a culture based on Confucianism, accepting one’s own status and

behaving accordingly was considered virtuous. Japanese people enjoyed more than two hundred

years of peace under the Tokugawa shogunate, without a major political upheaval.17

In Tokugawa Japan, the ordering of space played an active role in shaping this status-

based society. A city was typically organized into three zones: the samurai zone [buke chi 武家

地], the commoner zone [chōnin chi 町人地], and the religious zone [jisha chi 寺社地]. With

this three-part zoning, samurai and commoners were designated separate spaces to live in from

birth. In the capital of Edo, which would be renamed Tokyo after the 1868 restoration, spatial

inequality was particularly obvious. More than two-thirds of the city’s land was designated to

samurai, leaving only scattered lands available for commoners. Urban commoners and samurai

                                                                                               
16
John W. Hall, “Rule by Status in Tokugawa Japan,” Journal of Japanese Studies 1, no. 1 (1974): 39–49.
17
Andrew Gordon, A Modern History of Japan: From Tokugawa Times to the Present, Third ed. (New York,
Oxford, 2014), 10–46.

7
  

likely had some interactions, however, because some commoners, especially merchants, sold

luxurious goods to high-ranking samurai. Samurai and commoners could also visit the same

religious institutions, so they likely encountered each other at those places. Nevertheless, as

urban historians have emphasized, the division between the samurai and commoner zones in

Tokyo were powerful in predetermining where and how people could lead their everyday lives.18

While women’s experiences varied across urban areas in Tokugawa Japan, their

opportunities to interact with non-domestic spaces and with people outside of their families were

particularly limited in Edo.19 Women customarily went out to visit their extended families,

whose status was usually the same as theirs, and to places in the religious zone, where their

social status was ambiguous. Both samurai and commoner women, in company with their female

relatives, visited the homes of other relatives in Edo, in order to spend a few nights together.

When they visited temples and temple precincts, they also tended to go in a group. Women-

favored temples were often founded by or enshrined famous religious women, and/or they were

places to worship deities that could ensure safe childbirth or good health. During these visits to

temple precincts, women also engaged in sightseeing to beautiful landscapes; areas known for

seasonal flowers were especially popular. However, other than these occasions, women in the

upper social strata, such as samurai women and wives of wealthy merchants, did not have many

opportunities to leave their families and homes. Samurai women, in particular, avoided going to

                                                                                               
18
Yoshida Nobuyuki 吉田伸之, Kyodai Jōkamachi Edo No Bunsetsu Kōzō 巨大城下町江戸の分節構造 [The
Structure of Segregation in Edo, the Giant Castle City] (Tokyo: Yamakawa Shuppansha, 1999), 3–38; Edward
Seidensticker, Low City, High City: Tokyo from Edo to the Earthquake (Cambridge: Harvard University Press,
1991); André Sorensen, The Making of Urban Japan: Cities and Planning from Edo to the Twenty-First Century
(London: Routledge, 2002), 10–44. Yoshida details the segregated structure of Tokugawa times in this entire book,
but the introduction is a conscice, but still nuanced overview on this topic.
19
For example a traveler named Kimuro Bōun wrote that he was surprised to see how freely women roamed around
Miyako (the old capital city in the east, today’s Kyōto), in comparison to in Edo. See Timon Screech, “Comparison
of Cities,” in An Edo Anthology: Literature from Japan’s Mega-City, 1750–1850, ed. Sumie Jones et al. (Honolulu:
University of Hawai’i Press, 2012), 443–444.

8
  

places in the commoner zone. When they needed to pass through or near this zone in order to

visit the houses and estates of their extended family across the city, they traveled in a boat and/or

a litter (similar to a palanquin) called a kago [駕籠]. When samurai women were required to

engage with people in the commoner zone, they usually had their female maids run the necessary

errands. Commoner women, by contrast, had more freedom of mobility; for instance, they could

go out to watch theater and artistic performances, although they likely had to travel in a group.

Unlike samurai women, they might have run some errands on their own, but the errands tended

to be limited to their own neighborhoods.20

By contrast, one category of people who were highly mobile in Edo were street and

theater performers, as well as female entertainers called geisha. People in these occupation

groups were considered the underclass, situated below the commoner status. Whether male or

female, performers and entertainers had to constantly move around because Tokugawa and

neighborhood authorities attempted to push them out of every corner of the city. They inhabited

the less regulated areas at the borders of more established zones, such as bridges, temple

entrances, and streets whose management responsibility was unclear.21 Sex workers and

unlicensed female entertainers also used pleasure boats [yusan bune 遊山船] and temple

precincts located in the peripheries in order to attract male customers.22 Thus, women who were

                                                                                               
20
It was also common to visit family temples, where their ancestors were enshrined. This is one of the practices that
are still in place in Japanese society. On the daily life of Edo people, see Matsunosuke Nishiyama, Edo Culture:
Daily Life and Diversions in Urban Japan, 1600–1868 (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 1997), 7–91.
21
On street and theater performers, see Ibid., 181–249; Gerald Groemer, Street Performers and Society in Urban
Japan, 1600–1900: The Beggar’s Gift (New York: Routledge, 2016). On other people in the underclass, who
inhabited streets and other urban spaces, see Tsukada Takashi 塚田孝, Kinsei Nihon Mibunsei No Kenkyū 近世日本
身分制の研究 [A Study on the Statys System in Premodern Japan] (Kōbe: Hyōgo Buraku Mondai Kenkyūjo, 1987),
205–337; Tsukada Takashi 塚田孝, ed., Mibunteki Shūen to Kinsei Shakai 4: Toshi No Shūen Ni Ikiru 身分的周緣
と近世社会 4：都市の周緣に生きる [Marginalized Social Groups and the Early Modern Society 4: Inhabiting
the Peripheries of Cities] (Tokyo: Yoshikawa Kōbunkan, 2006). This nine-volume series Marginalized Social
Groups and the Early Modern Society provides nuanced glimpses into a wide variety of lives of such populations.
22
On prostitution in Tokugawa Japan, see Amy Stanley, Selling Women: Prostitution, Markets, and the Household
in Early Modern Japan (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2012).

9
  

considered reputable only appeared outside of the home when they were in transit to another

destination, and their presence in these non-domestic spaces was limited to short periods of

time.23

In the course of modernizing institutions and systems during the Meiji period, the

national government incrementally eliminated this bounded hereditary status system. In 1871,

the state created a national family register [koseki 戸籍], which did not list individuals by their

status, but instead established the household as the new unit by which to directly monitor and

manage the entire nation. The previous status distinctions did not disappear overnight, as we will

see, they exerted less influence and took different forms over time. But technically, the

elimination of status from the family register allowed all citizens to choose their own

occupations and where to live, regardless of which family they were born into. Given the intense

link that had been established between social and spatial structures in the Edo period, the

abolishment of the status system during the Meiji period also unsettled the ways in which spaces

in the city were managed and organized. Most notably, the lords, including the Shogun, were

required to return their tenure of vast lands to the national government. These lands were then

                                                                                               
23
As feminist historians have recently revealed, women started appearing in outdoor spaces for longer travels
especially in the late Edo period, when the restrictive strucutures and rules were becoming easier to circumvent on a
case-by-case basis. While these case studies indicate the increasing power of Tokugawa women in this period, the
fact that women had to subvert the system just to move their bodies through different spaces suggests the level of
restrictions placed on women’s everyday mobility. See, for example, Laura Nenzi, Excursions in Identity: Travel
and the Intersection of Place, Gender, and Status in Edo Japan (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Pres, 2008);
Marcia Yonemoto, “Outside the Inner Quarters: Sociability, Mobility and Narration in Early Edo-Period Women’s
Diaries,” Japan Forum 21, no. 3 (2010): 389–401; Yamamoto Shino 山本志乃, “Tabi Nikki Ni Miru Kinsei Makki
No Josei No Tabi: Tabi No Taishūka Eno Ichiduke Wo Meguru Ichikousatsu 旅日記にみる近世末期の女性の
旅：「旅の大衆化」への位置づけをめぐる一考察 [Travel of Women in the Late Early Modern Period
Observed in Travel Diaries:A Study on Its Positioning Relative to the Popularization of Traveling],” Kokuritsu
Rekishi Minzoku Hakubutsukan Kenkyū Hōkoku 国立歴史民俗博物館研究報告 [Bulletin of the National Museum
of Japanese History] 155 (2010): 1–19; Marcia Yonemoto, The Problem of Women in Early Modern Japan
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 2016). Social historian Bébio Amaro distinguishes modern Japanese
women’s presence in outdoor spaces by using the concept of “prolonged presence” as opposed to “transient
presence” of premodern women. See Bébio Amaro, “Gender and Urban Space in Edo” (paper, European Social
Science History Conference, Belfast, UK, April 2018), 8.

10
  

redeveloped and redistributed by the state. Furthermore, the 1873 Land Tax Reform [Chiso

Kaisei 地租改正] established a new system of land property administration. The government

conducted a nationwide land survey and issued deeds to the identified landowners. By doing so,

most of the lands in Japan were reclassified into two categories, depending on the owner type:

governmental [kanyū chi 官有地] or private lands [minyū chi 民有地]. The resulting land

register, where the specifications and owners of the lands were recorded, allowed for land

properties to be taxed and traded. Regardless of their former status, then, any citizen could own a

piece of land.24

New Mechanisms for Ordering Society and Space

Under this new system, people began reinterpreting, rearranging, and redeveloping

spaces on these recently commodified lands in Japanese cities. In comparison to the Tokugawa

capital of Edo, the modern capital city of Tokyo was often characterized as a more democratic

space, where people from different walks of life could interact with each other. Tokyo also took

on a new symbolic significance after the Meiji Restoration, as it became the center for imperial

power; it was here that the Emperor – whose political power was neglected during the Tokugawa

military reign – re-established himself as the leader of the nation.25 In his book A Guide to

Greater Tokyo, which was written to introduce the histories and cultures of the expanding

metropolitan area to the audience in the 1920s, urban ethnographer Kon Wajirō summarizes the

breadth of these changes:

                                                                                               
24
On Land Tax Reform, see Takishima Isao 滝島功, Toshi to Chiso Kaisei 都市と地租改正 [Cities and Land Tax
Reform] (Tokyo: Yoshikawa Kōbunkan, 2003); Yokoyama Yuriko 横山百合子, Meiji Ishin to Kinsei Mibunsei No
Kaitai 明治維新と近世身分制の解体 [Meiji Restoration and the Fall of Early Modern Status System] (Tokyo:
Yamakawa Shuppansha, 2005).
25
On how the Emperor restored his power, see Gordon, A Modern History of Japan: From Tokugawa Times to the
Present, 60–180.

11
  

The scene has been changed. The great restoration has been completed. Also, Edo has
been reconceptualized as Tokyo, the new imperial capital. A new order has been born,
and the city, which was once weakened, has been restored. In the secluded, feudal era, it
used to be a military castle city ruled by the Shogun. But it is now an imperial capital that
has incorporated Western-style cultures and parliament. Lords have returned the lands to
the government. The government has been centralized in Tokyo. The city has the honor
of being the new center of the nation for the first time.26

Kon’s repeated use of “new” in this narrative communicates the heightened sense of change and

novelty of the period. “All the old things were replaced by new ones,” continues Kon.27

Notably, however, this narrative of modern Tokyo as a story of unidirectional progress

focuses on the fall of traditional systems, while ignoring the emergence of new kinds of divisions

between people with different backgrounds. While it was true that social status was no longer the

sole characteristic used to define one’s relationship with spaces in the city, social categories did

not simply disappear upon the abolishment of the status system; instead, other characteristics,

such as a person’s economic status and other socio-cultural distinctions, including gender, started

                                                                                               
26
Kon, Shinban Dai Tokyo Annai 新版 大東京案内 [New Edition, A Guide to Greater Tokyo] (Tokyo: Chuo Kōron
Sha, 1929), 25. Unless otherwise noted, I translate all Japanese sentences into English in this dissertation.
Original: 舞台は転換する。維新の大業が成つた。そして新たに帝都として、舷に江戸が東京に改められ
た。新らしい秩序が成つて、一時の衰弱が回復された。鎖国封建時代の将軍の大城下だつたのに対し
て、今や西欧文化をとり入れた皇政の首都となつた。諸侯はその封土を奉還し、東京に置かれた中央政
府が全国の政治をやることになつた。中央集権の組織であるが、その全国の中心の都市としての新たな
る栄誉を初めて荷つたわけである。
27
Ibid., 29.
すべての旧いものは新らしきにかへられた。
While Kon was not a historian specialized in Meiji Restoration per se, other historians of Meiji Restorations have
written extensively about such drastic social, political, cultural, and spatial changes in Tokyo, which were prompted
by Meiji Restoration. See, for example, Tamaki Hajime 玉木肇, Meiji Ishin No Shohenkaku Ga Seikatsu Yōshiki Ni
Oyoboshita Shoeikyō 明治維新の諸變革が生活樣式に及ぼした諸影響 [Influences of Changes after Meiji
Restoration on the Lifestyles] (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1932); Imanishi Hajime 今西一, “Bunmei Kaika Seisaku
No Tenkai 文明開化政策の展開 [Development of Cultural Enlightenment],” in Kōza Meiji Ishin 4: Kindai Kokka
No Keisei 講座明治維新 4：近代国家の形成 [Lectures on Meiji Restoration 4: The Construction of the Modern
Nation State], ed. Meiji Ishin Shigakkai 明治維新史学会 (Tokyo: Yūshisha, 2012), 21–55; Sasaki Suguru 佐々木
克, Edo Ga Tokyo Ni Natta Hi: Meiji Ninen No Tokyo Sento 江戸が東京になった日：明治二年の東京遷都 [Edo
Became Tokyo: Establishing the New Capital of Tokyo in 1869] (Tokyo: Kōdansha, 2001). The works of Tamaki
and Imanishi are part of the book series that exclusively focus on the histories of Meiji Restoration.

12
  

to define one’s life opportunities.28 Importantly, because the new family register embraced the

ideal of the patriarchal family, biological sex was officially incorporated as one primary factor

that defined one’s place in modern society. This way of ordering the family and household had

previously made sense only in higher social status households. As social historian Yokoyama

Yuriko argues, in the Edo period, micro-social orders were maintained and contained within

small groups, which were organized by the members’ statuses and occupations. People needed to

comply with laws and ordinances, but these pertained only to their own social group. However,

the 1896 Meiji Civil Code – a nationwide body of laws governing private life – legalized the

principle of male heads of the household. Unless there was an inevitable reason for a female

family member to head the household, the first son was designated the heir of the family. Female

members, on the other hand, were placed in a subordinate position, typically supervised and

supported by their fathers, husbands, or sons. A woman’s life thus came to depend heavily on

how the head of the household decided to manage her.29 By extending these principles to all

households across the nation, the Civil Code also created a uniformity in regulating gendered

roles that that had not existed previously.

When the national government started enforcing ideals that came from the upper social

strata across all groups, the preexisting micro-social orders – as well as the organization of

domestic and public spaces – were upset, overwhelmed, and contested. Historians of late

                                                                                               
28
On the early reorganization of the city and how the social categories were embedded in it, see Matsuyama
Megumi 松山恵, Edo, Tokyo No Toshishi: Kindai Ikōki No Toshi, Kenchiku, Shakai 江戸・東京の都市史: 近代移
行期の都市・建築・社会 [An Urban History of Edo-Tokyo: City, Architecture, and Society in the Changing
Capital of Japan, 1850–1920] (Tokyo: Tokyo Daigaku Shuppankai, 2014).
29
On the significance of Meiji Civil Code, see Sato, The New Japanese Woman: Modernity, Media, and Women in
Interwar Japan, 20, 37–38. Especially, Chapter I of Book I, “Persons,” and Chapter II of Book IV, “The Head and
Members of a House,” pertain to the restrictions on women’s official capacity. For the original civil code, see Japan
Mnistry of Justice, “Minpō 民法（明治二十九年法律第八十九号） [The Civil Code (Act No. 89 of 1896)],”
http://www.japaneselawtranslation.go.jp/law/detail/?id=2057&vm=04&re=01&new=1, accessed November 18,
2018.

13
  

nineteenth-century Japan have recently started to recognize that the collapse of the Tokugawa

social order led to a shared sense of ambiguity across all new classes and groups.30 The ways in

which the national government and eventually Japanese people at large treated women in modern

Tokyo, as well as the ways in which women contested their treatment, exemplified this broader

reorganization of society.31 This dissertation interrogates these interrelationships between space

and society and how they changed in the process of establishing modernity in Japan.  

Urbanity as a Process

Once “rule by status” was no longer the sole principle, how was space reordered in

relation to gender? In particular, how did women contest and thwart expectations by leaving the

home and entering these new public spaces in Tokyo? To address these questions, I build on two

methods for understanding cities and architecture: first, an approach that examines urbanity as a

process, and second, the ethnography of architecture. Using the urbanity-as-a-process approach, I

examine modern Tokyo as an ongoing project that was constructed by multiple stakeholders and

forces, rather than designed merely by professionals, such as architects, planners, and policy

makers. In the words of social historian Patrick Joyce, I focus on the “social ordering” of the city

“as a fluid, open and many-stranded activity,” rather than assuming “a static and monolithic

social order.”32 As such, this dissertation is not a study of how planned neighborhoods and

                                                                                               
30
The relationships between social group, status, and occupation in the Edo period was extremely complex. But the
gist is that the small social groups were fairly self-contained and autonomous. Unlike Meiji government, Tokugawa
shogunate did not often enforce the same principle on the entire nation. Yokoyama discusses how the constellation
of multiple social orders collapsed when Meiji government started treating the entire population in a monolithic
way. See Yokoyama, Edo-Tokyo No Meiji Ishin 江戸東京の明治維新 [Meiji Restoration in Edo-Tokyo] (Tokyo:
Iwanami Shoten, 2018), esp.172.
31
Such constant categorization of people was inevitable part of modernity in general. As sociologist Anthony
Giddens has contended, in the post-traditional period when uncertainty and anxiety runs high due to increased
possibilities for individuals, people constantly gauge their place in the society. Anthony Giddens, Modernity and
Self-Identity: Self and Society in the Late Modern Age (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1991).
32
Using this approach, Joyce argues that the seeming freedom was the principle that defined and governed people’s
lives in modern London and Manchester. See Patrick Joyce, The Rule of Freedom: Liberalism and the Modern City
(London: Verso, 2003), 6.

14
  

infrastructure, as well as signature buildings in Tokyo, represented modernity and the new order

of Japanese society. Rather, it is a study of the processes by which people from different

backgrounds invested the city with various social meanings to produce complex socio-spatial

orders.

One seminal study of modern cities that employs this framework is Cities in Modernity:

Representations and Productions of Metropolitan Space, 1840–1930 by geographer Richard

Dennis. Using cases from London, New York, Chicago, and Toronto, Dennis takes up Joyce’s

idea of spatial ordering, along with other theories about the production of space, to demonstrate

ways of seeing modern cities from above and below. He understands modern urbanity as a

process that embodies both top-down design and people’s everyday spatial practices. Notably,

Dennis relies on the notion of “spatial trialectics,” developed by the social theorist Henri

Lefebvre, as well as the concepts of spatial “strategies” and “tactics” developed by Michel de

Certeau. Lefebvre conceptualizes space as a product of negotiations between “representational

space,” such as ideologies and imagination, “representations of space,” such as designed

buildings and infrastructure, and “spatial practices,” or how people use spaces on an everyday

basis. Similarly illuminating the agency of people who are traditionally deemed irrelevant to how

a city is produced, de Certeau refers to the work of professional city planning and design as

“strategies” and to ordinary people’s uses of space as “tactics.” Although Dennis’s analysis

concentrates more on representations of space and strategies than on these other aspects, he also

illustrates “the messiness” of modern cities, or, as he puts it, “the paradoxes of order and

diversity, rationalism and pluralism, modernisation and modernism, representations of space and

spatial practice.”33

                                                                                               
33
Richard Dennis, Cities in Modernity: Representations and Productions of Metropolitan Space, 1840-1930, Repr.
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 26, 349. On the theories Dennis relies on, see Henri Lefebvre, The

15
  

While Dennis focuses on British and North American cities, a similar approach has also

emerged among scholars who study Tokyo. Since the 1980s, planning and architectural

historians have emphasized the challenges and quirks evident in the modernization practices of

planners in Tokyo.34 For example, the architectural historian Fujimori Terunobu highlights the

struggles of planners and architects who were in charge of designing structures to fill the vacant

lands that were returned to the government after the end of the Tokugawa regime. While

focusing on major governmental projects of urban planning, Fujimori’s study sheds light on the

difficulty of implementing new designs on the spatial legacy of Edo, rather than assuming the

success of modern urban planning in Japan.35 In fact, as other scholars have noted, planners

developed unique tactics to tackle the challenges of implementing planning projects in Japanese

cities. For instance, the planning historian Ishida Yorifusa delves into the process of executing

planned developments. In so doing, he reveals how such projects in Japan depended on small

land readjustments for the purpose of making way for infrastructure, instead of sweeping

expropriation. This tactic was a product of negotiations that unfolded between the city’s existing

stakeholders, including, notably, different types of landowners. Ishida’s study is innovative in

suggesting the fragility of planning and the power of everyday practices in shaping modern urban

spaces in Japan.36 In addition to governmental plans, scholars have explored the ways that

private real estate developers also gained influence on the city’s transformation in the twentieth

                                                                                               
Production of Space (Cambridge: Oxford University Press, 1991); Michel de Certeau, The Practice of Everyday Life
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984).
34
This trend was particularly called Tokyo Studies [Tokyo Ron 東京論]. On the genealogy and discussion of Tokyo
Studies, see Kenchiku Shi Gakkai 建築史学会, “Tokyo Ron Sono Go 東京論その後 [After Tokyo Studies],”
Kenchiku Shi Gaku 建築史学 [Architectural History] 47 (2006): 103–35.
35
Fujimori Terunobu 藤森照信, Meiji No Tokyo Keikaku 明治の東京計画 [Tokyo Plan in the Meiji Period]
(Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 2004).
36
Ishida Yorifusa 石田頼房, Nihon Kingendai Toshi Keikaku No Tenkai: 1868–2003 日本近現代都市計画の展開:
1868–2003 [Development of Urban Planning in Modern and Contemporary Japan, 1868–2003] (Tokyo: Jichitai
Kenkyūsha, 2004).

16
  

century. In his edited volume, for instance, housing historian Yamaguchi Hiroshi and other

authors demonstrate how developers converted former vacant urban lands and rural agricultural

fields to residential neighborhoods, inviting commercial and educational institutions to the

developing districts.37 These various studies highlight relatively powerful professionals in

architecture and urban planning, such as lesser-known governmental officials, architects,

planners, and real estate developers. Yet collectively, these scholars have incorporated a

sensibility to spatial practices that paves the way toward understanding the transformation of

Tokyo as a complex process.

A focus on the messiness, paradoxes, and complexity of the process of city making is

especially useful for this dissertation. Indeed, women would not appear in these stories at all, if

we traced the production of the city only through signature planning and building projects, which

depended on decision-making by architects, planners, and government officials – professions

that generally required university-level specialized education. As I will discuss in the first case

study in Chapter 1, women did not have access to university-level education and training in pre-

WWII Japan.38 As women were systematically excluded from these positions that had direct

control over the organization of space, it was through their spatial practices that women were

able to be engaged in the transformation of the city. In this dissertation, I include female users of

                                                                                               
37
Yamaguchi Hiroshi 山口廣, “Tōkyō No Kōgai Jūtakuchi 東京の郊外住宅地 [Suburban Residential
Developments in Tokyo],” in Kōgai Jutakuchi No Keifu: Tokyo No Denen Yutopia 郊外住宅地の系譜: 東京の田
園ユートピア [Genealogy of Suburban Developments: Garden Utopia in Tokyo], ed. Yamaguchi Hiroshi 山口廣
(Tokyo: Kajima Shuppankai, 1987), 6–42.
38
While a few female architects trained overseas started their careers before WWII, most emerged after the war. On
the pioneers of female architectural professionals, see Matsukawa Junko 松川淳子 et al., “Nihon Ni Okeru Senzen
Sengo No Sōsōki No Josei Kenchikuka 日本における戦前戦後の草創期の女性建築家・技術者 [Female
Architects and Technicians in Japan before and after WWII],” Jūtaku Sōgō Kenkyū Zaidan Nenpō 住宅総合研究財
団研究年報 [Annals of Housing Research Foundation] 30 (2004): 251–62.

17
  

urban spaces as stakeholders in the making of the city, in part by identifying the uneven and

contingent nature of the process itself.

In the following chapters, I investigate some of the unstable and at times contradictory

forces that contributed to the spatial ordering of Tokyo during this period, by looking closely at

three cases based on the incidents mentioned earlier. This approach, which uses specific

encounters in places to understand the ordering of a city, is inspired by the work of architectural

historian Suzuki Hiroyuki.39 Suzuki depicts Tokyo as “a city that was constructed as a sum of

actions for various possibilities, by people who lived and owned part of it,” through stories of

twelve different places in the city. His approach, in turn, was inspired by Georgian London, a

study on Georgian estates and their relationships with the transformation of London, by British

architectural historian John Summerson.40 Foregrounding urban sites as the terrain where

political, economic, social, and cultural contexts converged to define people’s activities therein,

Suzuki demonstrates how various types of landowners, who gained power due to the new system

of property administration, became catalysts for transformation in their surrounding landscapes.

In the stories he tells, a single site sometimes affects the broader transformation of the city. Other

times, social, cultural, economic, and ideological forces bring people and things to particular

places. In other words, Suzuki shows the active roles of specific places themselves in the

transformation of the city’s entire structure.

Much like Suzuki, I explore the transformation of Tokyo through the histories of

particular places in the city. I focus on a campus for higher education (Tsuda College), a public

park (Ueno Park), and a department store (Mitsukoshi), in order to shed light on female spatial

                                                                                               
39
Suzuki Hiroyuki, Tokyo No Genius Loci 東京の地霊 [Genius Loci of Tokyo], Paperback (Tokyo: Chikuma
Gakugei Bunko, 2009).
40
John Summerson, Georgian London, Revised ed (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1962).

18
  

users as contributors to changing urban spaces. In deciding to focus my attention on these

particular spaces, I followed several main criteria. First, all three of these spaces were new types

of urban spaces that were established after the collapse of the status system. The national

government established systems for education and for public parks in the 1870s, while retailers

started experimenting with the department store model in the 1890s. Moreover, within these new

types of spaces, the mechanisms for spatial ordering were relatively flexible and unstable. As I

will discuss in the case studies, while the stakeholders in power attempted to articulate gendered

ideals through their spatial ordering, they were not always sure of how they should position and

treat women. The undecided nature of these projects offers an opportunity to illuminate how

women users contributed to the ongoing, dynamic formation of spatial mechanisms. Second,

focusing on these three kinds of spaces allows me to directly challenge existing studies, by

scholars who have tended to highlight only the contributions of male government officials,

architects, and corporate managers in the designs of campuses, parks, and department stores.

This dissertation is a strategic effort to revisit these spaces through the lens of women’s spatial

uses and perceptions, thereby complicating more familiar narratives that focus on male

expertise.41  

Ethnography of Architecture

To understand women’s interactions with non-domestic spaces, I use an approach that is

known as the ethnography of architecture, which has been developed primarily by folklorists

studying material culture. This approach draws on work by folklorist Dell Hymes, whose

framework of “the ethnography of speaking” interprets uses of language in socio-cultural

contexts. Expanding on Hymes’ approach, the ethnography of architecture privileges uses and

                                                                                               
41
Detailed discussions on existing studies can be found at the beginning of each chapter.

19
  

perceptions of specific spaces, rather than their forms and construction.42 For example, folklorist

Michel Ann Williams demonstrates that changes in social uses of architecture can occur even

when formal elements of houses remain intact; in turn, physical changes, she argues, do not

necessarily entail immediate changes in social behaviors.43 Similarly, another folklorist Gerald L.

Pocius shows that Newfoundland’s traditions remain embedded in human relationships and in

people’s uses of space, even as the place itself is considered to be modernized or even invaded

by modern and global consumer culture.44 Both Williams and Pocius highlight the discrepancies

between designated spatial functions and actual spatial practices. I use this approach as a strategy

to think explicitly about women’s interactions with non-domestic spaces; women in Meiji Japan

had few opportunities to make physical modifications to non-domestic spaces, but they were

inventive in how they used these spaces.

In the ethnography of architecture, uses of the physical spaces are interpreted vis-à-vis

immediate and broader contexts through first-hand accounts, such as oral testimonials and other

textual documents that detail social situations. Because the cases that I use in this dissertation

date back to the late nineteenth century, more than a hundred years ago, oral histories of women

who actually used these spaces are hard to come by. Intimate unpublished records of ordinary

people, such as personal diaries and oral histories, tend not to be systematically archived in

Japan.45 Therefore, in order to make contextual interpretations of the built environment, I rely

                                                                                               
42
On the ethnography of architecture approach and critiques of material culture studies focusing on forms, see
Michael Ann Williams and M. Jane Young, “Grammar, Codes, and Performance: Linguistic and Sociolinguistic
Models in the Study of Vernacular Architecture,” Perspectives in Vernacular Architecture 5 (1995): 40–51. On
Hymes’s theory of speaking, see Dell Hymes, “The Ethnography of Speaking,” Anthropology and Human Behavior
13, no. 53 (1962): 11–74.
43
Michael Ann Williams, Homeplace: The Social Use and Meaning of the Folk Dwelling in Southwestern North
Carolina (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1991).
44
Gerald L. Pocius, A Place to Belong: Community Order and Everyday Space in Calvert, Newfoundland (Athens:
University of Georgia Press, 1991).
45
On the scattered personal records and unavailability of intimate records of ordinary people, see Rui Kohiyama,
“Women’s History at the Cutting Edge in Japan,” Women’s History Review 27, no. 1 (2018): 58–70.

20
  

upon and synthesize two main types of evidence. The first is spatial evidence, including maps,

architectural drawings, photographs, illustrations, and documents on spatial regulations. These

sources vary, and they include pieces taken from professional journals, public records of laws

and regulations, and archives of relevant organizations. The other is ethnographic evidence,

including some rare published and unpublished diaries, as well as first-hand accounts and

expressions in magazines, newspapers, and publications of relevant organizations. By “relevant

organizations,” I refer to groups and places with which women were affiliated outside of the

home, such as schools, workplaces, and organizations for other activities, such as charity work,

self-cultivation, and socializing. Here, I rely primarily on archives and internal publications,

often called bulletins. In any scale of organization in modern Japan, internal bulletins were a

primary means of communication, much like blogs or social media platforms today. Because

these bulletins were published and distributed in multiple places, research libraries have

collected and archived them more systematically than personal diaries. While these sources still

tend to be scattered around different libraries, other historians have also found bulletins to be

useful sources for exploring women’s political and non-political group activities.46

I synthesize these two kinds of evidence – spatial and ethnographic – to varied degrees

across each of the three case studies, largely because the types of archival evidence available

                                                                                               
46
Studies relying on internal bulletins of women’s organizations include: Ishiduki Shizue 石月静恵, Senkanki No
Josei Undō 戦間期の女性運動 [Women’s Movements in the Interwar Period] (Osaka: Tōhō Shuppan, 1996);
Sheldon Garon, “Women’s Groups and the Japanese State: Contending Approaches to Political Integration, 1890–
1945,” Journal of Japanese Studies 19, no. 1 (1993): 5–41; Matsumoto Keiko 松本佳子, “Taishō-Shōwa Shoki No
Hanshinkan Kōgai Jūtakuchi Ni Okeru Josei No Gaishutsu-Kōsai Ni Kansuru Kenkyu 大正・昭和初期の阪神間郊
外住宅地における女性の外出・交際に関する研究 [Women’s Going Out and Socializing in the Hanshinkan
Residential Suburbs in the Taishō and Early Shōwa Periods]” (Doctor of Home Economics diss., Mukogawa
Women’s University, 2000); Kondō Mikako 近藤未佳子, “Nihon Ni Okeru Josei No Toshi-Kankyō Kaizen-
Katsudō No Tenkai: 1920–70 Nendai: Tōkyō-to Kubu No Jirei Wo Chushin To Shite 日本における都市環境改善
活動の展開, 1920–70 年代: 東京都区部の事例を中心として [Women in the Movement for Improving the Urban
Environment in Japan, the 1920s–70s: Focusing on the Case of the Tokyo Wards]” (Doctor of Engineering diss.,
University of Tokyo, 2009).

21
  

varies considerably. For example, in the first case study, I use maps, architectural drawings, and

photos, as well as testimonials from school bulletins, to explore campuses for women’s higher

education. In the second case study, my interpretation of an urban park revolves more around

park regulations, as found in public records, as well as women’s social gathering venues, as

identified through bulletins of women’s organizations. In the third chapter, I synthesize

schematic plans of a department store with employee directories and first-hand accounts by

managers and female workers. I discuss the evidence I use in more detail at the beginning of

each chapter.

Because the evidence is fragmentary and diverse, my interpretations in each case study

also span different scales and address distinct aspects of social life. In each case, however, I

begin by asking what brought women to spaces outside of the home. While my interpretative

emphases vary, the analysis of each case is thus guided by a set of similar questions. Who were

the stakeholders in power? Who initiated these mechanisms for gendering space? What did

women want to achieve by visiting these places? How did women interact with the social and

spatial ordering mechanisms that were in play? What were the meanings of these places for

women, as well as for the stakeholders in power? How and when did these different meanings

become contested – or work in sync? Taken together, the three case studies offer ways of

understanding how the spatial mechanisms that regulated gender mattered across different scales,

from the national level, as manifested in policies like the Civil Code, to the ways that women

were able to study, walk around, or work to earn wages in the city. By doing so, I offer nuanced,

detailed glimpses into everyday life, instead of a comprehensive view of women's spatial uses of

modern Tokyo.  

22
  

Structure of the Work

The following chapters include three case studies and an overall conclusion. The first

case study traces the development of the campus for Tsuda College – the women’s school that

Kiyota attended – from 1900 to 1931. Although the national government excluded women from

the system of higher education through a set of ordinances, the students, teachers, and

administrators at Tsuda College still managed to expand the school incrementally. Working

independently, they contested the exclusionary educational system by identifying and scraping

together alternative funding sources in order to accommodate the growing need for women’s

higher education. After moving around the city twice to find an ideal place, the school finally

established their first purpose-built campus in 1931 in Kodaira Village, a former agricultural

village and later a suburb on the outskirts of Tokyo. As I discuss, achieving independence from

governmental and corporate resources gave Tsuda College students and staff a sense of pride and

empowerment. This chapter shows that one unexpected consequence of the exclusion from the

educational system was the expansion – not the decline – of women’s higher education, contrary

to the government’s intentions.

The second case study interrogates women’s spatial uses for shakō [社交], or

systematized activities for socializing. From the 1880s on, the national government and male

intellectuals started encouraging women to become more comfortable outside of the home and to

socialize. While such encouragement might seem incongruent with the ideal of female

domesticity, it actually aligned with these values; women were expected to socialize for the

purpose of better serving their families and the nation. This chapter traces the gathering places of

two of the earliest women’s organizations that emerged in the Meiji period for shakō – TEGSAA

and Japan Women’s Association for Education [Dai Nihon Fujin Kyōiku Kai 大日本婦人教育

23
  

会, or JWAE]. Because women neither owned nor had access to dedicated spaces for their shakō,

they repurposed homes, places that they already frequented or were familiar with, and public

parks, and started using them for gatherings. Interpreting these creative spatial uses for

gatherings vis-a-vis the social context, this chapter illustrates, in particular, the significance of

public parks, which were established by the national government in 1873.47 Unlike the case of

higher education, the government regulated parks to include and even encourage women users.

As we will see, part of the government’s intention in deploying women to these spaces was to

serve as an antidote to the problem of violent and noisy men, who met in the parks for political

gatherings. This plan, however, had unintended consequences. This chapter illustrates how

women took advantage of this opportunity to use parks in order to achieve their purpose of

having regular gatherings.

The third case study focuses on the flagship store of Mitsukoshi Department Store, a

popular workplace for women, where Furuya started as one of the first saleswomen in 1901. As

part of the reconfiguration of Japanese society around the turn of the twentieth century, kimono

textile stores transformed into department stores. As their clientele expanded to include not only

the upper classes but the emerging middle class, these stores became a place where people from

different economic and social backgrounds interacted with each other. At the same time, as a

commercial institution that embraced the modern value of constant change, department store

managers employed female store staff in locations where they expected high traffic and

exposure. Women were expected to use what I call “sensory capital,” or the visual, auditory,

olfactory, and tactile experiences that women workers provided. Yet, managers relied upon

                                                                                               
47
For JWAE, see Dai Nihon Fujin Kyōiku Kai 大日本婦人教育会, ed., Zaidan Hōjin Dai Nihon Fujin Kyōiku Kai
50 Shūnen Kiroku 財団法人日本婦人教育会五十周年記録 [A Fifty-Year Record of Japan Women’s Association
for Education] (Tokyo: Dai Nihon Fujin Kyōiku Kai, 1937). I elaborate on this organization in the second chapter.

24
  

women workers only to the extent that they offered something new and exotic; they could not be

too obtrusive to consumers, either. Sensitive to what visitors would experience in the store and

concerned with maintaining a sense of morality and propriety, managers constantly manipulated

the bodies of saleswomen, through complex strategies that were based on the principle of

separating men and women outside of work. By doing so, Mitsukoshi and other commercial

institutions devised a technology of gendered coexistence that selectively showed and hid

women’s presence in the store. This chapter demonstrates how the spatial management of the

store and the regulations on women’s bodies shifted between 1900 and 1927.

Finally, the conclusion steps back from the specifics of these case studies to consider the

broader spatial mechanisms for gendering across the three kinds of spaces. Most importantly, I

discuss what the case studies, which highlight the messy and contradictory nature of socio-spatial

ordering in modern Tokyo, can tell us. In doing so, I suggest that it was not only women who

were gauging their changing place in the city and in society after the collapse of the Tokugawa

social order; this process was also significant for the elite men who established most of the

gendering systems. I also discuss the methodological limitations, contributions, and implications

of this dissertation to the history of modern Japanese architecture and spatial studies of the

socially underrepresented more broadly.

25
  

Chapter 1: Spaces for Learning

Gender and the Making of a Campus for Higher Education, 1872–1931

 
It was April of 1901 when Kiyota took a rickshaw from Shinbashi Station to Tsuda College in

Tokyo. Shinbashi Station had been built in the eastern part of Tokyo in 1872, as the terminal

train station of the city.48 Tsuda College, one of the first institutions that focused on women’s

higher education in Japan, had opened several decades later, in September of 1900.49 In search of

better educational opportunities, Kiyota had traveled all the way from the northwestern rural

region of Hokuriku to be enrolled at Tsuda College as a freshman. Kiyota describes the

confusion she felt on her way from the station to the school on her first day:

It was my first time in Tokyo, so I had little idea and was just excited. I could not wait to
see [the school] and my eyes were darting around restlessly. Eventually, I started seeing
brick buildings lined up [along the street]. I was thinking, “This might be [my school],”
but the driver was passing them and continuing to go straight. While I was perplexed by
that, my sight caught the castle moat, which was recognizable to the eyes of provincials
like me. I was looking at the buildings on my left, thinking, “That might be [my school].”
But the driver passed them again. As I kept looking around, the driver finally stopped and
said, “Well, [we’ve] arrived.” It was a mansion with nagaya mon and shikidai, which
looked similar to what I could find in my hometown. I thought, “The driver must have
stopped at the wrong place.” But the sign stated, “Joshi Eigaku Juku [lit. House School of
English Studies for Girls].” I was startled and nervously rang the doorbell.50

                                                                                               
48
On the inception of Shinbashi Station, see Harada Katsumasa 原田勝正, Eki No Shakaishi 駅の社会史 [A Social
History of Train Stations] (Tokyo: Chuō Kōron Shinsha, 2015), 52–59.
49
Throughout this dissertation, I use “Tsuda College” to refer to the school that is now called “Tsudajuku Daigaku
津田塾大学” in Japanese. Umeko (a.k.a. Ume) Tsuda founded this school as “Joshi Eigaku Juku (lit. House School
of English for Girls)” in 1900. While it changed its name twice before World War II ended, it has been referred as
“Miss Tsuda’s School” or “Tsuda College” in English since the planning phase in the late nineteenth century. On the
early history of the school, see Tsuda Eigaku Juku 津田英学塾, ed., Tsuda Eigaku Juku Shijūnenshi 津田英学塾四
十年史 [Forty-Year History of Tsuda College] (Kodaira: Tsuda Eigaku Juku, 1941), 44–53. On the English names
of the school, see Tsudajuku Daigaku Hyakunenshi Hensan Īnkai 津田塾大学百年史編纂委員会, ed., Tsudajuku
Daigaku Hyakunenshi 津田塾大学百年史 [A Hundred-Year History of Tsuda College] (Kodaira: Tsudajuku
Daigaku, 2003), 143.
50
Kiyota, “Memories of Motozono Chō,” 10.
Original: （今から三十年前丁度目白の女子大学が出来た年でありました。一緒に北陸道から出て来た女
子大学行きの四五名の学生と新橋で別れて只一人一番行李を前に車に揺られ揺られ元園町指して[ママ]ま
ゐりました。）始めての [ママ] 上京ではあり見当もつかず、只わくわくと胸を騒がせながら今か今かと
左右を見廻はしてまゐりました。すると煉瓦の建築の並んだのが見えて来ました。此処かなと見てゐる

26
  

Kiyota’s narrative indicates the route the rickshaw took. The driver went west, then south, then

around the eastern side of the Imperial Palace, passing through the districts where the Western-

style buildings were constructed for the use of the new national government. These modern

buildings must have looked unfamiliar to Kiyota, compared to the wood-frame, Japanese-style

houses and shops in her hometown. She had a “bizarre image of the school as a Western-style

institution,” most likely because the very idea of higher education for women seemed modern

and foreign.51 As an institution that embodied this novel concept, Kiyota presupposed a novel

type of architecture. Contrary to her imagination, however, what she found was a timber-frame

house with a tall wooden gate called a nagaya mon, along with an elaborate entrance with a step

called a shikidai. Both features were typical of traditional Japanese mansions called yashiki [屋

敷].52 Indeed, the only feature by which she could identify this building as her school was the

nameplate. Kiyota was not the only student to be “startled” by how different the school was from

how she had envisioned it; other students described their first arrivals to the school in similar

ways. Using a traditional Japanese-style residence as a schoolhouse was against the cohesive

expectations of these new students at Tsuda College.53

                                                                                               
と、車屋がずんずん通り過ぎて仕舞ひます。ハテナと思つて居るうちに田舎者にも一目で解るお堀端に
出ました。あれかな？と左側にある建物を見て居ると又も通り過ぎます。キヨロキヨロして居る中に
「ヘエ此処です」とと梶棒を下ろされたところは自分の出て来た土地にもある様な、古めかしい門長屋
があつて式臺のある屋敷ではありませんか、「車屋さん間違へたな」と思つて門を見ると女子英学塾と
看板が掛つて居ります。一寸度肝を抜かれて恐る恐る大きな式臺のベルを押しました。
51
Ibid.
Original:暫御話して居る中に田舎娘の頭の中にあつた妙な西洋風な学校は消え失せて、長い畳廊下をこの
老婦人の須藤先生に導かれて寄宿の先輩方に引合はされた時に、三ツ指ついて御辞儀するのも極自然な
心持がしました。
52
See Ōkawa Naomi 大河直躬, Sumai No Jinruigaku: Nihon Shomin Jūkyo Saikō 住まいの人類学：日本庶民住
居再考 [Anthropology of Dwellings: Rethinking Japanese Ordinary Houses] (Tokyo: Heibonsha, 1986), 193–241.
In this book, architectural historian Ōkawa Naomi explains the gates and entrances of traditional Japanese houses.
53
Students mentioned their experiences of arrival at the school in the following recollections: Kumamoto Masae 隈
元政枝, “Sōritsu No Koro 創立のころ [When the School Was Established],” in Forty-Year History of Tsuda
College, ed. Tsuda Eigaku Juku, 465; Arahata Motoko 荒畑元子, “Motozono Chō Kara Goban Chō e 元園町から

27
  

Jumping off from these kinds of stories, this chapter explores spaces for women’s higher

education in Tokyo. Starting in 1872, the Ministry of Education, Science, and Culture (MESC)

built an intricate system of educational codes and introduced multiple ordinances that

discriminated against women. Despite this structural discrimination, however, I illustrate how

Tsuda College identified non-governmental resources and developed the school using alternative

techniques, such as repurposing buildings and expanding incrementally. For the students, having

to take an active role in the school expansion nurtured a sense of pride. Using student narratives,

I demonstrate how women at Tsuda College invested the built environment with heightened

social meanings through their involvement with the school. By examining how the process of

campus expansion was gendered, this chapter highlights women’s active roles in the

development of campuses for higher education in Tokyo between 1900 and 1931.  

Tsuda College and the Educational System in Modern Japan

The Meiji government started building a centralized educational system in 1872. Under

this new system, the MESC was granted the authority to establish governmental educational

institutions, as well as to accredit other municipal and private institutions. These institutions

were divided into several categories, such as elementary schools [shōgakko 小学校], middle

schools [chūgakko 中学校], higher schools [kōtō gakkō 高等学校], and universities [daigaku 大

学]. An MESC-accredited institution had to comply with particular stipulations that

corresponded to their relevant school category, including curriculum guidelines and facility

requirements. Even though MESC’s accreditation could limit the ways in which a school

                                                                                               
五番町へ [Moving From Motozono Chō to Goban Chō],” in Forty-Year History of Tsuda College, ed. Tsuda
Eigaku Juku, 469.

28
  

operated, most institutions sought it out. The absence of accreditation, on the other hand,

signaled to the wider society that a school was illegitimate.54

This educational system evolved with a set of national ordinances throughout the pre-

World War II period. At the turn of the twentieth century, elementary education was compulsory

for both girls and boys, and most schools were coeducational. The issue of single-sex education

came to be significant, however, once students reached higher level schools. In 1899, for the first

time, the MESC mandated all municipalities to establish public higher girls’ schools [kōtō

jogakko 高等女学校]. Girls between the ages of twelve and seventeen, who had graduated from

elementary schools, could now receive secondary education at these schools. However, their

training at the schools was mainly focused on moral education, in line with the ideology of

“good wives, wise mothers.” Boys of the same age, on the other hand, had the opportunity to

attend university-prep higher schools.

Higher education beyond this level was still meant predominantly for men, and it was

initially only the MESC that could establish universities. Eventually, with the passing of the

1918 University Order, the ministry started allowing municipal governments and private

organizations to also run public and private universities, respectively. These universities could be

coeducational, at least in theory, but in reality they continued to be male dominated. One reason

for this disparity was that the MESC required university entrants to meet certain admission

                                                                                               
54
The system was established by the 1872 Education System Order [Kyōiku Rei 教育令] and incrementally
amended by other ordinances, including the 1878 Imperial University Order [Teikoku Daigaku Rei 大学令], the
1886 Middle School Order [Chūgakkō Rei 中学校令], the 1899 Higher Girls’ School Order [Kōtō Jogakkō Rei 高等
女学校令], the 1903 Specialized School Order [Senmon Gakkō Rei 専門学校令], and the 1918 University Order
[Daigaku Rei 大学令]. On the educational system, see a comprehensive book edited by MESC: Monbushō 文部省,
ed., Gakusei Hyakunenshi 学制百年史 [A Hundred-Year History of Japan’s Educational System] (Tokyo: Teikoku
Chihō Gyōsei Gakkai, 1972). All translations of related technical terms, such as school categories and the names of
ordinances, follow the abbreviated English version of this book: Monbusho, ed., Japan’s Modern Educational
System: A History of the First Hundred Years (Tokyo: Research and Statistics Division, Minister’s Secretariat,
Ministry of Education Science and Culture, Government of Japan, 1980).

29
  

criteria. A typical applicant held or was about to receive a diploma from a university-prep higher

school. However, these schools stipulated that women were disqualified even for admission.

Consequently, by default, women could not even apply for universities except in special cases.55

This situation continued through World War II; the MESC did not accredit any women’s

universities until 1947, when the Supreme Commander for the Allied Powers intervened to urge

a reform of the educational system to reflect gender parity.

Because universities were unable to admit female students, a category of institutions

called specialized schools [senmon gakkō 専門学校] came to fulfill the growing needs of women

who wanted to pursue higher education. This niche is where Tsuda College entered the picture

around the turn of the century. The school was founded by Tsuda Umeko, a female teacher of

English who had completed most of her education in the United States. Her father, Tsuda Sen,

was a former samurai serving the Tokugawa shogunate, who later became a national government

official, entrepreneur, and educator. When Tsuda was young, her father applied for and got into

an experimental education program run by the government. As part of this program, Tsuda was

sent to the United States at the age of five, where she completed her secondary education in

Pennsylvania and New York. After returning to Tokyo in 1882, she taught English at Peeresses’

School [Kazoku Jogakko 華族女学校], an institution that was established for the daughters of

Japanese state nobility, known as kazoku [華族]. Because academic knowledge was not

                                                                                               
55
In 1913, Tōhoku University, one of the newly created governmental universities, started admitting licensed female
teachers on a case-by-case basis. Although some other universities followed this practice, this path was extremely
slim. On the first female university students, see Shiga Yuki 志賀祐紀, “Kuroda Chika to Makita Raku: Nihon
Hatsu No Joshi Daigakusei Tanjō to Tokyo Kōtō Shihan Gakkō, Tōhoku Teukoku Daigaku 黒田チカと牧田ら
く：日本初の女子大学生誕生と東京女子高等師範学校・東北帝国大学 [Kuroda Chika and Makita Raku: The
birth of the first female university students in Japan, Tokyo Women's Higher Normal School, and Tōhoku
University],” Tōhoku Daigaku Shiryōkan Dayori 東北大学史料館だより [Tōhoku University Archives Newsletter]
19 (2013): 4–5. The MESC did not accredit any women’s universities until 1947, when the Supreme Commander for
the Allied Powers intervened to urge a reform of the educational system to reflect gender parity.

30
  

considered necessary for women, these types of girls’ schools did not offer courses that were as

rigorous as Tsuda would have liked. In 1889, she returned to the United States, where she

studied biology as a non-degree student at Bryn Mawr College in Pennsylvania, along with

taking courses in pedagogy at Oswego Teachers’ Training School in the state of New York.

After her return to Japan in 1892, Tsuda taught at Meiji Girls’ School [Meiji Jogakkō 明治女学

校] and Tokyo Women’s Higher Normal School [Tokyo Joshi Kōtō Shihan Gakko 東京女子高

等師範学校]. The Higher Normal School, which focused on teacher training, was the only

institution beyond the secondary level to train women in the field of education. However, Tsuda

was still unsatisfied with the level of education that was provided for women. It was out of this

sense of frustration that she finally opened Tsuda College in 1900.56

While the category of specialized schools had existed since 1879, accreditation was only

granted to these schools on a case-by-case basis until the turn of the twentieth century. In 1903,

the MESC systematized the accreditation procedure, defining specialized schools as “schools of

higher-level arts and sciences.”57 Technically, specialized schools and universities were

considered to be on different educational tracks, rather than ranked hierarchically (Figure 1.1).

However, the MESC put in place restrictions that clearly situated specialized schools as below

universities in terms of prestige. For instance, specialized school education was typically a few

years shorter than a university education, which meant that graduates from these schools did not

receive a bachelor’s degree. Despite having this secondary status, aspiring specialized schools

                                                                                               
56
On Tsuda’s early life, see Tsuda Eigaku Juku, Forty-Year History of Tsuda College, 25–53; Barbara Rose, Tsuda
Umeko and Women’s Education in Japan (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1992), 1–123.
57
Monbu Kagakushō 文部科学省, “Senmon Gakkō Rei 専門学校令（明治三十六年三月二十七日勅令第六十
一号） [University Order (the 61st Edict of Japan in 1903)],”
http://www.mext.go.jp/b_menu/hakusho/html/others/detail/1318055.htm, accessed November 18, 2018. The first
article defines a specialized school: “Article One. Schools of higher-level arts and sciences are defined as
specialized schools.”
Original: 第一条 高等ノ学術技芸ヲ教授スル学校ハ専門学校トス

31
  

still applied for accreditation because it was the highest possible status they could obtain at the

time. Accordingly, Tsuda College applied for this accreditation as soon as the procedure was

systematized. In 1904, it became one of the first women-only specialized schools to be granted

this status. The other choice for women wishing to pursue higher education around the turn of

the century was the Japan Women’s University [Nihon Joshi Daigaku 日本女子大学, JWU],

which was run by a private individual. Men, meanwhile, had the option of two governmental

universities to attend.58

The Built Environment for Higher Education in Japan

Thus, women-only specialized schools like Tsuda College emerged out of the

government’s reluctance to include women in university education, as well as women’s own

desires to offer and receive an education that was more rigorous than what was deemed

appropriate by society at the time. Sociologists and scholars of education have noted the

significance of these institutions in supporting women’s higher education in pre-WWII Japan.59

However, the physical environment of women-only specialized schools has rarely been a subject

of serious scholarly investigation. Architectural and planning historians have neglected women-

                                                                                               
58
On the evolution of the educational system, see Amano Ikuo 天野郁夫, Kindai Nihon Kōtō Kyōiku Kenkyū 近代
日本高等教育研究 [A Study on Japan’s Modern Higher Education] (Machida: Tamagawa Daigaku Shuppanbu,
1988), 39–331.
59
For example, see Sasaki Keiko 佐々木啓子, Senzenki Joshi Koto Kyoiku No Ryoteki Kakudai Katei: Seifu Seito
Gakko No Dainamikusu 戦前期女子高等教育の量的拡大過程：政府・生徒・学校のダイナミクス [The
Process of Expanding Prewar Women’s Higher Education: The Dynamics of Government, Students, and Schools]
(Tokyo: Tōkyō Daigaku Shuppankai, 2002); Sasaki Keiko 佐々木啓子, “Dentōteki Kihan Kara Dakkyaku Shita
Shinchūkanso No Joseitachi: Senzenki Nihon Ni Okeru Joshi Kōtō Kyōiku Kakudai No Mekanizumu 伝統的価値
観から脱却した新中間層の女性たち：戦前期日本における女子高等教育拡大のメカニズム [New Middle-
Class Women Evaded Traditional Norms: Mechanisms of Expanding Women's Higher Education in Prewar Japan],”
in Josei to Kōtō Kyōiku: Kikai Kakuchō to Shakaiteki Sōkoku 女性と高等教育：機会拡張と社会的相克 [Women
and Higher Education: Expansions of Opportunities and Social Conflict], ed. Kawamura Sadae 河村貞枝 and
Kagawa Setsuko 香川せつ子 (Kyoto: Shōwadō, 2008), 196–223.

32
  

only specialized schools, while emphasizing the technical, aesthetic, and strategic innovations in

architectural design and planning for elite male-dominated universities in modern Japan.

In the history of modern Japanese architecture, women’s institutions have often been

considered marginal. After the Meiji Restoration, Japanese architects learned, interpreted, and

incorporated classic and modern styles, materials, and techniques from the West into Japanese

architecture. As architectural historian Suzuki Hiroyuki puts it, this first generation of Japanese

architects learned to interpret Western-style [yōfū 洋風] aesthetics and methods as

“technologies” of modernization. In other words, Japanese architects were less conscious of how

specific styles and techniques were originally produced or emerged from particular cultural or

aesthetic traditions. What was more important was that the new buildings employed something

different from the traditional Japanese style.60 The first generation of Japanese architects showed

off their command of these new technologies by applying their skills to prominent institutional

buildings, such as governmental facilities, hospitals, and, most relevant for this discussion,

schools. Therefore, historians have traditionally examined buildings of higher education as early

examples of how Meiji architects interpreted and used Western and Japanese techniques, as well

as how these buildings played key roles in the aesthetic and technological advancement of

modern Japanese architecture.61

To traditional architectural historians with such a focus, campuses of women’s schools

have been considered less cutting edge. They were often smaller in size, less elaborate in style,

and less innovative in terms of the technologies used to build them. They were also constructed

later than male-dominated institutions. Moreover, as I will elaborate later, these early women’s

                                                                                               
60
Suzuki, “What Is Modern Period?”
61
Nakatani Norihito 中谷礼仁, Kokugaku, Meiji, Kenchikuka: Kindai Nihonkoku Kenchiku No Keifu o Meggutte 国
学・明治・建築家：近代「日本国」建築の系譜をめぐって [Kokugaku, Meiji, Architects: On the Genealogy of
Architecture for the Modern Japanese Nation] (Tokyo: Hajōosha, 1993).

33
  

institutions tended not to be designed by architects, due to financial constraints. Tsuda College,

for instance, could not afford a design by a notable architect until the relocation of the campus in

1931. Up until the past few years, however, even this newer campus, which featured buildings

designed by the established architect Satō Kōichi, did not receive the attention of architectural

scholars. Before he took on the project of Tsuda College, Satō had designed better-known

buildings, such as the Ōkuma Auditorium at Waseda University – a male-dominated university –

and Hibiya Public Hall. Still, the professionally-designed campus of Tsuda College was

considered trivial among his works until recently. Moreover, even though scholars have started

paying attention to these lesser-known buildings at women-only schools, including JWU and

Tokyo Women’s Christian University [Tokyo Joshi Daigaku 東京女子大学, or TWCU], their

analyses still focus primarily on the architects and their design intents, rather than on the use of

these buildings. In other words, these studies have shifted the objects in question, but their

methods remain the same.62

                                                                                               
62
For example, see Abe Satoko 阿部聡子, “Tōkyō Joshi Daigaku Toshokan Zumen Ni Miru Antonin Rēmondo No
Sekkei Hōshin 東京女子大学図書館図面にみるアントニン・レーモンドの設計方針 [A Study on the Design
Concept of Antonin Raymond in the Library of Tokyo Women’s Christian University],” Nihon Kenchiku Gakkai
Gakujutsu Kōen Kōgaishu: Kenchiku Rekishi, Ishō 日本建築学会学術講演梗概集：建築歴史・意匠 [Summaries
of Technical Papers of Annual Meeting, Architectural Institute of Japan: Architectural History and Design] (2011):
335–36; Miyake Nami 三宅奈美 Yagi Shinji 八木真爾, “Tsudajuku Daigaku Ni Genzon Suru Shōwa Shoki RC-Zō
Daigaku Kishukusha Ni Tsuite 津田塾大学に現存する昭和初期 RC 造大学寄宿舎について [The Report on the
Dormitory of Tsuda College Completed with RC in Early Showa Era],” Summaries of Technical Papers of Annual
Meeting, Architectural Institute of Japan: Architectural History and Design (2012): 47–48; Miyake Nami et al.,
“Tsudajuku Daigaku Kyū Minami Monei No Jissoku Chōsa Hokoku 津田塾大学旧南門衛の実測調査報告 [Field
Measurement of the Former South Gate Guard in Tsuda College],” Summaries of Technical Papers of Annual
Meeting, Architectural Institute of Japan: Architectural History and Design (2013) 827–28; Minai Namiko 薬袋奈
美子 Nakano Natsuki 中野夏貴, “Satō Kōichi Ni Yoru Ryō Kenchiku No Kenkyū: Nihon Joshi Daigaku No Meikei
Ryō Wo Taishō to Shite 佐藤功一による寮建築の研究：日本女子大学の明桂寮を対象として [A Study of a
Dormitory Designed by Koichi Sato : In Regards to the Meikei Dormitory at Japan Women’s University],” Nihon
Joshi Daigaku Daigakuin Kiyō: Kaseigaku Kenkyū Ka, Ningen Seikatsugaku Kenkyū Ka 日本女子大学大学院紀
要：家政学研究科・人間生活学研究科 [Journal of Graduate School of Home Economics and Human Life
Science, Japan Women’s University] 22 (2016): 103–13.

34
  

While architectural historians have focused on the designs of the campuses and on

individual buildings, planning historians have interrogated the relationships between the

development of educational campuses and the broader transformation of the city, through

processes of urbanization and suburbanization. In particular, in the 1920s, real estate developers

started using the concepts of “academic city [gakuen toshi 学園都市]” and “university

neighborhoods [daigaku machi 大学町]” – somewhat similar to American “college towns” – to

develop rural areas on the edge of the city into suburban residential neighborhoods.63 In addition,

especially after the 1923 Great Kantō Earthquake, which devastated 44 percent of the city center,

schools started looking for larger sites to expand.64 The needs of these developers and schools

converged into the development of academic cities, driving the suburbanization of Tokyo.65

The planning historian Kikata Jun’ne explores these kinds of developments and their role

in suburbanization in the recent work. Focusing on the period from the 1910s onwards, he shows

that decisions about campus developments were not made solely by the architect, but through the

dynamic exchanges between various stakeholders, such as the MESC, school administrators,

emerging real estate developers, and landowners.66 While his approach is helpful, it was male-

dominated, high-profile educational institutions that tended to be chosen as collaborators for

                                                                                               
63
On American college towns, see Blake. Gumprecht, The American College Town (Amherst: University of
Massachusetts Press, 2008).
64
On how much of the city was devastated by the earthquake, see Naimushō Shakaikyoku 内務省社会局, ed.,
Taishō Shinsaishi Jō 大正震災史・上 [Records of Taishō Earthquake, Vol.1] (Tokyo: Iwanami shoten, 1926),
331–32.
65
One pioneer of academic city development is Hakone Land Company, which I will elaborate later in this chapter.
On the academic city neighborhoods, see, for example, Matsui Haruko 松井晴子, “Gakuen Toshi No Risō Wo
Motomete: Hakone Tochi No Ōizumi-Kodaira-Kunitachi No Kōgai Jūtaku Kaihatsu 学園都市の理想を求めて：
箱根土地の大泉・小平・国立の郊外住宅開発 [Toward the Ideal Academic City: Residential Development of
Ōizumi, Kodaira, and Kunitachi by Hakone Tochi],” in Genealogy of Suburban Developments: Garden Utopia in
Tokyo], ed. Hiroshi Yamaguchi, 221–36.
66
Kikata Jun’ne 木方十根, “Daigakumachi” Shutsugen: Kindai Toshi Keikaku No Arukemī 「大学町」出現：近
代都市計画の錬金術 [Appearance of “College Town”: Alchemy of Modern Urban Planning] (Tokyo: Kawade
Shobō Shinsha, 2010).

35
  

suburban developments. By contrast, the relationships between women’s institutions and broader

changes in the city’s structure have not been fully explored. While the system of higher

education was extremely gendered, the literature of planning history has not fully addressed how

these disparities were reflected in and produced by the process of developing these new spaces

for education across the city.

Gendered Politics and Meanings of Tsuda College Campus

In line with my broader focus on women’s social uses and perceptions of spaces in

modern Tokyo, my questions in this chapter revolve around why the built environment for

women’s higher education was considered so insignificant that architectural and planning

historians have neglected them until today. Why did their buildings end up being aesthetically

and technically less elaborate? Why were developers not interested in including women-only

schools in their academic city developments? How was the spatial marginalization of these

schools related to gendered ideologies? In addition, I consider how these institutions managed to

thrive, despite the limitations that were imposed on them. How did they develop their campuses,

without the benefit of governmental help? How did the students, teachers, and staff at these

women’s schools inhabit and perceive their campuses?

To address these questions, I combine approaches from landscape history and social

history that interrogate the educational environments of the socially marginalized. First, I focus

on the process of site selection and campus development of Tsuda College, instead of on the

forms and aesthetics of individual buildings. This approach is inspired by the work of landscape

historian Kenrick Ian Grandison, in an article that focuses on historically black colleges and

universities (HBCU) in the postbellum American South. Grandison sheds light on the political

struggles that produced the campus landscapes of Tuskegee University in Alabama, an HBCU

36
  

that had to take a “less-than-ideal” site as part of a negotiation with white dominated society.67

As Grandison points out, the university was built far from downtown and next to sewage

disposal ponds, and the building layouts had to be skewed to make the most of the difficult

topography. According to a traditional approach to architectural history, focused only on

aesthetic and technical innovations, Tuskegee University could be easily dismissed as a minor

example. However, by highlighting the process of site selection and how buildings were

arranged on the site, Grandison interprets the campus as a spatial record of negotiation between

the goals of emerging African Americans and whites’ status quo expectations for blacks, thereby

excavating the social significance of the seemingly marginal campus.68

Much like Grandison’s, my interpretation focuses primarily on how and why women’s

campuses were built on particular sites and in particular ways. I also occasionally discuss the

social meanings of the discrete buildings and the interior layouts on campus. The way in which

Tsuda College and other women’s specialized schools in modern Japan were marginalized in the

system was similar to that of HBCUs in the postbellum South. African Americans and modern

Japanese women were both systematically discriminated against, and, as a result, they

established their own institutions for higher education. In addition, focusing on locations and

sites helps me to tackle a methodological challenge that is common to studies of the architecture

of the socially marginalized. While professional architectural drawings and visual materials are

integral to in-depth examinations of discrete buildings, they may not be readily available or

available at all for properties considered marginal. In the case of Tsuda College, there are no

professional drawings that exist for the buildings that were not designed by an architect.

                                                                                               
67
Kenrick Ian Grandison, “Negotiated Space: The Black College Campus as a Cultural Record of Postbellum
America,” American Quarterly 51, no. 3 (1999): 544.
68
For a methodological discussion, see Ibid., 533–35.

37
  

However, specific locations and land properties are included in public documents and maps,

which means that this information is more accessible and traceable. Through this case study, by

using basic, as opposed to detailed, spatial information, I demonstrate a way to illustrate the

significance of places that are relevant to groups whose presence is often not seen as integral to

the broader transformation of a city. While I focus on Tsuda College, I use cases of comparable

male-dominated schools and other women’s schools, as needed, to demonstrate the level of

discrimination on a structural level. This approach is also inspired by Grandison’s use of

occupational references to other nearby colleges for the purpose of putting HBCUs in

perspective.69

Second, I highlight social perceptions of these campuses. This approach is inspired by

historical studies on the American and British counterparts of Japanese women-only specialized

schools, by cultural historian Helen Lefkowitz Horowitz and architectural historian Margaret

Birney Vickery. In these studies on elite women’s colleges, Horowitz and Vickery focus on

women’s lived experiences at the colleges as well as how campus designs reflected society’s

views on women’s education. In particular, both reveal how the idea of female domesticity was

integrated into the designs of classrooms, dormitories, and other campus facilities, as well as

how female students’ lives actually unfolded in these environment. By doing so, they

acknowledge multiple perspectives on the same campus or building – an approach that

distinguishes these works from those that focus predominantly on the aesthetic and technological

significance of the built environment to architectural professionals.70 Similarly, I interrogate how

                                                                                               
69
For example, Grandison discusses “majority campuses and the dominant paradigm of design” to put HBCUs in
perspective. See Ibid., 535–40.
70
Helen Lefkowitz Horowitz, Alma Mater: Design and Experience in the Women’s Colleges from Their Nineteenth-
Century Beginnings to the 1930s (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1984); Margaret Birney Vickery, Buildings for
Bluestockings: The Architecture and Social History of Women’s Colleges in Late Victorian England (Newark:
University of Delaware Press, 1999).

38
  

female students, staff, and teachers experienced and viewed the campus development process,

and I consider how their perspectives were similar or different to that of the broader society.

In what follows, I synthesize information obtained primarily from official documents

found at the Tokyo Metropolitan Archives (TMA), along with a published school history entitled

A Forty-Year History of Tsuda College, available at several archives and libraries, and the

institution’s Alumnae Report, which is archived at the school’s Tsuda Umeko Material Room.

The documents collected at the TMA include schematic plans and architectural drawings, which

allow me to reconstruct the historical development of the school’s campus design – particularly

how the buildings were used and organized during the early years. A Forty-Year History of

Tsuda College, meanwhile, is a descriptive history of the school, covering the period between its

establishment and August of 1940. Because this history is based on unpublished day-to-day

records and oral histories of staff and students who were still alive at the time of writing, it helps

me to contextualize the changes on their campus. This book also includes fiscal and enrollment

data, as well as a list of school rules, which aids me in understanding how the school was

operated on an administrative level. Finally, the Alumnae Report was an internal bulletin to keep

members of the school’s Alumnae Association up to date with school news, events, and stories

about student life on campus. Because these reports carry students’ first-hand accounts and

recollections, they help me illustrate their lived experiences.71 Combining these different sources

                                                                                               
71
Tsuda Eigaku Juku, Forty-Year History of Tsuda College. Although Tsuda College’s Archives called Tsuda
Umeko Material Room keeps daily records of the school from the early years, these records are not disclosed to the
outsiders like me. Part of their photo collection, of which I take advantage, is open to the public online. For the
information of Tsudajuku Daigaku 津田塾大学, “Tsuda Umeko Shiryō Shitsu 津田梅子資料室 [Tsuda Umeko
Material Room],” accessed October 24, 2018, http://www.tsuda.ac.jp/about/history/data-room.html; Tsudajuku
Daigaku 津田塾大学, “Tsudajuku Daigaku Dejitaru Ākaibu 津田塾大学デジタルアーカイブ [Tsuda College
Digital Archives],” accessed October 24, 2018, http://lib.tsuda.ac.jp/DigitalArchive/index.html.

39
  

of evidence, I discuss the politics that shaped the campus over time and the social meanings that

were generated through the school’s development process.

Early Days: Repurposing Residential Buildings

Tsuda and other administrators of the school developed four different versions of the

campus and relocated three times, before arriving at their present site in 1931 (Figures 1.2 and

1.3). In the first and second sites, Tsuda could not afford to construct brand-new schoolhouses.

Instead of building them from scratch, she repurposed existing residential buildings to suit the

needs of her school. This makeshift approach, which would go on to characterize the process of

campus development for the following decades, was reflective of the ambiguous status of women

in the broader system of education.

In July of 1900, Tsuda requested and received permission from the prefecture to open a

school at the house where she lived in Tokyo. It was a Japanese-style, rented house with ten

rooms of various sizes. While further details on this first property are unknown, Tsuda quickly

realized that it was “too small” for her to open a school there.72 She searched for and eventually

rented a larger house in August of that year. (Figure 1.4). After receiving permission to move the

school location, she then officially started the school in this newly-rented house in the following

month.73 At this house, which became the first building used by Tsuda College, the initial

enrollment of the school was ten students. Two of the students lived on campus with Tsuda and

the other teacher, Alice Bacon, Tsuda’s friend and colleague at Peeresses’ School and Tokyo

                                                                                               
72
Tsuda Eigaku Juku, Forty-Year History of Tsuda College, 47.
73
Ibid., 44–62; Tsuda Umeko 津田梅子, “Shiritsu Joshi Eigaku Juku Setsuritsu No Ken 私立女子英学塾設立の
件 [Request for the Establishment of Tsuda College],” Request to the Mayor of Tokyo Prefecture, July 20, 1900,
624.D7.04.-16, TMA; Tsuda, “Joshi Eigaku Juku Sōritsu Sha Tsuda Umeko Yori No Dōjuku Iten Kaishin 女子英学
塾創立者津田梅子よりの同塾移転開申 [Report of Tsuda College’s Relocation from the Founder Tsuda
Umeko],” Report to the Mayor of Tokyo Prefecture, August 31, 1900, 624.D7.04.-22, TMA.

40
  

Women’s Higher Normal School. Bacon was the daughter of a family who had hosted Tsuda’s

friend in the United States, and she had a long-term friendship with Tsuda and an interest in

Japan.

All of the rooms of this house, including the classrooms, living spaces and bedrooms for

the students and teachers, an auditorium, a kitchen, and a dining room, were housed in a simple

wood-frame building. It had an interior configuration that was typical of Japanese houses in the

Meiji period. Although Tsuda would have liked a decent building, all she could afford to do at

first was to reassign the existing rooms in this house.74 Due to underfunding, Tsuda had to

borrow money from her brother-in-law, Ueno Eizaburō, to even pay the rent on this place. Thus,

as I will elaborate below, Tsuda reinterpreted and redesignated the existing rooms for specific

purposes and added some pieces of furniture like desks and chairs, instead of making physical

modifications.75 This was not an ideal situation, and it required creativity to make the space work

for all of the different school functions.

Half a year later, in April 1901, the enrollment had almost doubled; as of March 1901,

eighteen women were enrolled. Tsuda moved the school to a larger property to accommodate its

growing enrollment (Figure 1.5). This second site was approximately two times larger than the

first (0.2 acres and 0.4 acres, respectively).76 Unlike the previous building, Tsuda managed to

purchase this building, thanks to a ¥4,000 endowment from the Philadelphia Committee, a group

                                                                                               
74
At the welcoming ceremony of the school, Tsuda stated, “Real education is possible without fine school buildings
and facilities. […] If possible, it is desirable to have these. But I think that, for true education, there is something
more important than physical facilities for study.” Tsuda’s remark at the welcoming ceremony is printed on: Tsuda
Eigaku Juku, Forty-Year Hisory of Tsuda College, 48–53.
75
Ibid., 44–62.
76
I complied the area size data from: Tsuda, “Report of Tsuda College’s Relocation from the Founder Tsuda
Umeko”; Tsuda, “Joshi Eigaku Juku Setsuritsusha Tsuda Umeko Yori Iten Todoke 女子英学塾設立者津田梅子よ
り移転届 [Report of Tsuda College’s Relocation from the Founder Tsuda Umeko],” Report to the Mayor of Tokyo
Prefecture, May 30, 1901, 624.A5.08.-54, TMA. In Japanese area unit tsubo, the first and second sites were 299 and
540 tsubo, respectively.

41
  

of American women who sympathized with her project. Although the second building was no

longer a rental, it was far from glamorous. After an incident where someone was murdered, the

building had been abandoned and considered haunted; neighbors referred to it as a “ghost

mansion.”77 When Tsuda bought the building, the doors and windows were significantly

damaged. She repaired the house by replacing the damaged sliding doors with glass-pane

windows. Otherwise, the building was left untouched, maintaining the exterior appearance of an

old mansion.78 This minimally repaired mansion was the one that Kiyota and other students

encountered when they first arrived at the college.

These repurposed houses reflected the broader challenges, as well as the hopes, that

shaped Tsuda College from the start. On the one hand, when Tsuda established the school in

1900, the national government had yet to embrace the idea of women’s higher education, and the

MESC had not systematized the category of specialized schools. Upon its establishment, the

school was approved in the category of private school [shiritsu gakkō 私立学校], without any

recognition of the instructional level. This category signified that the school was approved by the

MESC, but run by a private individual or organization, not by the national or municipal

government. While Tsuda planned to offer higher-level courses, there was no guarantee that the

MESC would soon systematically accredit women’s institutions of higher education.79

The indifference of the MESC also had a concrete consequence. While governmental

universities for men were fully funded by the MESC, Tsuda College was continuously

                                                                                               
77
Tsuda Eigaku Juku, Forty-Year Hisory Tsuda College, 63.
78
On the number of enrollment and the second building, see Ibid., 62–64, 72–73, 78–80.
79
On how private schools were recognized by MESC, see Ibid., 58–61; Monbushō, A Hundred-Year History of
Japan’s Educational System, 34. Tsuda wrote about her hope to offer higher-level courses in a letter to her
American friends, dated August 6, 1900. See Tsuda, Tsuda Umeko Monjo 津田梅子文書 Writings of Tsuda Umeko]
(Kodaira: Tsudajuku Daigaku, 1984), 377. Tsuda Umeko Monjo is a collection of Tsuda’s writings, including her
letters and journals in English or Japanese.

42
  

underfunded. As women’s higher education continued to be considered more of a luxury than a

necessity, the MESC provided no financial assistance to private women’s schools. Because of

that, Tsuda asked reliable friends and close family members for financial assistance. This

financing strategy allowed her to maintain the autonomy of the school, but, in turn, it resulted in

financial instability. Operating under such uncertainty, Tsuda considered the school an

“experiment” at the beginning. A year before its establishment, Tsuda wrote a letter to Mrs.

Wistar Morris, who had helped her to attend Bryn Mawr College. The letter reads, “I want to try

the experiment for five years, and if at the end of that time, it is successful to try and put the

school on a good foundation.” However, she also noted that she did not expect that the school

make any money within those first five years.80 Tsuda’s minimal investment in the built

environment was reflective of the vague outlook for the school and for women’s higher

education in general. Furthermore, it is telling that the women were unable to study in a proper

school; instead, they found themselves confined to a quasi-domestic setting, similar to the houses

where they had grown up.

On the other hand, despite this sense of uncertainty, Tsuda anticipated that needs for

women’s higher education would grow. As mentioned earlier, in 1899, the Higher Girls’ School

Order mandated that all municipalities in Japan open higher girls’ schools. Tsuda expected

graduates from these schools would become her prospective students. In addition, she planned to

train her students to serve these higher girls’ schools as English teachers. By doing so, Tsuda

hoped that women with higher-level education would make a direct impact on society through

teaching. At that point in time, only the higher normal school for women that was run by the

                                                                                               
80
Tsuda, Writings of Tsuda Umeko, 383. This letter is dated December 28, 1899. When Tsuda sought further studies
in the United States before opening the school, Mrs. Wistar Morris connected Tsuda with Bryn Mawr’s President
James E. Rhoads. In this letter, Tsuda also expressed the hardship to finance her non-governmental school: “No
school in Japan can do much without an endowment, for the government schools lower the tuition fees (383).”

43
  

state – at which Tsuda and Bacon continued to teach in order to pay the bills for Tsuda College –

trained female English teachers. Tsuda foresaw that the governmental school would not be able

to train as many teachers as would be needed to meet the forthcoming demands.81 Even though

women’s higher education was still not systematized, Tsuda thus started the school with a

potential pool of students and with jobs in mind for the graduates. Negotiating a balance between

pessimism and optimism in her outlook for educated women, Tsuda was able to develop these

first two locations for the campus by repurposing houses, using minimal physical modifications

and financial investments.  

Broader Trends in the Architecture of Higher Education

If we compare this situation with men’s institutions, we see that repurposing houses was

a tactic that was unique to women-only schools. As architectural historian Miyamoto Masa’aki

shows, the governmental universities were normally able to construct grand campuses from the

start because the MESC provided campus sites and paid construction fees for these institutions.

For example, while Tsuda was struggling to pay the rent on the first house, Tokyo Imperial

University (TIU), the first university in Japan, had already constructed ornate lecture halls and

laboratories for different departments (Figures 1.6 and 1.7). The campus site was provided by

MESC, and the buildings were made of brick and designed by the architects who worked for the

Home Ministry. A few decades later, the Architectural Institute of Japan even recognized several

TIU buildings as exemplary architecture of this period, for their aesthetic significance.82

                                                                                               
81
On the establishment of higher girls’ schools and the state of women’s education around this time, see Monbushō,
A Hundred-Year History of Japan’s Educational System, 134; Tsuda Eigaku Juku, Forty-Year History of Tsuda
College., 11–24; Nihon Joshi Daigaku Joshi Kyōiku Kenkyūjo 日本女子大学女子教育研究所, ed., Meiji No Joshi
Kyōiku 明治の女子教育 [Girls’ Education in Meiji Period] (Tokyo: Kokudosha, 1967).
82
See Nihon Kenchiku Gakkai 日本建築学会, Meiji Taishō Kenchiku Shashin Shūran 明治大正建築写真聚覧
[Architectural Photograph Collection, Meiji and Taisho Periods] (Tokyo: Nihon Kenchiku Gakkai, 1936), 34, 52,

44
  

Although the Japanese government had started encouraging Westernization of lifestyles,

Western-style architectural designs had not yet permeated the everyday lives of most Japanese

people. As Miyamoto argues, having newly-built Western-style school buildings was a display of

privilege and of MESC’s material support. TIU, as the first university in Japan, could afford such

a luxury.83

While not funded by the MESC, private men’s institutions also began constructing

similarly ornate buildings to communicate their social and economic power. As of 1901, private

organizations were not yet allowed to establish universities. While specialized schools had not

been systematized yet, by the turn of the twentieth century, the MESC had already selected and

accredited several male-dominated private schools as specialized schools on a case-by-case

basis. Such an ad hoc measure was a response to the schools’ requests. Administrators and

students of the privileged men’s specialized schools demanded a status equivalent to the

governmental universities. To demonstrate their qualifications, these schools made changes in

the curriculum and the built environment. For example, in 1890, Keio Gijuku [慶應義塾]

established an upper division called the “university division [daigakubu 大学部],” and they built

a brick lecture hall to accommodate this section of the school in 1896 (Figure 1.8). Similarly,

Tokyo Specialized School [Tokyo Senmon Gakkō 東京専門学校] constructed a Western-style

lecture hall in 1886 and changed its name to Waseda University [Waseda Daigaku 早稲田大学]

in 1902 (Figure 1.9). These institutions used the term “university” without MESC’s categorical

                                                                                               
55, 58; Tokyo Daigaku Hyakunenshi Henshū Īnkai 東京大学百年史編集委員会, ed., Tokyo Daigaku Hyakunenshi
Tsūshi 1 東京大学百年史・通史 1 (Tokyo: Tokyo Daigaku Shuppankai, 1984).
83
Miyamoto shows how MESC and other relevant ministries provided material and human resources for the upfront
campus planning of governmental schools. See Miyamoto Masa’aki 宮本雅明, Nihon No Daigaku Kyanpasu
Seiritsushi 日本の大学キャンパス成立史 [History of Japanese University Campus Development] (Fukuoka:
Kyūshū Daigaku Shuppankai, 1989). Especially in page 45, he lists major construction works conducted by MESC
for governmental schools.

45
  

approval in order to claim this status. Each of the lecture halls cost ¥10,000, in comparison to

Tsuda’s meager budget of ¥500 per annum for rent on the first house. For men’s institutions,

endowments from alumni is what made the construction of these brand-new lecture halls

possible. The construction was a material performance to show the growing social power and

success of the alumni, who already played key roles in the business industry.84 These school

buildings, especially their aesthetic and technological novelty and elaboration, thus played an

important communicative function within society.

Notably, unlike Tsuda College, the other major women’s schools active in this period,

JWU and TWCU, both expressed their aspirations for higher-level education by using

“university” in their names, from the time of their establishment in 1900 and 1918, respectively.

However, like Tsuda College, these schools also struggled to secure their first campus sites due

to their limited access to resources. As private institutions, neither school received support from

the government, so they were forced to identify their own non-governmental resources.

However, the JWU depended primarily on the support of Japanese entrepreneurs and

businessmen, while Tsuda College relied five times more on American supporters. Although the

founder had a long-standing plan and had done much groundwork to establish the school, JWU

did not start until they secured a 4.5-acre site in the Tokyo neighborhood of Mejirodai, through a

generous donation from the Mitsui family – one of the most powerful entrepreneur clans and

largest landowners in Tokyo.85 As a mission school, TWCU, by contrast, received most of their

                                                                                               
84
Keiō Gijuku 慶應義塾, ed., Keiō Gijuku Hyakunenshi Chu, Zen 慶應義塾百年史・中・前 [A Hundred Year
History of Keio Gijuku, Vol.2-I] (Tokyo: Keiō Gijuku, 1960), 12–13; Waseda Daigaku Daigakushi Henshūjo 早稲
田大学大学史編集所, ed., Waseda Daigaku Hyakunenshi Dai Ikkan 早稲田大学百年史・第一巻 [A Hundred
Year History of Waseda University, Vol.1] (Tokyo: Waseda Daigaku Shuppanbu, 1978), 446–50. On the financial
struggles of non-governmental institutions, see Amano, A Study on Japan’s Modern Higher Education, 233–35.
85
Upon establishment, JWU raised ¥10,000 primarily from progressive Japanese entrepreneurs. Tsuda College
gained about five times more financial support from Americans in their first three years (¥9,322.42 as opposed to
¥1,995). For the JWU’s phase of establishment, Nihon Joshi Daigakkō 日本女子大学校, ed., Nihon Joshi Daigakkō

46
  

financial support from Presbyterian missionary organizations. Similar to Tsuda College, their

first building was a rented building – in their case, a former sanatorium – on the edge of the

city.86 Because these women’s schools did not have resources to spare on elaborate buildings,

they tended to use stopgap measures to secure their educational environments.

Although Tsuda’s spatial interventions did not involve much physical modification nor

construction, the ways in which she repurposed the buildings reflected her own educational ideal

of “home-like education [kateiteki kuntō 家庭的薫陶].”87 To Tsuda, home-like education was a

way to train students at varied levels to become competent English teachers. The school’s

curriculum contained fifteen hours of classroom instruction – approximately half the requirement

of comparable schools. Instead of mass instruction, Tsuda urged students to focus on individual

preparation and to review the lessons they had learned in class on their own. Such a personalized

pedagogy was especially important at the beginning; early on, students entered the school at

various levels because secondary education had just started being systematized nationally. To

attend to individual needs, Tsuda kept the class sizes small and stayed as close to students as

possible. Although she could not afford dormitories for all the students, Tsuda also lived with

                                                                                               
Shijūnenshi 日本女子大学校四十年史 [Forty-Year History of Japan Women’s University] (Tokyo: Nihon Joshi
Daigakkō, 1942), 58–68; Tsuda Eigaku Juku, Forty-Year History of Tsuda College., 80–82.
86
The rent was ¥2,000/year. The campus had approx. 2.2 acres (2,750 tsubo). On the TWCU establishment, see
Tokyo Joshi Daigaku Gojūnenshi Hensan Īnkai 東京女子大学五十年史編纂委員会, ed., Tokyo Joshi Daigaku
Gojūnenshi 東京女子大学五十年史 [Fifty-Year History of Tokyo Women’s Christian University] (Tokyo: Tokyo
Joshi Daigaku, 1968), 29–34; Nagao Hanpei 長尾半平 and A.K. Reischauer, “Shiritsu Tokyo Joshi Daigaku
Setsuritsu Ninka Shinsei 私立東京女子大学設立認可申請 [Request for the Establishment of Tokyo Women’s
Christian University],” Request to the Mayor of Tokyo Prefecture, December 5, 1917, 302.C2.15.-4, TMA.
87
The article two of Tsuda College’s rules read, “This school’s mission is home-like education. The principal,
teachers, and students live together […] and intend to train women with a great character and a healthy body. If
necessary for the student, we allow commuting from her own home (569).” On Tsuda’s pedagogy and the school
rules, see Tsuda Eigaku Juku, Forty-Year History of Tsuda College, 46–47, 61–62, 71–75, 569.

47
  

students who could not commute from home.88 Tsuda’s idea of home-like education, in other

words, meant intimate, thorough training.89

While there are no records that tell us explicitly why Tsuda designated the rooms in the

house as she did, her choices seem to indicate a commitment to students’ academic success. In

trying to secure the best educational environment, Tsuda ignored the existing social hierarchy of

rooms that usually existed in this type of Japanese house. The floorplan shows that the house was

originally designed in shoin style [shoin dukuri 書院造], one of the architectural styles prevalent

among Japanese residential buildings (Figure 1.10). In these types of houses, the reception room,

called the shoin (lit. library) was considered to have the most social significance. This room was

also distinct in the floor plan because it was usually the largest and was equipped with a

decorative alcove called a toko [床]. Rather than keeping that room as a reception room or using

it for her own bedroom, however, Tsuda assigned the former reception room to be the living

room/bedroom for on-campus students. She made the second largest room in the house into the

auditorium. These two rooms were essential for the students to focus on their studies. On-campus

students were supposed to work on preparing for and reviewing for classes in their living

room/bedroom, and all students listened to lectures in the auditorium. Tsuda and Bacon,

                                                                                               
88
Due to the rigor, more than three quarters of students dropped out in the first three years. Students later recollected
on their experiences of Tsuda’s rigorous teaching. See Kumamoto, “When the School Was Established,” 470–71.
89
The idea of home had been used to justify women’s education at early English and American Colleges. Women’s
college in the West replicated the configurations and styles of domestic spaces so that the school could feel like
home, hence appropriate for women. But Tsuda’s “home-like education,” despite the similarity in the name, has
nothing to do with the domestic ideal. Tsuda focused on academic rigor and happened to use the term of home in the
name. On the ideas of domesticity and home in the designs of early English and American women’s colleges, see
Horowitz, Alma Mater: Design and Experience in the Women’s Colleges from Their Nineteenth-Century Beginnings
to the 1930s, 1–197; Vickery, Buildings for Bluestockings: The Architecture and Social History of Women’s
Colleges in Late Victorian England, 1–39.

48
  

meanwhile, slept in the smallest rooms. Her decision not to follow the existing social divisions of

space suggest that, to Tsuda, what was most important was the students’ academic success.90

Likewise, the repair of the second building reflected Tsuda’s dedication to a better

educational environment. One of the issues in repurposing a house into a school with minimal

modification was that the existing rooms were not designed for learning activities like reading

and writing. In particular, the darkness of the interior space was notable in Japanese-style

residential buildings. One of the standard features was shoji – sliding doors made of latticed

screens covered with white paper. Literally meaning “a fixture of obstruction,” shoji was

designed to dim daylight, not to take full advantage of it. For studying English, these dim interior

spaces were even more problematic because alphabets tended to be printed in a much smaller

typeface than Japanese and Chinese characters, which made them more difficult to read. It was

for this reason that Tsuda removed the damaged shoji and installed new transparent glass pane

windows, which allowed students to take fuller advantage of daylight.91 The fact that Tsuda

invested part of the limited funds to secure better lighting provides further evidence that she

envisioned serious training for the women at her school.

Growing the School: Incremental Expansion in the City Center

By the summer of 1902, the repaired mansion was becoming “too small and inconvenient for

instruction.”92 As of March 1902, the enrollment had reached thirty-three students, almost double

                                                                                               
90
I reconstructed the room designation using the description and floorplan on the following evidence: Tsuda Eigaku
Juku, Forty-Year History of Tsuda College, 47; Tsuda, “Report of Tsuda College’s Relocation from the Founder
Tsuda Umeko.” On the traditional interior configuration of this type of mansion, see Ōkawa, Anthropology of
Dwellings: Rethinking Japanese Ordinary Houses, 163–91.
91
On the repair, see Tsuda Eigaku Juku, Forty-Year History of Tsuda College, 62–63. Architectural historian Suzuki
Hiroyuki has pointed out the inadequacy of Japanese-style mansions as the environment to study Western books
with smaller characters. See Suzuki, Genius Loci of Tokyo, 215–20.
92
Tsuda Umeko 津田梅子, “Shiritsu Gakkō Bunkō Secchi No Ken 私立学校分校設置の件 [Request for Approval
to Establish a Branch School for the Private School],” Request to the Mayor of Tokyo Prefecture, September 15,
1902, 625.B6.02.-15, TMA.

49
  

the numbers in 1901. To accommodate this growth, Tsuda purchased a new site – located within

walking distance from the mansion – with a second-hand, wood-frame schoolhouse and four

other one-story buildings on it. The former property owner was Ogashima Fudeko, Tsuda’s

former colleague at Peeresses’ School, who had operated a girls’ school there. After Tsuda

bought this land and the buildings, she carefully transitioned from the mansion. When Tsuda

requested an approval from the Mayor of Tokyo Prefecture, she called the new site “a branch

school.” This request implies Tsuda’s willingness to retain the second site, even after they started

operations at the third site in September 1903. Indeed, Tsuda kept using the repaired mansion as

a dormitory until the construction of the first dedicated dormitory at the new site in 1904.93 In

September of that same year, the school was also incorporated as a non-profit organization. From

then on, administrators of the organization participated in decision making about the campus,

although Tsuda remained influential in the process.94

The seemingly unplanned process of expansion during these early years embodied the

school’s place in the society, which was still ambivalent at that point in time. For instance, the

prolonged transition period for moving campuses suggests that Tsuda continued to have mixed

feelings toward the school’s future prospects; even after purchasing the third site, Tsuda was not

entirely sure about developing the new campus. Despite this initial uncertainty, however, Tsuda

managed to have buildings constructed from scratch, for specific purposes, at this third site. In

doing so, the school came to look more like what people would typically imagine as a school for

higher-level instruction – a campus filled with intentionally designed facilities. First, in March of

1903, a new classroom building replaced the existing one-story buildings that Tsuda had

                                                                                               
Original: 敷地建物トモ狭隘ニシテ教授上不便ヲ為シ候ニ付
93
Tsuda Eigaku Juku, Forty-Year History of Tsuda College, 64–65; Tsuda, “Request for Approval to Establish a
Branch School for the Private School.”
94
On the incorporation of the school, see Tsuda Eigaku Juku, Forty-Year History of Tsuda College, 93–96.

50
  

purchased from Ogashima. Over the next two decades, until August of 1922, other classroom

buildings, a lecture hall, dormitories, teachers’ residences, and a gymnasium, continued to be

added, as I will elaborate below (Figures 1.11–1.16).

Although Tsuda managed to construct purpose-built facilities at the site, the campus

development was incremental. In addition to the plot that Tsuda bought from Ogashima, the

school purchased three adjacent plots, as they became available. However, the school could not

pay for the purchases upfront. Instead, they had to run up debts (Figure 1.17).95 Borrowing

money from sources that were not designated for site purchases and repaying the expenses later

was one consistent tactic of Tsuda College. For example, before the incorporation of the school,

Tsuda bought the first expansion plot with the funds she had initially set aside for future building

construction. Tsuda’s hastened decision suggests a sense of urgency to secure a larger

educational space for the growing enrollment numbers. This loan was later paid off with an

endowment from Mrs. Woods, an American supporter of the school. In March of 1903, in order

to buy the second plot, which was located to the north of the first one, Tsuda again borrowed

from the construction fund. Part of this spending was paid off with an endowment from another

American supporter, whose name and relationship with the school are unknown. That same

month, Tsuda’s brother-in-law, Ueno, lent the school funds to purchase the third plot, which was

north of the second one. The school and the alumnae association eventually formed a fundraising

                                                                                               
95
I reconstructed the campus development process by synthesizing the site plans and financial information on the
following evidence: Ibid., 80–82, 94–104, 123–32, 140–41, 146; Tsuda, “Request for Approval to Establish a
Branch School for the Private School”; Tsuda, “Joshi Eigaku Juku Jukuchō Tsuda Mume Yori Bunkō Kyōjō
Shinchiku Todoke 女子英学塾塾長津田むめより分校教場新築届 [Report of Constructing New Buildings for the
Branch School],” Report to the Mayor of Tokyo Prefecture, February 10, 1903, 625.D5.03.-13, TMA; Tsuda,
“Shiken Wo Matazu Shite Kyōin Menkyojō Wo Juryō Seshimuru Gi No Fugan 試験を待たずして教員免許状を
受領せしむる儀の普願 [Request for Obtaining Teacher’s License without Examinations],” Request to the Mayor
of Tokyo Prefecture, May 11, 1905, 626.A5.08.-37, TMA; Tsuda, “Tatemono Zōchiku Ninka Shinseisho 建物増築
認可申請書 [Request for Approval to Add Buildings],” Request to the Mayor of Tokyo Prefecture, June 9, 1909,
629.A5.12.-42; Tsuda, “Kōsha Zōchiku Ninka Shinseisho 校舎増築認可申請書 [Request for Approval to Add
School Buildings],” Request to the Mayor of Tokyo Prefecture, October 30, 1909, 629.A5.14.-23, TMA.

51
  

committee in 1906 and managed to repay this debt. In February of 1917, Tsuda College

continued to expand north with the purchase of a fourth plot. For this property, the school

scraped up the funds from various sources that were not allotted for site purchases, including the

school’s saving account, voluntary endowments, funds raised by the committee, the school’s

investment fund, and a loan from Murai Bank, where Ueno served as a board member. The

fundraising committee and alumnae association eventually managed to repay these debts, as

well. As these purchases show, even though Tsuda College was continuously short of cash, the

school seized opportunities to acquire more land. As a result, however, Tsuda and other

administrators had to finance large amounts of spending on property in an ad hoc manner.

As Figures 1.11–1.16 show, the building construction was also gradual and opportunistic.

In one example of their stopgap development process, the school rapidly created then demolished

some campus buildings. A classroom building and a gymnasium were first built in the eastern

part of the campus, in 1904 and 1905, respectively. At the time, the school was responding to the

doubling enrollment by building what they thought was necessary for that particular moment.

But about half a decade later, when an endowment from the American supporter Henry Woods

made it possible to construct a large lecture hall for the school, these recently constructed

buildings were torn down to make space.96 As can be seen in their financing of property

purchases, the school was very underfunded in this period; it did not make financial sense to

erect buildings that they knew they would be demolishing in a few years. If the campus had been

cannily planned with sufficient funds from the outset, such misspending could have been

                                                                                               
96
On how female protestant missionaries and well-to-do American women helped women’s education in prewar
Japan, see, for example, Kohiyama Rui 小檜山ルイ, Amerika Fujin Senkyōshi: Rainichi No Haikei to Sono Eikyō
アメリカ婦人宣教師：来日の背景とその影響 [American Female Missionaries: Background of Their Visits to
and Influence on Japan] (Tokyo: Tokyo Daigaku Shuppankai, 1992); Kirisutokyō Shigakkai キリスト教史学会,
ed., Kindai Nihon No Kirisutokyō to Joshi Kyōiku 近代日本のキリスト教と女子教育 [Christianity and Women’s
Education in Modern Japan] (Tokyo: Kyobunkan, 2016).

52
  

avoided. Indeed, their short-term planning indicates that the school was not expecting to be able

to afford to build a signature lecture hall. Once it was built, however, the new lecture hall, named

the Henry Woods’ Hall, became the largest building and a major asset to the campus.

Probably because they constructed buildings as they expanded, by August of 1922, when

the site purchases and construction projects were completed, the buildings were not organized

very well across the campus. Some intentional zoning can be seen in Figure 1.16: instructional

facilities are to the east, staff residences are to the south, and student dormitories are to the west.

Yet, particularly in the north, the last plot that they acquired, the buildings were situated in a

completely irregular fashion. A dormitory, staff residence, and a new gymnasium were scattered

there, seemingly independent of the rest of the buildings. Similar to the case of the demolition of

the buildings, this resultant configuration indicates that the school had to respond to immediate

needs as they arose, rather than engaging in long-term planning.

Striving for Equal Standing with Men

The seemingly uncoordinated development of the campus does not necessarily indicate a

complete lack of strategic planning, however. Rather, it reveals the school’s efforts to be as

strategic as possible, despite the ambivalent social conditions of women’s higher education.

Indeed, on the one hand, Tsuda College experienced and expected growth in their enrollment.

The administrators made speculative investments in the built environment to keep up with these

increasing numbers. In March of 1904, when Tsuda College was accredited as one of the first

women-only specialized schools, their enrollment number swelled above a hundred (Figure

1.18). Additionally, the dropout rate declined during this time, due to another unique privilege

53
  

that Tsuda College obtained from the MESC.97 In September of 1905, Tsuda College became the

only school of its type where students could automatically receive a secondary school teacher

license upon graduation. Up until that point in time, women had two options to receive this

license: graduating from the governmental women’s higher normal school (where admission was

very competitive and limited in number), or passing a licensing examination administered by the

MESC. As Tsuda anticipated when she started the school, these existing pathways were not able

to train enough female teachers to meet the growing needs. To address the teacher shortage, then,

the MESC started providing qualified schools with the privilege of automatic teacher licensing.

To be qualified as one of these unofficial teacher training schools, an institution had to pass the

MESC’s curriculum evaluation and demonstrate that multiple graduates had successfully passed

the teacher licensing examination. Tsuda College was the only women’s specialized school to

meet these qualifications until 1923, when the privilege was extended to JWU.98 As educational

sociologist Sasaki Keiko has shown, this automatic teacher licensing privilege contributed to the

retention of the students. While female students tended to drop out to get married at other

comparable schools, Tsuda College students tended to stay to obtain their licenses.99 These

combined factors resulted in the steady increases in enrollment and the need for continuous

campus expansion at the school.

Despite the growing importance of schools like Tsuda College, women’s institutions still

did not attain an equal standing to men’s institutions within the educational system. The situation

started to change at the national level, however, when the Special Council for Education [Rinji

                                                                                               
97
The dropout ratio to the entire enrollment declined: 47/55 in 1902, 37/104 in 1904, and 72/279 in 1922. The data
of the applicants, enrollment, and dropout can be found on: Tsuda Eigaku Juku 津田英学塾, Forty-Year History of
Tsuda College, 72–73, 108-09, 136, 194–95, 233–34. 72–73, 108–9, 136, 194–95, 233–34.
98
On the accreditation and the exemption of teacher’s license examinations, see Ibid., 83–93; Tsuda, “Request for
Obtaining Teacher’s License without Examinations].”
99
See Sasaki, “New Middle-Class Women evaded Traditional Norms: Mechanism of Expanding Women's Higher
Education in Prewar Japan,” 215–20.

54
  

Kyōiku Kaigi 臨時教育会議] – a group of professionals called to serve by the Cabinet Office –

started to discuss the idea of a women’s university in 1918. Based on these discussions, various

newspapers reported that women’s universities would soon be accredited by the MESC. For

example, one article, entitled “University Order Finalized: Abolishing Higher Schools, Reviving

Women’s Universities,” reported that women’s universities would be approved by meeting the

same criteria as private, male-dominated universities. Despite such hopeful reports by

newspapers, however, the Council eventually rejected the idea. In the same year, the MESC

began promoting private men’s specialized schools to the level of universities, while neglecting

women’s specialized schools because “it is too early for universities for women.”100 This move

broadened the gender gap even further.

Female higher education continued to lack governmental and social support. The

MESC’s only financial assistance for women-only schools was the disaster relief loan program

for private schools, which was put in place after the 1923 Great Kantō Earthquake. It was a

thirty-year loan program, with five years of zero APR, followed by a rate of 5 percent (from

1924 to 1936), then 3.2 percent (from 1936 to 1954). Tsuda College used a site they had bought

in 1922 as equity for a loan of ¥33,000.101 With the exception of that loan and the modest

                                                                                               
100
For the hopeful reports, for example, Anon., “Daigaku Rei An Giryō: Mikka No Chōsa Īnkai 大学令案議了：三
日の調査委員会 [Discussions on the Draft of the Unievrsity Order Finished: The Investigation Committee on
November 3],” Tokyo Asahi Shimbun 東京朝日新聞, November 5, 1915; Anon., “Daigaku Rei Kessu: Kōtō Gakkō
Haishi, Joshi Daigaku Fukkatsu 大学令決す：高等学校廃止・女子大学復活 [University Order Finalized:
Abolishing Higher Schools, Reviving Women’s Universities],” Yomiuri Shinbun, November 4, 1915. On the
discussions of women’s universities at the council meeting, see Endō Akiko 遠藤明子, “Rinji Kyōiku Kaigi to Joshi
Kyōiku 臨時教育会議と女子教育 [The Special Council for Education and Women’s Education],” in Taishō No
Joshi Kyōiku 大正の女子教育 [Women’s Education in Taisho Period], ed. Nippon Joshi Daigaku Joshi Kenkyūjo
日本女子大学女子研究所 (Tōkyō: Kokudosha, 1975), 53–73.
101
On this loan program, see Tsuda Eigaku Juku, Forty-Year History of Tsuda College., 156; Joshi Eigaku Juku 女
子英学塾, “Joshi Eigaku Juku Tochi Tōhon Utsushi 女子英学塾土地謄本写し [Tsuda College’s Certified Copy of
Land Registers],” Submission to the Mayor of Tokyo Prefecture, July 6, 1933, 317.A6.05.-5, TMA. In addition to
this loan program, Tsuda continued to rely heavily on endowments from her American friends and supporters for the
reconstruction from the earthquake. The total amount of the endowments for the reconstruction was ¥11,307.16. On
the reconstruction, see Tsuda Eigaku Juku, Forty-Year History of Tsuda College, 142–67.

55
  

endowments they received, Tsuda College’s largest revenue source was tuition. However, the

tuition revenue was still insufficient for paying teachers’ salaries. Although Tsuda could have

asked wealthy Japanese men for financial support, she avoided doing so to preserve her

pedagogical autonomy. Tsuda continued to rely on a small number of people whom she trusted,

primarily her friends in the United States, as well as her students, alumnae, and family.102

Without significant support from the government, the school was forced to expand

incrementally, even if they would have preferred to expand all at once.    

While Tsuda College managed to construct some purpose-built facilities in the third site,

the design of buildings and campus was still economical. According to the architectural historian

Miyamoto, campuses of MESC-backed schools constructed from the late 1890s to the mid

1910s, including imperial universities established by the MESC and other governmental

specialized schools, shared two characteristics. First, most of the signature buildings in the

privileged school campuses were built with brick, while less important buildings (those not

called a “main building [honkan 本館]”) could still be constructed with wood. As brick

construction was more expensive than timber construction, having school buildings constructed

with brick was a means to display the prestige of the school. Second, buildings in elite

institutions tended to be organized around a courtyard in the center. Leaving this vast, open

space in front of brick-made, signature buildings was a common technique to highlight the

aesthetic value of the campus. The planners and designers did not assign the courtyard a practical

function, such as having passageways or an athletic field, which further displayed an abundance

                                                                                               
102
I compiled Tsuda College’s fiscal data from: ibid., 110–12, 137–39, 196–98, 236–39.

56
  

of space and the funding to afford it.103 The third site of Tsuda College’s campus shared neither

of these characteristics.

The manner in which Henry Woods Hall was constructed exemplifies the marginalized

position of Tsuda College relative to the privileged governmental schools of the time. As noted

earlier, this hall was the largest property on the campus, with the highest construction cost, of

¥14,879. For the construction of this building, one professional-looking architectural drawing

was prepared. The request that Tsuda College made to Tokyo Prefecture regarding the

construction of this lecture hall was accompanied by this drawing, which had detailed

measurements, while the approval request for the construction of a dormitory and a bathroom in

the same year was accompanied only by lower-fidelity schematic plans (Figures 1.19–1.22). The

existence of professional-looking drawings suggests that more design effort was poured into this

building. Despite holding considerable social value, Henry Woods Hall was still a simple wood-

frame building (Figure 1.23). It was also oriented toward the athletic field – a space to which a

practical function was assigned.104 As we have already seen above in Figures 1.14 and 1.15, the

campus was already so crowded that the site for the lecture hall was secured only by demolishing

the preexisting classroom building and gymnasium. If the students and staff of Tsuda College

had wished to have a courtyard, they would have had to give up some of the school facilities.

Instead, they filled the campus with what they needed to conduct their education, without leaving

any open spaces. While their hopes for a better, larger environment grew, insufficient funding

resulted in these forms of more modest campus development.

                                                                                               
103
On the school campuses from the late 1890s to the early 1910s, see Miyamoto, History of Japanese University
Campus Development, 186–228.
104
For the construction price and drawing, see Tsuda, “Request for Approval to Add School Buildings.” For the
dormitory and bathroom construction request for approval in the same year, see Tsuda, “Request for Approval to
Add Buildings.”

57
  

Expanding the Campus: Moving to the City Periphery to Build a University

The administrators relocated Tsuda College a fourth and final time, in 1931. Unlike the

incremental relocations and property expansions that had characterized the campus development

previously, this move was a substantial change. The site was more than fifty-seven times larger

than the third campus, and it was located about seventeen miles away, in a rural area that was

being planned as a suburb. Initially, the administrators at Tsuda College had hoped to continue

expanding the school’s capacities in the third site. They assumed that it would be possible to

maximize space by replacing some of the school buildings with high-rises, as more innovative

construction techniques became available. The third site was also located in the city center and

close to streetcar stops, and it was difficult for them to imagine leaving such a convenient

location (Figure 1.2.). It was for those reasons that they continued to purchase adjacent plots up

until 1917.

Although purchasing the fourth and final plot fulfilled their immediate needs, the

administrators soon realized that it would be difficult to expand any further in that location. To

the north and west, there were embankments. This topographical feature had already made the

northwestern piece of the fourth plot difficult to use; because of its irregular shape, the plot could

not be used as efficiently. Even if they managed to purchase sites in the north and west, there

would be an altitude difference between the current and new plots. Because it would require

extra infrastructure work to tame the topography, these expansions would be costly. As the

school had already been struggling to finance site purchases and construction projects, an

overpriced expansion was not ideal. The land to the east and south also seemed difficult to

obtain. To the east, the British Embassy was located across the street, in the location where it had

been since 1872, three decades before Tsuda College moved there. On the southern edge was the

58
  

mansion of Sale and Frazer Co., Ltd., an established British trade business. These institutions

were unlikely to make way for the college. For these reasons, the administrators soon gave up on

their wishes to grow within the current site and began looking for a new, larger site in 1922.105

This campus expansion was part of Tsuda College’s new agenda. Its students, alumnae,

and administrators were now seriously seeking the MESC’s university accreditation of their

school. Although the 1918 University Order did not allow the establishment of women’s

universities, they continued to pursue opportunities to be promoted to university status. For

example, in March of 1920, Tsuda College’s alumnae association announced a fundraising

campaign for expanding the school. “This project [for expanding the school] will make our

school a women’s institution of highest education and a source of women’s enlightenment,

which has been Professor Tsuda’s hope and our college’s homework to get done,” wrote the

group of representative alumnae, in a statement released at the launch of the campaign. Tokyo

Asahi Shimbun, one of the five major newspapers in Tokyo at the time, reported on this project

on June 29, 1921, when it was unveiled to the public. When the story was published, the group’s

fundraising goal had increased from an initial amount of ¥600,000 to ¥800,000.106

While the alumnae raised funds, the administrators employed two major techniques to

claim a higher status. As discussed earlier, these techniques had already been used by men’s

specialized schools, such as Keio and Waseda. First, Tsuda College attempted to demonstrate its

academic significance and potential through changes in the curriculum. In 1919, the

administrators created a Faculty of Advanced Studies [kōtō ka 高等科], where graduates of the

                                                                                               
105
The size of the third site was 20.6 acres (1568.68 tsubo). On the condition of the third site around 1917 and the
decision to move out, see Tsuda Eigaku Juku, Forty-Year History of Tsuda College, 129–33.
106
Ibid., 125; Anon., “Tsudajuku Kakuchō: Hachijū-Man Yen Boshu 津田塾拡張：八十万円募集 [Expansion of
Tsuda College: Raising Eight-Hundred Thousand Yen],” Tokyo Asahi Shimbun, June 29, 1921.

59
  

college could continue pursuing “university-level studies of English.”107 Tsuda College’s regular

curriculum, like other specialized schools, required three years of instruction, which was

equivalent to that of higher schools, the men-only university preparatory institutions. By

contrast, at a university, male students studied a further three or more years, then took an

examination to receive a bachelor’s degree. Thus, Tsuda College added the option of two more

years of advanced courses, primarily to accommodate the needs of the regular course alumnae,

who had a desire for higher-level study beyond their three initial years but were not allowed to

matriculate at universities. At the same time, this curriculum amendment served as a strategic

preparation for “reorganizing the school into a university.”108 To claim university status,

specialized schools, including Tsuda College, needed to demonstrate their instructional

capabilities in these more advanced level studies.

Another technique to show their potentiality as a higher educational institution was

expanding the campus. To gain this accreditation, displaying the physical and material capacity

to hold a larger student body and a wider variety of departments was especially important. The

1918 University Order specified twenty-one requirements for a school to be called a university.

Specifically, Article Two of the ordinance stipulated,

An accredited university normally holds multiple departments. In special cases, it is

possible for a university to have a single department. A university should run the
departments of law, medicine, engineering, literature, science, agriculture, and
economics/commerce. When there is a special need, only when it makes sense in terms of

                                                                                               
107
Tsuda Eigaku Juku, Forty-Year History of Tsuda College, 170.
108
On the faculty of advanced studies and the university promotion movement in general, see Ibid., 169–71; Amano,
A Study on Japan’s Modern Higher Education, 271–72. The quote is from Tsuda Eigaku Juku, Forty-Year History
of Tsuda College, 170.
Original: 同時にこれは将来大学組織を編成せんがための段階であった。

60
  

operation and size, the aforementioned departments could be divided into multiple
departments or integrated into a single one.109

As this stipulation indicates, the MESC imagined a university as a fairly complex institution. At

this point in time, however, Tsuda College was essentially a single department institution

focused on studies of English language and other relevant liberal arts subjects. Yet because of

this ordinance, the administrators recognized a need to demonstrate their multi-department

potentiality. To be viewed as a competent institution, the departments could not exist only on

paper; they had to be real and physical. In other words, real students would need to be enrolled in

the departments and taking classes on campus. Thus, specialized schools aspiring to be

universities needed to demonstrate the material capacities to support the instructional and

research activities of multiple departments. It would have been clear to the administrators at

Tsuda College that the university accreditation would require the demonstration of such

intellectual, operational, and material capabilities upon their application. Even though the MESC

did not take applications for university accreditation from women-only specialized schools at this

point, the school’s search for a larger space was conducted as a preparation to seize this

opportunity in the near future.110

With this in mind, after comparing several potential sites, the administrators decided to

move the campus to a rural site in Kodaira Village – a formerly agricultural village in the

                                                                                               
109
Monbu Kagakushō 文部科学省, “Daigaku Rei 大学令（大正七年十二月六日勅令第三百八十八号）
[University Order (the 388th Edict of Japan in 1918)],”
http://www.mext.go.jp/b_menu/hakusho/html/others/detail/1318056.htm, accessed November 18, 2018.
The original of Article Two: 第二条 大学ニハ数個ノ学部ヲ置クヲ常例トス但シ特別ノ必要アル場合ニ於テ
ハ単ニ一個ノ学部ヲ置クモノヲ以テ一大学ト為スコトヲ得
学部ハ法学、医学、工学、文学、理学、農学、経済学及商学ノ各部トス
特別ノ必要アル場合ニ於テ実質及規模一学部ヲ構成スルニ適スルトキハ前項ノ学部ヲ分合シテ学部ヲ設
クルコトヲ得
110
Amano Ikuo 天野郁夫, Kyūsei Semon Gakkō Ron 旧制専門学校論 [Research on the Rrewar Specialized
Schools] (Machida: Tamagawa Daigaku Shuppanbu, 1993), 229–40.

61
  

western part of Tokyo. Affordability and accessibility were the two most important criteria for

the new location. Still financially strapped, the administrators needed to obtain a site that was

sufficiently spacious and at a reasonable price. To meet this criteria, the candidate sites were

concentrated in the western parts of Tokyo.111 The city was developing westward, but

agricultural villages remained undeveloped on the peripheries (Figure 1.24). As these plots of

land tended to be less expensive, they were better deals for the school.112

In addition, accessibility by public transit was important for the commuter students.

While there were three dormitories on the third campus of Tsuda College, as of 1919, more than

two-thirds of the students still commuted from their homes. In the early twentieth century,

private companies and the Ministry of Railways (MR) extended railroads to the western part of

Tokyo. The increased accessibility of this side of the city by public transit encouraged the

administrators to consider rural sites that were close to the new train stations. The administrators

finally chose the site farthest to the west, primarily because it was served by a train line

developed by the MR, the governmental developer, which they believed was the most stable. It is

also likely that the site was the most inexpensive among the candidates because it was in the

most underdeveloped area. This time, they were able to pay for the property outright, using funds

that the alumnae association had raised through the campus expansion campaign.113  

                                                                                               
111
Tsuda College formed an Expansion Committee in 1922 and examined sites in Shakujii, Hōya, Kiyose, and
Kodaira, all located in western Tokyo. See Tsuda Eigaku Juku, Forty-Year History of Tsuda College, 130.
112
On the interrelationships between railroad and suburban developments as well as the geographical distribution of
the land prices, see Hasegawa Tokunosuke and 長谷川徳之輔, Tokyo No Takuchi Keiseishi: “Yamanote” No
Seishin 東京の宅地形成史：「山の手」の西進 [History of the Residential Development in Tokyo: Westward
Development of High City] (Tokyo: Sumai no Toshokan Shuppankyoku, 1989), 59–68, 18–86.
113
About 29 percent of students lived in on-campus dormitories as of 1922. In the new campus, 41–44 percent lived
on campus as of 1933. I computed the ratio based on the information on Tsuda Eigaku Juku, Forty-Year History of
Tsuda College, 136, 186, 319–30., 136, 186, 319–30.

62
  

The Gendered Process of Suburban Expansion

At the time, this pattern of campus expansion was common among institutions of higher

education, regardless of the dominant gender of the enrolled students (Figure 1.25). Men’s

institutions also developed rural campuses, especially after the 1923 Great Kantō Earthquake

burnt down approximately half of the city center.114 However, the process of suburban campus

development, and especially that of site acquisition, was gendered. Tokyo University of

Commerce (TUC), one of the governmental universities, is a good example to compare with

Tsuda College. TUC originally held an integrated campus in Kanda, an area in the city center,

where many high-level educational institutions were concentrated from the nineteenth century

onwards. As of 1918, TUC students were first enrolled in a preparatory course, before

progressing to an undergraduate program. When their campus was significantly damaged in the

earthquake, they constructed a temporary campus in Shakujii, a rural area on the western

outskirts of the city. The school already owned this land; they had purchased it to use as an

athletic field before the disaster. While conducting classes in the temporary buildings, the school

looked for a site to reconstruct a new permanent campus.115 Eventually, in 1933, TUC relocated

its preparatory course campus to a site close to Tsuda College; the two campuses were about

fifteen minutes walking distance apart.

While Tsuda College had been actively looking for candidate sites before choosing

Kodaira Village, TUC was invited to relocate to this area on advantageous terms. Tsutsumi

Yasujirō – a rising real estate developer – played an active role in TUC’s relocation. In 1920,

Tsutsumi founded a real estate development company called Hakone Land, which focused on

                                                                                               
114
On how much of the city was devastated by the earthquake, Naimushō Shakaikyoku, Records of Taishō
Earthquake, Vol.1, 331–32.
115
Kikata, Appearance of “College Town”: Alchemy of Modern Urban Planning, 13–21.

63
  

suburban development. Unlike urban real estate developers who had to buy out smaller pieces of

land, starting around 1910, suburban developers started buying up former agricultural fields in

bulk, with the goal of turning them into planned residential neighborhoods. By focusing on rural,

underdeveloped areas, Tsutsumi was able to obtain larger sites for developments more quickly

than his competitors. Kodaira Village was one of the places where Tsutsumi made speculative

investments.116 To support this aggressive land acquisition, Tsutsumi pursued a deal with Meiji

University, a private male-dominated university that was newly accredited by the 1918

University Order. Their campus was located in Kanda, close to TUC’s old integrated campus,

and it was also significantly damaged by the 1923 earthquake. In 1925, Tsutsumi wrote a letter to

persuade the students, alumni, and administrators of Meiji University to agree to relocate to

Kodaira, so that he could obtain funds to continue his sweeping land acquisition and

development plan there. In the long letter, Tsutsumi tried to sell the idea of suburban relocation,

writing, “The relocation is the first step toward the construction of Greater Meiji [University]. It

is nothing to hesitate about. It is a plan that the management and students should execute

passionately and sincerely.”117 But because Tsutsumi had talked one of the school vice presidents

into the deal with little consultation with other stakeholders, the relocation plan was eventually

                                                                                               
116
On Hakone Land, see Seibu Holdings Kōhō bu 西武ホールディングス広報部, ed., Seibu Holdings 10th
Anniversary Book (Tokyo: Seibu Holdings, 2016), 11–12. Seibu Holdings is a real estate and railway developer built
on the legacy of Hakone Land.
117
Tsutsumi Yasujirō 堤康次郎, “Meiji Daigaku Iten Mondai Ni Tsuki Kōyū Oyobi Gakusei Syogen Ni Kou 明治
大学移転問題に付 校友及学生諸彦に愬ふ [Request to the Alumni and Students, on the Relocation Issue of Meiji
University],” in Kodaira Shi Shi Shiryōshū: Kingendai Hen Dai Goshū: Kodaira No Kingendai Kiso Shiryō 小平市
史料集：近現代編第五集 [Historical Materials of Kodaira City, Modern and Contemporary Periods, Vol.5:
Fundamental Materials for Kodaira’s Modern and Contemporary Periods], ed. Kodaira Shi Shi hensan Īnkai 小平
市史編纂委員会 (Kodaira: Kodaira Shi, 2012), 110–14. This letter is dated 1925.
Original: 明大の移転は大明治建設への第一歩にして最早何等遅躊すべきことに非らず実に学校当局の熱
心と交友学生の赤誠とを以て速かに解決すべき問題 (114)

64
  

met by harsh opposition by the students and alumni. The vice president resigned, and Meiji

University ultimately had to dismiss the plan to relocate entirely.

Desperate for an alternative deal, Tsutsumi, together with Kodaira Village Mayor Ogawa

Ryōsuke, approached the administrators of TUC to invite them to build their campus there. In

their 1927 request to TUC, Tsutsumi and Ogawa wrote,

All residents of the village welcome the relocation of Tokyo University of Commerce
Preparatory Course to the site managed by Hakone Land Company. As stated on the
following notes, we landowners made an agreement with the company. We approve the
relocation and will support the company to the best of our ability. We hereby plea for the
execution [of the relocation plan] as soon as possible.118

The notes that accompanied this request further specified how they would help TUC’s relocation

and resettlement:

•   We will build a street from the Koganai Sakuradutsumi prefectural highway to the
main gate of the university. The company will provide the site for free. The
village will approve this street as a village highway or prefectural highway.
•   The village will strictly regulate businesses that might sway the students.
•   We will have no objections against the university using the water for a swimming
pool.
•   We will start the construction of a railroad within ten days from the day on which
TUC signs the contract. We will complete the construction in six months.
•   To avoid the university’s operational inconvenience as an institution on the
outskirts of the city, we will support the company to make sure that the
development is completed successfully. We landowners will postpone trades of
land properties for a year.119

                                                                                               
118
Tsutsumi and Ogawa Ryōsuke 小川良助, “Onegai 御願 [Request],” Request to Relocate Soon Sent to Sano
Zensaku, March 10, 1927. Reprinted on Kodaira Shi Shi hensan Īnkai, Historical Materials of Kodaira City, Modern
and Contemporary Periods, Vol.5: Fundamental Materials for Kodaira’s Modern and Contemporary Periods, 117.
Sano was the president of TUC.
Original: 東京商科大学予科ガ小平村箱根土地株式会社経営地ニ移転スルハ村民一同挙テ歓迎スル処ニ有
之、地主ハ別紙覚書ノ通リ会社ト円満協定ヲ遂ゲ、コレガ移転ニツイテハ賛成シ、極力会社ヲ援助可致
候間、一日モ速ニコレガ実行相成リ候様御配慮懇願候
119
Tsutsumi Yasujirō 堤康次郎 and Ogawa Ryōsuke 小川良助, “Onegai 御願 [Request].”
Original: 一、小金井桜堤府道ヨリ大学正門マデ八間道路を開墾シ、敷地ハ会社ヨリ無償提供シ、村ハ之
ヲ村道又ハ府道ニ認定スルコト。
一、学生風儀ヲ[撹]ス虜アル営業ニ対シテハ、村ハ誠心誠意取締ルベキコト。
一、用水ヲプールノ為メニ御使用相成ルトキハ、一同異議ナキコト。

65
  

The series of offerings show how desperately the developer and landowners needed TUC to

move to the site. They offered the prompt construction of transportation infrastructure, including

streets and a train line. Their action plan was also concrete, specifying a timeframe for

construction. This level of precision indicates their seriousness about the proposal. After a

month, Tsutsumi and Ogawa even reiterated the same plea in another letter to TUC.120

This second written plea was convincing, and TUC finally signed the contract. According

to the terms agreed upon in the contract, TUC acquired 24.4 acres in Kodaira from Hakone Land,

in exchange for their old site of 6.6 acres in Shakujii. The signed contract was essentially an

exchange of the two sites; there was no money transaction between TUC and Hakone Land, even

though TUC’s property almost quadrupled in size. In addition, Hakone Land even offered to let

TUC use the old site for free, if necessary.121 From a financial perspective, TUC benefited

greatly from this agreement, which must have saved them reconstruction costs. A comparison

between area maps from 1930 and 1935 shows that the developer kept his promise: multiple train

stations were constructed around the university. The developer even relocated an existing station

                                                                                               
一、電車ハ商科大学予科移転ノ契約調印ノ日ヨリ会社ハ拾日以内ニ工事ニ着手シ、六ヶ月以内ニ完成ス
ルコト。
一、野中ノ一軒家トナリ大学経営ニ不便ヲ来タス等ノコトナカラシムル為メ、同地ガ立派ナル経営地ト
ナル様会社ヲ援助シ、地主一同ハ土地ノ取引期間ヲ向フ一ヶ年間延期スルコト。
120
Tsutsumi and Ogawa, “Chinjō Sho 陳情書 [Plea],” Request to Relocate Sent to Sano, April 12, 1927. Reprinted
on Kodaira Shi Shi hensan Īnkai, Historical Materials of Kodaira City, Modern and Contemporary Periods, Vol.5:
Fundamental Materials for Kodaira’s Modern and Contemporary Periods, 118.
121
Sano Zensaku 佐野善作 and Tsutsumi, “Keiyakusho 契約書 [Contract],” Contact between TUC and Hakone
Land, April 13, 1927; Ogawa, “Oboegaki 覚書 [Memo],” Memo to Promise Road Construction Sent to Sano, 1928;
Nakajima Noboru 中島陟, “Tamako Tetsudo, Teishajō, Teiryūjo Shinsetsu Narabini Haishi Ninka Shinsei Ni
Kanshi Shōkai 多摩湖鉄道、停車場、停留所新設並廃止認可申請ニ関シ照会 [Inquiry Regarding the Request
for Approval to Demolish and Construct Tamako Railroad Line and Its Stations and Stops],” Inquiry to Kodaira
Village Office, August 2, 1933. Reprinted on Kodaira Shi Shi hensan Īnkai, Historical Materials of Kodaira City,
Modern and Contemporary Periods, Vol.5: Fundamental Materials for Kodaira’s Modern and Contemporary
Periods, 118–21.

66
  

in order to build a new station right in front of TUC’s campus (Figure 1.26).122 The advantageous

contract, patient pursuit of the deal, and execution of the promises collectively suggest that

Tsutsumi and Ogawa considered the campus of TUC to be crucial as a catalyst for further

residential and commercial development of the village.

Unlike TUC, Tsuda College paid for land and basic infrastructure on their own. Tsuda

College purchased the 20.6-acre site for ¥100,840 from a single landowner named Nakajima

Uichirō, whose background is unknown. Although their purchase was made before Hakone Land

was investing in Kodaira Village, it is still notable that there seems to have been no organized

effort to invite or entice Tsuda College to build there. Before even starting on the construction of

buildings, Tsuda College needed to lay some groundwork, beginning with planting trees as

windbreaks. The site was surrounded by agricultural fields, and strong seasonal winds blew a

dusting of fine red loam over the campus, especially in the spring and fall (Figure 1.27). The

campus needed the trees to mitigate the wind damage. In addition, they had to build additional

infrastructure, such as waterworks and sidewalks, on their own. Furthermore, Tsuda College

needed to arrange their own transit system from the closest train station; there was no public bus

line available, and it would have taken forty minutes to commute to the campus by foot. Tsuda

College bought a used car from the United States and created a shuttle bus line to provide rides

for students from Kokubunji Station. The bus was crowded, but it allowed students to commute

from home (Figure 1.28).123

                                                                                               
122
Compare the maps before and after the relocation of TUC: Sanbō Honbu Rikuchi Sokuryōbu 参謀本部陸地測量
部, “Niman Gosen Bunno Ichi Chikeizu Fuchū 二万五千分の一地形図・府中 [Topographical Map, 1:25000，
Fuchū],” (Tokyo: Sanbō Honbu Rikuchi Sokuryōbu, 1930, 1935).
123
On how Tsuda College started its construction in its rural site, see Tsuda Eigaku Juku, Forty-Year History of
Tsuda College, 130–33, 177–79. One student recollected on her experience of strong wind in the rural site. See
Saruyama Fumiko 猿山ふみ子, “Kodaira No Ryō Seikatsu 小平の寮生活 [Everyday Life at the Dorm in the
Kodaira Campus],” in Forty-Year History of Tsuda College, ed. Tsuda Eigaku Juku, 514–18. While there is no
evidence that Hakone Land helped Tsuda College, Hakone Land used the future presence of Tsuda College in
Kodaira as a way to boost their sales of residential plots. Their 1928 advertisement features TUC as well as Tsuda

67
  

These disparities between Tsuda College and TUC were reflective of a larger tendency.

In fact, inviting men’s universities to build their campuses as a catalyst for surrounding

development became a common strategy for suburban developers (Table 1.1). For instance,

Tokyo-Yokohama Railroad (TYR) invited both Keio University (formerly Keiō Gijuku) and

Hosei University to build their campuses along train lines that crossed land that they were

developing in the southwest of Tokyo, in Hiyoshidai and Kiduki, respectively. TYR even

donated 59.5 acres to Keio and 8.2 acres to Hosei. When Keio expressed their need for even

more space, TYR assisted Keio in buying out the surrounding 26 acres of plots. After Keio

agreed to relocate there, TYR developed the area around Keio’s new campus and sold the tracts

at higher prices for commercial and residential development, which was their plan all along.

TYR also expected students to generate revenue by becoming new passengers of the railroad,

and this strategy also proved to be effective.124 By taking advantage of patterns of suburban

development in these ways, private men’s universities, many of which were newly accredited by

the 1918 University Order, were able to be more financially successful than women’s specialized

schools, even though the material support from the government was limited for both groups.

Similar to Tsuda College and to these men’s institutions, JWU and TWCU searched for

and purchased new or additional land in rural areas between the late 1910s and 1930s. JWU

obtained property in Nishi Ikuta, a western rural area outside of Tokyo, in 1931. The thought

                                                                                               
College as nearby institutions. The minimum price of the plot ¥10.5/tsubo was more than double the price at which
Tsuda College acquired the land in 1922 (¥4/tsubo). For Hakone Land’s 1928 advertisement, see Seibu Holdings
Kōhō bu, Seibu Holdings 10th Anniversary Book, 12.
124
On the invited relocations, see Keiō Gijuku 慶應義塾, ed., Keiō Gijuku Hyakunenshi Chu, Kou 慶應義塾百年
史・中・後 [A Hundred Year History of Keio Gijuku, Vol.2-II] (Tokyo: Keiō Gijuku, 1964), 297–30; Hōsei
Daigaku Hyakunenshi Hensan Īnkai 法政大学百年史編纂委員会, ed., Hōsei Daigaku Hyakunenshi 法政大学百年
史 [A Hundred Year History of Hosei University] (Tokyo: Hōsei Daigaku, 1980), 642–43; Tōkyū Fudōsan
Kabushiki Gaisha Sōmubu Shashi Hensan Chīmu 東急不動産株式会社総務部社史編纂チーム, ed., Machidukuri
Gojūnen まちづくり五十年 [Fifty Years of Real Estate Development] (Tokyo: Tōkyū Fudōsan, 1973), 58–60.

68
  

process at JWU seems to have been similar to Tsuda College. The administrators first considered

constructing high-rises with reinforced concrete on their original campus in the city center. But

as they worked toward being granted university status, the administrators realized that the old

site would not suffice and decided to relocate to a suburb-to-be. The students and alumnae

campaigned to raise funds for this campus expansion. Unlike Tsuda College, JWU managed to

collect money from wealthy Japanese, including some women donors. They did so by

emphasizing the school’s willingness to refrain from transgressing boundaries and stepping into

the territory of men’s institutions. One campaign pamphlet claims that the school “has not the

foolish and useless desire to rival men’s universities but hopes to provide a cultural training

peculiarly suited to women and to develop in her students a true womanliness [sic].”125 Perhaps

in part because of this relative adherence to social norms, JWU received some practical support

from wealthy Japanese people, in addition to money. JWU also managed to secure a professional

broker, Mitsui Trust Bank, which was part of the entrepreneur clan that donated the first campus

site to JWU. With the help of this bank, JWU purchased a total of 73.6 acres from four different

owners. Although JWU’s site search and purchase might have been easier than Tsuda College,

the deeds for the new site do not include any of the advantageous terms that TUC enjoyed.126

JWU’s new site was an undeveloped woodland, which required significant groundwork. The

construction for the campus had to begin with building a street from the nearest train station.

Although these conditions were challenging, JWU also took this opportunity to show off their

ability to build infrastructure, in order to bolster their claims to university accreditation. Another

                                                                                               
125
Nihon Joshi Daigakkō Bokin Īnkai 日本女子大学校募金委員会, “Nippon Joshi Daigaku Campaign for Funds,”
Pamphlet, 1938, D2248, Naruse Memorial Hall (Japan Women’s University Archives).
126
Nihon Joshi Daigakkō 日本女子大学校, Nihon Joshi Daigakkō Shijūnenshi 日本女子大学校四十年史 [Forty-
Year History of Japan Women’s University], 268–76; Inoue Hideko 井上秀子, “Nihon Joshi Daigakkō Yōchi
Shōmei Negai 日本女子大学校用地証明願 [Request for Proof of the School Site],” Request to the Minister of
Education, Science, and Culture, 1934, 317.E8.08.-18, TMA.

69
  

fundraising pamphlet that was distributed features the new street to the campus site with two

photographs (Figure 1.29). The caption reads, “Street Exclusive to the School.” In other words,

building their own infrastructure appears to have given JWU a sense of pride.127

Around this same time, in 1919, TWCU also purchased a piece of land in the western

outskirts of the city, in Nishi-Ogikubo. TWCU was founded just the previous year, much later

than both Tsuda College and JWU. Opened tentatively in a former sanatorium, TWCU was on

the lookout from the beginning for a site to build a proper campus. Similar to Tsuda College,

TWCU first considered several locations, including Meguro/Ōmori, Higashi-Nakano, Mejiro,

Kichijōji, and Nakano. All these sites were located in the western areas of the city, except for

Mejiro.128 TWCU decided to make a deal with the landowners in Nishi-Ogikubo, in part because

they learned from one of the school board members, who worked for the MR, that a new train

station was scheduled to be built there. At the time, landowners in Nishi-Ogikubo were

repurposing former agricultural fields for residential and commercial uses, which is why large

pieces of land had recently become available. However, the particular site that TWCU managed

to buy was a relatively marginal piece of land (Figure 1.30). The shape of the tract was

challenging, in comparison to the rezoned tracts that lay to the north and east. In the northeast,

the land included a riverbank that prevented further expansion, and in the west, there was a

municipal border that ran along the street. Similar to Tsuda College’s third site, then, TWCU’s

                                                                                               
127
Nihon Joshi Daigakkō Bokin Īnkai 日本女子大学校募金委員会, “Joshi Sōgō Daigakuen Jitsugen Narabini Iten
Kensetsu: Nihon Joshi Daigakkō Bokin Shushi 女子総合大学園実現並移転建設：日本女子大学校募金趣旨
[Toward the Establishment of Women’s Comprehensive University, Relocation, and Construction: The Purpose of
Fundraising at Japan Women’s University],” Pamphlet, January 1934, D2218, 17–18, Japan Women’s University
Archives.
128
Tokyo Joshi Daigaku Gojūnenshi Hensan Īnkai, Tokyo Joshi Daigaku GojūnenshiFifty-Year History of Tokyo
Women’s Christian University, 62–65, 70–72.

70
  

new campus was prone to future conflicts with neighbors and limited in location and shape.129

While TWCU might be able to negotiate the price somewhat due to these limitations, buying the

land was still a huge financial investment. Like the other women’s schools, TWCU needed to

raise funds for the campus on their own. It took three years to even start the construction, and in

1924, when TWCU relocated to the suburban campus, it was premature. The campus

construction was still incomplete, leaving part of the lecture hall, a library, an auditorium, and a

church to be built incrementally.130

All three of the women’s specialized schools thus obtained larger sites in the developing

suburbs, with intentions to plan and construct proper campuses adequate for universities.

However, suburban developers did not show interest in luring women’s specialized schools into

these areas, even though the schools were desperately looking to move. At the same time, there

is no evidence to indicate that developers, village administrators, or residents actively interrupted

or discouraged the relocation of women’s institutions into their communities. Nevertheless, the

fact that the women’s specialized schools did not have access to the resources that were offered

to men’s universities suggests that the process of campus development was gendered.  

Progress, not Relegation

Because of the different levels of support for male and female institutions, it was difficult

for administrators at Tsuda College to implement their rural campus development plan. Despite

these hardships, however, narratives of Tsuda College students suggest that they perceived the

                                                                                               
129
On the re-platting project, see Iogi Chō Tochi Kukaku Seiri Kumiai 井荻町土地区画整理組合, “Jigyōshi 事業
誌 [Record of the Project]” (Tokyo: Iogi Village, 1935), 1–3; Kikata, Appearance of “College Town”: Alchemy of
Modern Urban Planning, 122–24.
130
Tokyo Joshi Daigaku Gojūnenshi Hensan Īnkai, Fifty-Year History of Tokyo Women’s Christian University, 70.

71
  

construction of a new campus as progress. For example, after introducing the new facilities to

readers of their Alumnae Report, a student named Yumoto wrote:

The [school] bus is so cramped in the morning, but as all passengers are students at the
college, we do not feel disgusted by that. It takes commuter students with bad access to
Shosen a while to get to school, but we do not feel as tired as we expected. Because we
are pioneers in Kokubunji, we must bear with this little inconvenience. […] The air is
clear; we can enjoy nature as much as we want; and the lecture hall is beautiful. We could
not expect more than we have now.131

She then invited the alumnae to the campus by writing, “Please visit our new campus soon.”

Unlike in the previous three sites, as mentioned earlier, Tsuda College managed to hire

the architect Satō for the campus planning this time. Satō designed a new lecture hall, two

dormitories, and other facilities, using more elaborate technologies and styles. Nevertheless, this

project was still budget-sensitive. Before hiring Satō, the administrators had rejected a schematic

design by the American architect Ralph Adams Cram because it was “too costly.”132 Even

though the campus was planned beforehand, some of the buildings ended up being incomplete or

temporary at the time of relocation. For example, the signature lecture hall was not finished; the

floorplan notes that the rear parts were planned as a “future extension” (Figures 1.31–1.33).

These unfinished parts, which were still not built when they moved to this campus, were

particularly obvious to onlookers because the design was for a symmetrical building.133 Other

buildings, such as the gymnasium, were temporary, and the auditorium and library were planned,

but not built. Even with such compromises, the construction budget of ¥1,000,000 was almost

                                                                                               
131
Yumoto 湯本, “Shin Kōsha Ni Utsurite 新校舎に移りて [On Relocating to the New School Building],” Kaihō
会報 [Alumnae Report] 36 (November 1931): 52–53. Yumoto is her last name. She did not inscribe her first name,
which is a common practice in Japan.
132
Tsuda Eigaku Juku, Forty-Year History of Tsuda College, 179–80.
133
The detailed information, architectural drawings, and photographs of the new lecture hall and dormitories can be
found on Satō Kōichi 佐藤功一, “Joshi Eigaku Juku 女子英学塾 [Tsuda College],” Kenchiku Sekai 建築世界 [The
World of Architecture] 26, no. 6 (1931): illustration, unpaged.

72
  

entirely used up; the actual cost was ¥956,045.134 As Anna C. Hartshorne – a longtime

administrator and teacher at the school – stated in a letter to the alumnae in 1929:

After the long waiting, work has actually begun, trees are being reset, roads laid out and
building plans definitely settled. The question of teaching and office space is simple
enough: it must be just sufficient for present requirements, for the building fund, large as
it is, will not provide for any expansion, or even such necessities as an audience hall and
permanent gymnasium, both of which must wait for the future.135

Hartshorne’s statement indicates that the administrators again were focused on fulfilling

immediate needs, despite their grand plan for a proper campus. But as Yumoto’s narrative

suggests, students still felt positively about the campus as it was. To the students, their learning

environment had definitely been improved. For example, the new lecture hall was designed and

constructed with reinforced concrete and tiled exterior walls, while all the previous buildings had

been wood-frame buildings with little exterior elaboration. Unlike Henry Woods Hall, this

sturdy, more elaborate lecture hall faced straight to the entrance gate and street – a design that

perhaps mirrored their outward expression of commitment to women’s education (Figure 1.34).

Additionally, the new dormitories offered students increased privacy and spaciousness. The older

dormitories in the third site were made of wood-frame buildings, and each bedroom was shared

by multiple students. Due to the thinness of the walls, noise would have traveled more easily,

which might have hindered students’ individual learning and sense of independence. In contrast,

the new residential halls were built with thicker interior walls and provided single and double

occupancy rooms (Figure 1.35), which meant that the students were allotted a space one-and-a-

                                                                                               
134
On the details of the planning and budgeting of the fourth campus, Tsuda Eigaku Juku 津田英学塾, Forty-Year
History of Tsuda College., 177–80, 187–92; Yokote Yoshihiro 横手義洋, “Kenchikuka Rarufu Adamusu Kuramu
No Tsudajuku Daigaku Kyanpasu Keikaku Ni Kansuru Kenkyū 建築家ラルフ・アダムス・クラムの津田塾大学
キャンパス計画に関する研究 [Study on Ralph Adams Cram’s Tsuda College Campus Project],” Nihon Kenchiku
Gakkai Keikakukei Ronbunshū 日本建築学会計画系論文集 [Journal of Architecture, Planning, and
Environmental Engineering 77, no. 671 (2012): 143–48.
135
Anna C. Hartshorne, “Letter to Dosokwai [Letter to the Alumnae Association],” Alumnae Report 34 (1929): 2.

73
  

half times larger than in the previous dormitory. Because of the new features, when students

moved in, they were “in seventh heaven.”136 Yumoto’s account shows the students’ sense of

pride and excitement in the new campus, which had buildings constructed exclusively for them,

from scratch.

The editor of the column in the Alumnae Report that had included Yumoto’s article,

called “These Days at the College,” expressed her own experience and feelings about the new

campus:

The bell rings through our bones—where did the old bell in Kōjikachi campus go? That
[sound of the bell] tells the beginning of class. The air in a spacious and bright classroom
and silence far away from the noises of the city urge us to study harder. [...] It is spacious
everywhere. Where did the students, who were crammed into, or even crowded out of the
school building in Kōjimachi, go? [...] We have already settled and are concentrating on
our studies, although it has only been two weeks since the relocation. Yet, we will not
forget to be grateful for a lot of struggles behind this glorious construction.137

Similar to Yumoto’s, this student’s characterization of the construction as “glorious

[kagayakashii 輝かしい]” implies a sense of progress and advancement. Her account also

suggests that the students recognized the hardships that administrators, alumnae, and supporters

had experienced in the process of expansion. While little has been written about the level of the

enrolled students’ involvement in the campus expansion initiative, these accounts suggest that

they knew that their allies worked hard to raise funds and negotiate deals on their behalf. This

shared experience of hardship might have made the progress that was made seem even more

valuable.

                                                                                               
136
While one student could occupy 45.5 square feet at the maximum in the old dormitory, she could have 71.2
square feet at the minimum in the new dormitory. I computed the areas per student using the information on the
following evidence: Tsuda Eigaku Juku, Forty-Year History of Tsuda College, 318–20, 323–34; Tsuda, “Request for
Obtaining Teacher’s License without Examinations”; Tsuda, “Request for Approval to Add School Buildings.”On
the move-in experiences, see a student’s account on: Tsuda Eigaku Juku, Forty-Year History of Tsuda College, 323.
137
Anon., “Kansō 感想 [Thoughts],” Alumnae Report 36 (November 1931): 55.

74
  

Notably, in contrast to the students at Tsuda College, TUC students conceptualized their

relocation to Kodaira negatively. On a practical level, TUC benefited much more from the

developer and the village than Tsuda College did; however, TUC students complained about the

inconvenience of the new campus in the university newspaper. For instance, a student writer

criticized the new modernist lecture hall as “a modern prison” and “looking like a sanatorium”

(Figure 1.36). This student cynically continued, “I know that it is too late to say, but a school of

commerce could make students understand its core spirit and mission if it was located in the

hustle and bustle of the city. See, for example, the College of Commerce in London.”138 By

“College of Commerce in London,” this writer likely referred to the London School of

Economics (LSE), founded in 1896. Similar to TUC, LSE had relocated its campus in order to

expand in 1922, but the new campus was still located in the center of London.

Another writer also failed to provide favorable descriptions of the new campus. He began

his article by characterizing the main school building as “cream-colored, soft, smart,” but later

revealed his disappointment, writing,

The construction of the students’ meeting house, special classrooms, auditorium, library,
gymnasium, and the athletic ground, which should be included on campus, is
significantly delayed due to the financial matters at the Ministry of Education, Science,
and Culture. We feel inconvenience in every dimension [of our campus life].139

                                                                                               
138
Anon., “Kodaira Shin-Fūkei 小平新風景 [New Landscape of Kodaira],” Ikkyō Shimbun 一橋新聞 [Ikkyō
Newspaper], October 9, 1933. In this quote, “College of Commerce in London” is a literal translation of “eito no
shōka daigaku 英都の商科大学.” Ikkō Shimbun is TUC’s college newspaper. As a student of the governmental
institution whose primary mission was to figure out how commerce worked, he seemed particularly frustrated by the
decision to move the campus so far from the center of economic activities.
139
Anon., “Kodaira Gakuen Natte Ikkyō No Bunka Iyoiyo Eien No Itonami E 小平学園成って一橋の文化いよい
よ永遠の営みへ [Completion of Kodaira Gakuen, Toward Making Ikkyo Culture Everlasting],” Ikkyō Newspaper,
September 11, 1933.

75
  

In his writing, there is no sense of gratitude for governmental funding; instead, this writer

highlighted the MESC’s part in delaying the construction. A survey of TUC students’ requests

for the new campus suggests that this attitude was widespread. The summary reads:

All students criticize the bad connection between the train on the Tamako line, which
comes every twenty-four minutes, and Shōsen. A lot of students blame this on the
impossibility of a bus line between Kunitachi and Kodaira. [...] Anyway, all these earnest
cries that come from students’ experiences are reasonable.140

Here, the students were referring to their commute between the preparatory campus in Kodaira

and the undergraduate program campus, which was about three and half miles away in

Kunitachi. To get to Kunitachi campus, students had to take the Tamako Line and change trains

at Kokubunji Station to Shōsen, a train line operated by the MR. Still, compared to the situation

at Tsuda College, whose students had to take a crowded school shuttle bus, TUC students had a

much more convenient arrangement; the Tamako Line station was constructed right in front of

the campus. Nonetheless, TUC students felt entitled to complain about having to change trains,

as well as about the infrequency of trains. As opposed to the Tsuda College student who

recognized hardship as a “little inconvenience,” TUC students thought that complaining about

their situation was “reasonable [mottomo 尤も].” The expressions of intolerance by TUC

students indicate that privileged male students at the governmental university understood their

relocation to the rural site as relegation rather than progress.  

                                                                                               
140
Anon., “Kodaira Iten Go No Kansō Wo Kiku: Yoka-Sei No Socchoku Na Kokuhaku 小平移転後の感想を聞
く：予科生の率直な告白 [Listening to Students’ Voice after Relocation: Confessions of Preparatory Course
Students],” Ikkyō Newspaper, October 9, 1933; Kodaira Shi Shi Hennsan Īnkai 小平市史編纂委員会, ed., Kodaira
Shi Shi: Kingendai Hen 小平市史：近現代編 [History of Kodaira City: Modern and Contemporary Periods]
(Kodaira: Kodaira Shi, 2013), 224–45.

76
  

The Changing Politics of Land Control in Tokyo: Women Negotiating Spaces to Thrive

The MESC marginalized women’s educational institutions and their aspirations for

higher-level education in a systematic manner. Yet, one unintended consequence of this system

was the empowerment of women students. As we have seen, women at Tsuda College became

more confident and aspirational during the process of paving these paths toward higher education

on their own. The shared sense that they were at the forefront of women’s education continued to

drive the school’s pursuit of a higher status. These efforts were interrupted in the years preceding

and during World War II by government dysfunctionality, but Tsuda College finally attained

university accreditation in 1948. It was one of the first five schools that was approved as a

university under the revamped postwar educational system.141

Tsuda’s passion and leadership for women’s higher education indeed played a significant

role in the process. Yet, this case also shows the complexity of Japan’s modernization project,

led by the centralized government, as well as how spatial ordering was used as both an

instrument of control and emancipation. Space was a double-edge sword in this modern state. On

the one hand, by giving out their land only to governmental institutions, the MESC used space as

a device of control. On the other hand, under the new capitalist system of property ownership,

non-governmental, private owners were free to pursue their own interests. If they deemed it to be

beneficial, the private owners could give and sell their properties to women’s institutions, or to

private men’s institutions, independent of what the MESC was trying to achieve.

Whether the MESC was aware of all of these processes or not, the consequence was that

they had incomplete control over Tokyo’s new spatial order. Stepping back a bit, it is crucial to

keep in mind that under this new system, any citizen was entitled to own property, regardless of

                                                                                               
141
Monbushō, A Hundred-Year History of Japan’s Educational System, 734–45.

77
  

his/her status. The national government kept some of the property, while gradually selling the

lands returned by the Tokugawa lords to either old or new landowners. People with the sufficient

capital started buying up these properties and accumulating these lands as assets, resulting in a

city that was ultimately divided into either governmental or private properties. Architectural

historian Suzuki Hiroyuki contends that this process of reorganization produced three distinct

types of private landowners in the Meiji period. The most powerful and traditional owners were

what he calls “large-scale cumulative landowners.” These owners had started accumulating

commoners’ properties since the Edo period, and they continued to buy out properties in the

Meiji period. Their base assets were the accumulation of relatively small, subdivided, scattered

pieces of land in the former commoners’ zone. Altogether, by the end of the nineteenth century,

they owned a large part of the total land in Tokyo. This type of owners typically rented out the

individual properties in order to make a profit. Another emerging type was “large-scale

concentrative landowners.” These owners started buying relatively larger pieces of land in the

Meiji period, when the government started selling properties located in the former warriors’

zone. Because these properties were relatively large, concentrative owners gained power fairly

quickly. Their way of managing these assets was to plan and develop new residential or

commercial districts in the consolidated sites. As urban real estate developers, they focused on

large-scale projects. Finally, there were also a category that emerged that Suzuki calls “small-

scale landowners,” who bought out smaller tracts piece by piece. Their assets included former

commoners’ properties or subdivided tracts in the new urban developments. Without significant

capital, their land acquisition was less organized. As they were not as flush with cash, compared

to the large-scale owners, these small-scale owners focused on making immediate profits. The

78
  

owners typically would build a house on the tract and rent out the building and land together.142

These three different kinds of owners, along with the government, all participated in the physical

transformation of the city.

Thus, while the MESC executed strict control on educational codes and institutions, in

terms of spatial policies and planning, the government was focused more on the rapid

development of infrastructure rather than intervening on private properties.143 This planning

attitude granted private landowners relative freedom and power in the development of the city,

which is part of what allowed relatively marginalized institutions like Tsuda College to survive

and thrive, by offering spaces that women could make use of for their own purposes. A map of

Edo shows that the first three sites of Tsuda College were located in the former warrior zone,

which the government could have kept as their own property (Figure 1.37).144 While the owners

of the sites, who directly interacted with Tsuda to make deals, are unknown, these sites were

likely sold to private owners when the government reorganized the city. It was because the

government no longer completely controlled the spatial order in Tokyo that Tsuda College was

able to acquire the sites. As we have seen, buying this property was not easy, but as long as they

were able to negotiate a deal with the individual property owners, an organization like Tsuda

College had a space in the city, independent of the MESC’s policy.

The campus that was built on the outskirts of the city was also purchased from a single

private owner, who was willing to sell a tract of consolidated agricultural fields. This site was

                                                                                               
142
Suzuki Hiroyuki, “Tokyo Ni Okeru Jūtakuchi Kaihatsu No Hikaku Bunkashi Teki Kenkyū I/II 東京における住
宅地開発の比較文化史的研究 I/II [Compartative Cultura History of Residential Developments in Tokyo I/II],” in
Kenchiku: Mirai e No Isan 建築: 未来への遺産 [Architecture: Heritage for the Future], ed. Itō Takeshi 伊藤毅
(Tokyo: Tokyo Daigaku Shuppankai, 2017), 112–38.
143
Carola Hein, “Shaping Tokyo: Land Development and Planning Practice in the Early Modern Japanese
Metropolis,” Journal of Urban History 36, no. 4 (2010): 447–84.
144
Kageyama Muneyasu 景山致恭, “Oedo Banchō Ezu 御江戸番町絵図 [An Illustrated Map of Oedo Banchō]”
(Edo: Owariya Kiyoshichi, 1849–62), National Diet Library Digital Collection,
http://dl.ndl.go.jp/info:ndljp/pid/1286658, accessed October 19, 2018.

79
  

located in a rural area that Tokugawa and early Meiji governments had not even recognized as

part of the city. In other words, land in this area had never been governmental property. This lack

of an urban legacy is important because the primary reason why Tsuda College moved was that

they could not purchase a site that was large enough in the city center, where much of the

property was either owned by the government or by large-scale concentrative owners/urban real

estate developers. To Tsuda College, the opportunity to expand outside of the city center, in

these privately-owned spaces, allowed for a sense of emancipation and advancement. In these

spaces, untouched by the government, they were able to build their own school, expand, and

claim a higher status in the educational system and in society more broadly. In this modern

society, where top-down spatial control was no longer complete, women students found

opportunities for breaking imposed norms and gendered ideologies.

80
  

Chapter 2: Spaces for Gathering

Socializing and Social Ordering in Urban Parks, 1873–1912

Around the turn of the twentieth century, two women’s organizations held gatherings at Ueno

Park [Ueno Kōen 上野公園], one of the first public parks established in Tokyo.145 Both

gatherings were attended by more than forty participants. One of the organizations was Tōyō

Eiwa Girls’ School Alumnae Association, or TEGSAA, the alumnae association of a private, all-

girls school. The other was Japan Women’s Association for Education, or JWAE, an association

for charitable work and self-cultivation led by women from a higher social status. Established in

1895 and 1886, respectively, the associations were two of the earliest women’s organizations for

shakō (lit. socializing) in Tokyo.146 While I will elaborate on the complexity of the concept and

practices of shakō below, the term generally referred to a set of systematized activities for

socializing, which emerged in late nineteenth-century Japan. These two organizations both

favored parks and other public spaces, which were relatively new to the city, as their gathering

venues especially in the Meiji period (1868–1912).

Why did two of the oldest women’s groups end up in the same park around the same

time? This chapter examines the social gatherings of TEGSAA and JWAE in the Meiji period,

focusing on their usage of particular venues. As we will see, these women’s organizations

repeatedly met in public parks, even during a time when the government was tightening policing

                                                                                               
145
I use park as a standard translation of the Japanese word kōen [公園, lit. public garden]. As the Japanese term
emerged to refer to different kinds of urban open spaces in the West, including public gardens, parks, and squares,
kōen is convoluted as a term. On the issue of the term of kōen, see Kamiyasu Nagako 上安祥子, “Kōen to Iu
Yakugo No Tanjō 「公園」という訳語の誕生 [The Birth of Kōen as a Japanese Term],” Hakuoh Daigaku Ronshu
白鴎大学論集 [Hakuoh University Journal] 30, no. 2 (2016): 37–81.
146
I will give more details about TEGSAA and JWAE below, but for general histories of these organizations, see
Hyakunijūnen Shi Hensan Īnkai 120 年史編纂委員会, ed., Tōyō Eiwa Jogakuin Hyakuniūnen Shi 東洋英和女学院
120 年史 [History of Tōyō Eiwa Jogakuin 1884–2004] (Tokyo: Tōyō Eiwa Jogakuin, 2005), 628–37; Dai Nihon
Fujin Kyōiku Kai, A Fifty-Year Record of Japan Women’s Association for Education.

81
  

on men’s outdoor gatherings. Inspired by studies on the gendering of modern American parks,

this chapter seeks to attend to two forces that drove the spatial expansion of women’s gatherings

into public urban spaces in this period. The first is the national government’s initiatives to

establish parks and to encourage women’s shakō, as part of their broader modernization project.

The government created parks in 1873 and continued to have power over how these spaces were

managed throughout the period before World War II; however, at times they struggled to have

total control over how and by whom the spaces were used. I ask, how did planners imagine the

space of the public park in relation to gender norms? And how did women work alongside and

against these imaginations in their uses of the parks? More specifically, how did the national

government imagine parks in Japan, and how were these understandings related to gender?

The other force, I suggest, was women’s own efforts to locate, claim, and reinterpret

spaces that were not initially designated as their gathering spaces. As we will see, TEGSAA and

JWAE established their own exclusive gathering spaces – the “alumnae room” at their school

and a clubhouse – in 1933 and 1908, respectively. Yet, this chapter shows that they had already

started to make these gathering spaces, long before they constructed these purpose-built spaces. I

argue that these women’s organizations incrementally expanded their spatial networks for

gathering by reinterpreting homes, familiar places, and urban open spaces, including public

parks. In exploring why and how women started frequenting parks, this chapter also addresses

the question of how these earlier gatherings can be related to women’s later gatherings for more

explicitly political purposes in Taishō period (1912–25) onward. What kind of rhetoric was used

to justify women’s gatherings, which allowed them to be perceived as separate from the

perceived problem of men’s gatherings in public parks?

82
  

To understand the broader context in which parks were frequented by female socializing

crowds, I first provide a broad overview of how the concepts of shako and public parks both

emerged during the Meiji period. In the process, I also address some of the limitations within the

existing literature, focusing on the lack of attention paid to the subject of women’s uses of parks

and to women’s socializing activitities in the Meiji period. I make the case that, in order to

understand the process of gendering in the parks, we need to focus on this period, before

women’s political movements became salient. Then, drawing theoretical inspiration from studies

on women park users in the West, I delve into the specific cases of TEGSAA and JWAE. As I

demonstrate, the Ueno Park gatherings were not isolated incidents. Rather, they reflected distinct

spatial patterns that shaped everyday life for these women. Strongly tied to the differing social

and economic status of the women involved, each group developed their own spatial culture in

the pursuit of finding places to gather.147 I discuss how women first began reinterpreting two

other kinds of spaces – homes and familiar spaces – as gathering venues, before moving on to

discuss parks.

Methodologically, I use sources similar to what women’s historians have used in their

studies of women’s group activities in later periods, but I focus here on activities in the Meiji

period. By doing so, I demonstrate how the two organizations started using particular types of

spaces in the city. From the list of venues, I identify three types of spaces that both organizations

visited multiple times, including parks and other public spaces in the city. Unfortunately, based

on the bulletins, we do not know the rationales behind why certain venues were selected; the

authors did not articulate these processes most of the time. Rather, they simply reported the

                                                                                               
147
Folklorist Mary Hufford has discussed such multiple senses of place in a single physical space in her work. On
her discussion on how the sense of difference can be produced, see Mary Hufford, One Space, Many Places:
Folklife and Land Use in New Jersey’s Pinelands National Reserve (Washington, DC: American Folklife Center,
Library of Congress, 1986), 20–33.

83
  

results of this decision-making, by listing the places where they visited. Perhaps because options

available to women’s organizations at the time were already quite limited, their rationales would

have been obvious to those organizations. To uncover what was at stake in the processes for

selecting the venues, then, I conduct a contextual reading of their spatial choices, in lieu of direct

explanatory narratives. To do so, I compile information on the venues that TEGSAA and JWAE

visited for gatherings, using these groups’ internal bulletins, and I examine how the two

organizations started holding gatherings at Ueno Park, discussing the role of material culture as

well as the distinct socio-cultural functions and meanings of the parks and in-park establishments

they used. In discussing women’s use of public parks specifically, I rely on sources such as

illustrations and descriptions from guidebooks of Tokyo, as well as park regulations compiled

from the text Historical Documents of Tokyo City, a chronological collection of historical

documents pertaining to the making of the city of Tokyo.148 I reinterpret these sources, which

have previously been used by other scholars, by focusing on the relationships that parks had with

women users.  

Parks and Women’s Organizations as Civilizing Projects

As ideas, both parks and women’s shakō emerged from the same kinds of top-down

initiatives; they were both part of the national government’s attempts to perform a version of

“civilization” that was modeled on Western powers, such as the United States, the United

Kingdom, Russia, the Netherlands, and France. As mentioned in the introduction, by

                                                                                               
148
Historical Documents of Tokyo City started being published in 1901 to author a history of Tokyo City. So far,
181 volumes have been published, and its publication is still ongoing. On Historical Documents, see Tokyō To
Kōbunsho Kan 東京都公文書館, “Tokyo Shi Shikō: Edo Tokyo No Rekishi Wo Shiryō de Tadoru 東京市史稿: 江
戸東京の歴史を史料でたどる [Historical Documents of Tokyo City: Tracing the History of Edo-Tokyo with
Historical Documents],” accessed August 17, 2018,
http://www.soumu.metro.tokyo.jp/01soumu/archives/0601sisiko.htm.

84
  

demonstrating their ability to emulate Western cultures, the national government sought an equal

standing in diplomacy with those countries. Yet, the parks and women’s organizations that

resulted from these efforts were not simple duplicates of those that developed in the West.

Rather, in the process of implementation, these ideas came into contact with existing customs, as

well as ongoing challenges that were specific to Japan, transforming into idiosyncratic spaces

and set of practices.

The Emergence of Public Parks

The Meiji government established parks in the 1870s, as part of a broader cultural

performance that was geared toward the West. Once the Tokugawa shogunate agreed to open

Japanese ports to international trade in 1858, government officials created a few settlements

across Japan, where foreigners were allowed to live and conduct businesses with Japanese

people. Two of the settlements were located in and near the city of Tokyo, in Tsukiji and

Yokohama. Particularly in the Yokohama foreign settlement, which was about twenty miles from

central Tokyo, residents actively demanded that they be able to recreate a built environment that

was similar to that of their countries of origin, including “public gardens” and promenades for

recreational purposes. In response to these demands, a “public garden” was constructed in

Yokohama in 1870, three years before the Meiji national government issued the decree to

establish parks in the rest of Japan. Not only foreign residents but Japanese people also started to

use the public garden for events. For example, Japanese gardeners exhibited their works at a

flower trade show there, which drew foreign as well as Japanese visitors.149 Thus, these users, as

                                                                                               
149
On the parks in Yokohama foreign settlement, see Kodera Shunkichi 小寺駿吉, “Yokohama Ni Okeru Kōen No
Hattatsu to Sono Shakaiteki Haikei 横浜における公園の発達とその社会的背景 [Origin and Development of
Parks in Yokohama and Their Social Background],” Chiba Daigaku Engei Gakubu Gakujutsu Hōkoku 千葉大学園
芸学部学術報告 [Technical Bulletin of Faculty of Horticulture, Chiba University] 12 (1964): 103–16; Satō Akira
佐藤昌, Nihon Kōen Ryokuchi Hattatsushi Jōkan 日本公園緑地発達史 上巻 [A History of the Development of

85
  

well as government officials who approved the construction, experienced the idea of a public

garden first-hand, even before the national government decided to establish similar kinds of

spaces for Japanese people.

In addition, delegations from the late Tokugawa and early Meiji governments visited

various open spaces in cities in the West, including gardens, parks, squares, and plazas, then

shared their experiences with other government officials and beyond after they returned home.

Notably, the Iwakura Mission, a 107-person delegation from the national government, visited

cities in Europe and the United States from 1871 to 1873. As one objective of this delegation was

the research of Western civilizations, secretary Kume Kunitake took detailed notes of Western

cultural and social institutions, including parks and other public spaces in the city, and brought

the knowledge back to Japan. Landscape historian Shirahata Yōzaburo argues, based on Kume’s

report, that the government officials considered these spaces that were specifically designed for

urban recreation to be quintessentially “Western”; they represented an idea that distinguished

Western culture from Japanese culture. For example, Kume wrote, “As people in the West go out

of the home and enjoy walking around, they have parks in any small town. Meanwhile, people in

the East enjoy staying inside the home. So they have gardens at home.”150 As Shirahata contends,

this dualistic association, which linked specific physical spaces with broader cultural attitudes,

also drove the establishment of parks in Japan. To the government officials, it was important to

                                                                                               
Parks and Green Spaces in Japan, Vol.1] (Tokyo: Toshi Keikaku Kenkyūjo, 1977), 44–62; Shirahata Yōzaburō 白
幡洋三郎, Kindai Toshi Kōenshi No Kenkyū: Ōka No Keifu 近代都市公園史の研究 : 欧化の系譜 [A Historical
Study on Modern Urban Parks: A Genealogy of Westernization] (Kyoto: Shibunkaku Shuppan, 1995), 175–78, 259–
84.
150
Kume Kunitake 久米邦武, Tokumei Zenken Taishi Bei-ō Kairan Jikki 1 特命全権大使米欧回覧実記 1 [Record
of a Tour of the United States and Europe by the Japanese Envoy Extraordinary and Ambassador Plenipotentiary 1]
(Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 2007), 82. This record was first published in 1878.
Original: 西洋人は外に出て盤遊を楽む，是一小雖も必公苑を修むる所なり，東洋人は室内にあり惰居す
るを楽む，故に家々に庭園を修む．

86
  

create these physical spaces for outdoor pleasure, in order to fully perform Western civilization

and mold Japanese lifestyles into modern ones.151

Yet, the prospect of establishing parks only took full shape when it coincided with

another practical need faced by the national government, as well as preexisting spatial patterns

already familiar to urban residents. Specifically, in the midst of the 1873 Land Tax Reform, the

government was in search of a way to generate revenue from the lands that were traditionally

exempt from taxation, such as precincts of religious institutions. These precincts also happened

to already be places associated with outdoor leisure activities; people traditionally visited

temples, at least in part, to get together and to enjoy the landscape, notably specific flowers that

were in season.152 Prompted by the proposal of Minister of Finance Inoue Kaoru, who went on to

play an increasingly influential role in the Meiji government, the national government decided to

turn major religious precincts into park sites, hence retaining these areas as governmental

properties. In 1873, the Great Council of State [dajōkan 太政官] – the highest organ of the

Japanese government before the establishment of the Cabinet in 1885 – issued a decree ordering

prefectural governments to identify candidate sites for parks. Most of the example sites that the

council mentioned in the 1873 decree were major religious precincts, such as the areas that

included the well-attended temples Sensōji and Kaneiji in Tokyo.153 For this reason, most of the

                                                                                               
151
Shirahata, Kindai A Historical Study on Modern Urban Parks: A Genealogy of Westernization, 171–78.
152
Unlike parks and gardens in the West, the religious precincts were not spaces specifically designed for urban
recreation, but they had come to play a similar function in cities. See Ono Sawako 小野佐和子, Edo No Hanami 江
戸の花見 [Flower Viewing in Edo] (Tokyo: Tsukiji Shokan, 1992).
153
On the process by which the government established the first parks in Japan, see Satō, A History of the
Development of Parks and Green Spaces in Japan, Vol.1, 77–109; Shirahata, A Historical Study on Modern Urban
Parks: A Genealogy of Westernization, 178–82; Takahashi Rikio 高橋理喜男, “Dajōkan Kōen No Seiritsu to Sono
Jittai 太政官公園の成立とその実態 [Historical Studies on the Parks Founded by Dajōkan’s Decree],” Zōen Zasshi
造園雑誌 [Journal of the Japanese Institute of Landscape Architects] 38, no. 4 (1974): 2–8.

87
  

first parks in Tokyo were converted from religious precincts, rather than constructed from

scratch.

Understanding more about the social function and representation of these preexisiting

precints helps to illuminate why public parks continued to be seen as somewhat risky places,

even into the Meiji period. Before the modern era, visits to these sites were seasonal and

celebratory. For instance, as Ono Sawako has shown, cherry-blossom viewing was one common

activity that was traditionally associated with these sites. Many parks-to-be were located on the

peripheries of Edo, which were difficult to reach, so people did not visit them frequently. At the

same time, the geographical distance gave these rare visits a special and ceremonial meaning,

invoking an upsurge of a festive mood that was shared by visitors. Because they considered these

occasions separate from their everyday lives, people tended to drink more than usual during

cherry-blossom viewing. The upside was that cherry-blossom viewing brought people from all

walks of life together, which was especially notable in a period when samurai and commoners

lived separately. The downside was that this mixture of people from different backgrounds,

along with the festive mood, produced an unsafe environment, especially for women. For

example, using multiple poems and pieces of fiction, Ono suggests that men expected to have

sexual encounters with women at the cherry-blossom viewing sites; indeed, the poems and

fictional narratives emphasize the porosity of social-spatial divisions at these sites, connecting

this blurring of boundaries with the potential for romantic or erotic encounters with people from

a different social status. In addition to pursuing such encounters at the sites themselves, men

sometimes engaged in violence on their way to and from the sites. For instance, Ono reveals that

drunk servants sexually assaulted the daughter of a high-ranking samurai at Asuka Hill

88
  

[Asukayama 飛鳥山], a site later designated as one of the first parks in Tokyo.154 Hence, one of

the passsages in a seventeenth-century etiquette book, which was widely used for girls’

education in Meiji period, reads,

Women should always protect their bodies with extreme care. They should occupy their
mind with home duties and should not neglect sewing and reading. They should neither
drink too much tea nor alcohol. They should neither watch nor hear Kabuki, Kouta, Jōruri
[music and theater pieces], which could sway them. Under the age of forty, women
should not go to shrines and temples, where many people get together.155

This passage emphasizes the need to protect women’s bodies, as well as hinting at the

possibility for unexpected encounters in crowded, popular spaces. The places mentioned in this

passage are entertainment venues and religious precincts, which were visited by people from

diverse backgrounds. At these places, visitors who were unfamiliar with one another could see

and be seen, and these uncontrollable gazes were not desirable for the women who “should

always protect their bodies with extreme care.” The last sentence, especially, suggests that even

the suggestion of an unexpected encounter could evoke suspicion and ruin a woman’s reputation.

Because the danger of sexual assault was widely recognized, the existence of (often drunk) men

in a celebratory mood automatically put women’s respectability at risk. To avoid such allegations

in the premodern era, women were better off avoiding the places altogether, as the etiquette book

suggested. As we will see, because of these kinds of unsavory associations, officials in the Meiji

period and later went to great lengths to make public parks into orderly spaces.  

                                                                                               
154
Ono, Flower Viewing in Edo, 86–100.
155
Kaibara Ekiken 貝原益軒, Hyōchū Onna Daigaku 標柱女大学 [The Great Learning for Women] (Tokyo:
Takanawa Saihō Jogakkō, 1909), 9.
Original: 一、女は、つねに、心遣して、その身を、堅く慎み護るべし。[...] 家の中の事に、心を用ゐ、裁
縫續緝、怠るべからず。又茶、酒など、多くのむべからず。歌舞伎、小唄、浄瑠璃などの、揺れたる事
を見聞くべからず。宮、寺など、すべて、人の多く集まる所に、四十歳より内は、餘りに行くべから
ず。

89
  

Studies on Parks in Meiji Japan

Despite being an important aspect of the government’s efforts to civilize the nation,

scholars interested in the history of public parks have paid little attention to women’s

relationships with these spaces in Meiji Japan. The lack of research on women as active agents of

these changes in Japanese parks has to do with the ways that these spaces have been treated in

the literature. For instance, landscape and cultural historians have explored how government

officials – a profession that was dominated by men – planned and managed the parks, as the

national government incorporated these spaces as a tool of city planning from the mid-1880s

onward. This work tends to detail the processes by which those officials conceived of parks and

developed them into formalized institutions, as well as how they tightened park regulations and

management policies, which were usually consigned to the municipal government.156 As women

had few opportunities to make an impact on the early decision-making related to parks – and

urban planning issues in general – their relationships to parks has not been treated as significant.

Similarly, the ways in which women interacted with Japanese parks, as users of these

spaces, has been little explored by scholars. Instead, landscape and cultural historians have

examined how the early parks were used for large-scale events, such as various expositions,

national celebrations, and political gatherings and riots. They have revealed how such events

                                                                                               
156
On the beginning of Japanese parks, see, for example, Takahashi, “Historical Studies on the Parks Founded by
Dajōkan’s Decree”; Satō, A History of the Development of Parks and Green Spaces in Japan, Vol.1, 3–207;
Shirahata, A Historical Study on Modern Urban Parks: A Genealogy of Westernization, 167–85, 259–84.
Particularly on the institutionalization of parks, see the following studies on park regulations: Kaneko Tadakazu 金
子忠一, “Wagakuni Ni Okeru Toshi Kōen Kanri Kanren Seido No Hensen Ni Kansuru Kisoteki Kenkyū わが国に
おける都市公園管理関連制度の変遷に関する基礎的研究 [A Foundmental Study on Transition of Management
Institution for Public Parks],” Zōen Zasshi 造園雑誌 [Journal of the Japanese Institute of Landscape Architects] 54,
no. 5 (1990): 317–22; Dohi Masato 土肥真人, “Edo Kara Tokyo Heno Shakaiteki Sho Seido No Henka to Toshi
Ōpun Supēsu No Keitai Henka Ni Kansuru Kōsatsu 江戸から東京への社会的諸制度の変化と都市オープンス
ペースの形態的変化に関する考察 [The Relationship between the Constitutional Change of Social Systems and
the Spatial Transformation of Open Spaces in the City],” Randosukēpu Kenkyū ランドスケープ研究 [Journal of
the Japanese Institute of Landscape Architecture] 58, no. 1 (1994): 65–75.

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helped to establish park infrastructure, including streets and resting facilities, as well as cultural

institutions. Since these studies focus on such large-scale events, they highlight the planning

processes and the use of the spaces during these special occasions, rather than on everyday life in

the parks. Similar to studies about the development and management of parks, scholars have also

tended to place an emphasis on the government officials, who were the primary planners of these

events. As a result, this line of studies has tended be geard toward a top-down view of how

Japanese parks were used, as a representation of the government’s imagination of parks.157

Parks have also been treated tangentially by those studying political history, as sites of

male-dominated political gatherings, which accelerated from the 1880s onward. These include

major social and political movements from the mid to late Meiji period, including the Freedom

and People's Rights Movement [Jiyū Minken Undō 自由民権運動] (1874–1890) – which urged

the national government to establish a parliamentary structure called the Imperial Diet – as well

as the Universal Suffrage Movement [Fusen Undō 普選運動] (1892–1918) – which demanded

that women and men have the right to vote and to be elected regardless of income level. As the

national government tightened regulations on openly political gatherings, activists began

disguising political gatherings as “sports gatherings [undō kai 運動会]” and “get-togethers

[konshin kai 懇親会].”158 For example, Freedom and People’s Rights activists, called “freedom

                                                                                               
157
On the contributions of national events to the development of parks, see Takahashi, “Kōen No Kaihatsu Ni
Oyoboshita Hakurankai No Eikyō 公園の開発に及ぼした博覧会の影響 [The Influences of Expositions on the
Development of Parks],” Zōen Zasshi 造園雑誌 [Journal of the Japanese Institute of Landscape Architects] 30, no.
1 (1966): 12–24; Ono Ryōhei 小野良平, “Ueno Kōen Ni Okeru Kōteki Gishiki to Sono Kūkan Keisei Eno Eikyō 上
野公園における公的儀式とその空間形成への影響 [Public Ceremonies and Its Effect on Spatial Developments
of Park, in a Case of Ueno Park],” Randosukēpu Kenkyū ランドスケープ研究 [Journal of the Japanese Institute of
Landscape Architecture] 60, no. 5 (1996): 409–12.
158
On the social and political movements, see, for example, Yasumaru Yoshio 安丸良夫, Bunmeika No Keiken:
Kindai Tenkanki No Nihon 文明化の経験 : 近代転換期の日本 [Experiences of Civilization: Japan in the
Transitional Period to the Modern] (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 2007), 216–301.

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fighters” [sōshi 壮士], held a so-called sports gathering in Ueno Park on October 16, 1888. More

than a thousand freedom fighters performed competitive sports, with a few thousand in the

audience under the monitoring of a thousand more police officers.159 However, these gatherings

were attended predominantly by men because the 1890 Gathering and Political Party Act [Shūkai

Oyobi Kesshā Ho 集会及結社法] and the 1900 Security Police Act [Chian Keisatsu Hō 治安警

察法] significantly restricted women’s political activities. Japanese women had to wait until

1925 to be allowed to attend political gatherings and until after WWII to join political parties.160

In addition, political gatherings, which often used noise and violence as their primary tactics to

spread excitement, were highly associated with masculinity. For instance, the social historian

Fujino Yūko has argued that men from lower-income communities, which highly privileged

masculinity, contributed to mobilizing crowds for the Hibiya Riot in 1905 – a historic incendiary

incident that started in Hibiya Park.161 Partly because of these political uses, as landscape

historian Ono Ryōhei has suggested, the national government began perceiving parks as potential

sites of delinquency from the 1880s onward. As we will see, the government, in tandem with the

Tokyo Metropolitan Police, started to monitor and tighten regulations in and through urban

parks.162 Perhaps surprisingly, however, it was during this same period that members of

                                                                                               
159
Kimura Kichiji 木村吉次, “Meiji 20 Nen Jūgatsu No Sōshi Undōkai Ni Tsuite 明治 20 年 10 月の壮士運動会
について [On the Freedom Fighters’ Sports Gathering in October 1888],” Nihon Tai’iku Gakkai Taikai Go 日本体
育学会大会号 [Proceedings of Japan Society of Physical Education, Health and Sport Sciences], September 1,
2004, 146. Kimura notes that the number of attendants varies depending on the newspaper. He uses the numbers on
Mesamashi Shimbun. Social historian Kimura Naoe also discusses freedom fighters’ sports gathering that started at
Suribachi Hill in Ueno Park on October 16, 1888. See Kimura Naoe 木村直恵, Seinen No Tanjō: Meiji Nihon Ni
Okeru Seijiteki Jissen No Tenkan 青年の誕生： 明治日本における政治的実践の転換 [The Birth of Seinen:
Changes in the Political Practices in Meiji Japan] (Toyo: Shin’yōsha, 1998), 64–78.
160
On the restrictions on women’s political rights, see Kodama Katsuko 児玉勝子, Fujin Sanseiken Undō Shōshi 婦
人参政権運動小史 [A Brief History of Women’s Suffrage Movement] (Tokyo: Domesu Shuppan, 1981), 16–23.
161
Fujino Yūko 藤野裕子, Toshi to Bōdō No Minshuūshi: Tokyo, 1905–1923 Nen 都市と暴動の民衆史：東京・
1905–1923 年 [History of the Ordinary, the City and Riots: Tokyo, 1905–23] (Tokyo: Yūshisha, 2015), 83–123.
162
Ono Ryōhei, Kōen No Tanjō 公園の誕生 [The Birth of Parks] (Tokyo: Yoshikawa Kōbunkan, 2003), 49–56.

92
  

TEGSAA and JWAE began appearing in the parks. Scholars have not yet fully explored how

women were able to establish their usage of these places that were considered risky or

dangerous; this study starts to address these questions, by showing how middle-class and elite

women’s presence in parks was viewed by the state as a civilizing presence.

While Japanese parks, as a space and institution, have not been investigated extensively

through the lens of gender, studies of women users of parks in the West, after which Japanese

parks were modeled, can provide a theoretical framework. In the West, as well, studies on the

social meanings of parks are not as abundant as simple chronological accounts of their

development. However, one seminal study that looks at parks from the perspective of gender is

described in the article “Women in Urban Parks” by Galen Cranz, which was later developed

into a monograph. As an architect-sociologist who focuses on the planning side of the parks,

Cranz focuses on how expected uses, functions, and meanings of parks were constructed and

materialized in physical spaces.163 Cranz argues that American policymakers deployed women in

parks as an antidote to so-called “urban problems” that disrupted the social order. Tracing

changes in the physical environments and programs designed for parks from 1850 to 1965, Cranz

interprets how expectations surrounding women shifted, alongside what was perceived as an

urban problem. At the same time, as landscape historian Heath Massey Schenker suggests,

women’s actual uses of parks did not necessarily fit into policymakers’ expectations and

strategies. Expanding on Cranz’s works in the context of San Francisco specifically, Massey

highlights women’s agency as users of Golden Gate Park at the end of the nineteenth century.

Park planners welcomed women into the Children’s Quarter, an in-park district perceived as a

                                                                                               
163
Galen Cranz, “Women in Urban Parks,” Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society 5, no. S3 (1980): S79–
95; Galen Cranz, The Politics of Park Design: A History of Urban Parks in America (Cambridge, London: MIT
Press, 1982).

93
  

“safe environment” for middle- and upper-class women at that time, similar to women’s lunch-

rooms and parlors in department stores and ladies’ reading rooms in libraries. When the

Women’s Exchange of San Francisco – one of the charity organizations that proliferated in San

Francisco in the 1880s – made an attempt to build its own hall in the Quarter, the chief park

designer William Hammond Hall displayed a strong opposition to the idea of women

establishing their own building on park property. This case indicates that women were welcomed

only as “passive figures” in the park, although women’s organizations challenged these

perceptions and expectations by attempting to make physical alterations in the space.164 I take a

similar approach in order to consider how parks in Japan became gendered and how women

worked within and against these mechanisms of control.  

The Invention of Shakō

Similar to parks, the idea of women’s shakō, as a set of systematized activities for

socializing, started out as a cultural performance geared toward the West. In the 1870s and

1880s, in particular, women were expected to participate in shakō for diplomatic purposes. In the

early 1880s, the national government failed in its attempts to revise the disadvantageous trade

treaties that they had made with Western powers. After the unsuccessful attempts, Inoue – who

had by then become the Minister of Foreign Affairs – planned and built a Western-style guest

house called Rokumeikan [鹿鳴館] in Tokyo in 1883. At the guest house, Inoue planned to host

                                                                                               
164
Heath Massey Schenker, “Women’s and Children’s Quarters in Golden Gate Park, San Francisco,” Gender,
Place & Culture 3, no. 3 (1996): 293–308. Massey also provides an extensive discussions on parks in cities like
Paris to Mexico City and on to New York City in her book Heath Massey Schenker, Melodramatic Landscapes:
Urban Parks in the Nineteenth Century (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2009).

94
  

social events for international guests, such as Western-style dinner and dance parties, so that

Westerners would come to view Japanese people as culturally competent. The government urged

high-ranking government officials and Japanese nobility, called kazoku, to attend those events.

While the officials and nobility were all men, their wives and daughters were also expected to

participate, as it was the custom for their Western counterparts to be accompanied by a guest of

the opposite sex.165

Only elites practiced this celebratory type of shakō; the rest of the population was still

grappling with how to make sense of the radical cultural transformations that were taking place,

in spaces that seemed far from their everyday lives. As this cultural initiative turned out to be

ineffective for revising the treaties, the population at large grew skeptical of these efforts, and

eventully there was a backlash. Eventually, Inoue resigned from his post as the Minister of

Foreign Affairs in 1887, and the initiative collapsed. His resignation marked the end of the so-

called the Rokumeikan period, during which the government imposed radical changes in

lifestyles for diplomatic purposes, by mobilizing cultural elites to participate in

Westernization.166

                                                                                               
165
On Japan’s diplomatic policies and socializing events at Rokumeikan, Tomita Hitoshi 富田仁, Rokumeikan:
Giseiyōka No Sekai 鹿鳴館：擬西洋化の世界 [Rokumeikan: The World of Pseudo-Westernization] (Tokyo:
Hakusuisha, 1984); Gordon, A Modern History of Japan: From Tokugawa Times to the Present, 47–59. While the
entire book of Rokumeikan discusses relevant topics, the pages 138–83 discuss the Rokumeikan culture and women.
166
Tomita, Rokumeikan: The World of Pseudo-Westernization, 12–31.

95
  

Although this initiative fell apart, the expectation for women to become more

comfortable outside of the home expanded even to non-elite women after the end of the

Rokumeikan period. Meiji intellectuals, such as Tokutomi Sohō – a leading journalist of the time

– advocated for the expansion of women’s shakō, primarily to serve the national interest.167

Generally, Tokutomi did not support the radical Westernization movement; rather, he criticized

the elitism of the initiative. But even Tokutomi promoted the idea of women’s shakō, despite it

being strongly associated with the government’s Westernization initiative.168 It was within this

trajectory of changing definitions surrounding women’s shakō that TEGSAA and JWAE

emerged. Starting in the late 1880s, after the time of extravagant parties was over and

intellectuals started advocating for the expansion of women’s socializing, organizations devoted

to women’s activities began to be formed in Tokyo and other cities in Japan. Established in 1896

and 1888, TEGSAA and JWAE were part of this first wave of women’s organizations that

sprang up, just as the expectations surrounding women’s shakō were increasing and changing.

                                                                                               
167
In a section entitled “Women’s Situation in Shakō” in his 1899 book Society and People, Tokutomi urged,
“Many of our women should attend public occasions not for their own joy, but to serve their husbands and sons.”
Drawing a connection with the ideal of “good wife, wise mother,” Tokutomi used the rhetoric of serving the family
to urge women to practice shakō. He continued to lament the decline of women’s active participation in public
gatherings, as compared to the Rokumeikan period. In his view, timid Japanese women who “remain[ed] quiet in the
corner of the room” needed to engage in social situations more actively. See Tokutomi Iichirō 徳富猪一郎, Shakai
to Jinbutsu 社会と人物 [Society and People] (Tokyo: Min’yūsha, 1899), 125–28. Tokutomi Iichirō is his real
name. He is better known in his pen name--Tokutomi Sohō 徳富蘇峰.
168
As an alternative to the elitist cultural enlightenment, Tokutomi argued for a more democratic Westernization led
by “ordinary people [heimin 平民],” by which he referred to the emerging middle-class. To mobilize those who
Tokutomi considered ordinary people, he established a publisher and started publishing magazines and newspapers
targeted at the population. This lament over Japanese women’s inability to deal with public occasions was published
as part of this media initiative. On Tokutomi, see Wada Mamoru 和田守, Kindai Nihon to Tokutomi Sohō 近代日本
と徳富蘇峰 [Modern Japan and Tokutomi Sohō] (Tokyo: Ochanomizu Shobō, 1990).

96
  

By 1918, according to A Directory for Women’s Shakō – the oldest directory of its kind – there

were thirty-seven women’s organizations in Tokyo. Among the listed organizations, the oldest

were religious organizations: the Buddhist Women’s Sermon Organization [Fujin Hōwa Kai 婦

人法話会] and Japan Women's Christian Temperance Union [Nihon Kirisuto Kyō Fujin Kyōfū

Kai 日本基督教婦人矯風会, JWCTU], both of which were established in 1886. Other types of

organizations were formed around different interests, such as charitable work, self-cultivation,

school reunions, neighborhood issues, and national defense.169

Studies on Women’s Group Activities in Japan

There has also been little written about Japanese women’s group activities and their

spatial uses, both in general and in relationship to public parks specifically. As discussed in the

introduction of this dissertation, architectural and urban historians of modern Japan have

traditionally neglected the ways that women have used space to conduct non-domestic activities.

While scholars specializing in women’s history have interrogated the processes by which

women’s organizations achieved incremental successes in political and social movements,

especially from the late twentieth century onward, they have paid little attention to the spatial

aspects of these processes, such as how these groups chose and secured their gathering venues.170

                                                                                               
169
Like TEGSAA and JWAE, a lot of the listed organizations were organized by educated women. See Nihon Fujo
Tsūshinsha 日本婦女通信社, ed., Fujin Shakō Meibo Taishō 7 Nen Sangatsu Shirabe 婦人社交名簿大正七年 3 月
調 [Directory for Women’s Shakō, March 1918] (Tokyo: Nihon Fujo Tsūshinsha, 1918). While the same publisher
published a directory in 1908, the earlier directory featured female individuals, not organizations. See Nihon Fujo
Tsūshinsha 日本婦女通信社, ed., 大日本婦人録 Dai Nihon Fujin Roku [Directory of Women in Greater Japan]
(Tokyo: Nihon Fujo Tsūshinsha, 1908).
170
On women’s social and political movements and activities, see Ishiduki Shizue Ishiduki, Women’s Movements in
the Interwar Period; Chino Yōichi 千野陽一, Kindai Nihon Fujin Kyōikushi: Taiseinai Fujin Dantai No Keisei
Katei o Chūshin Ni 近代日本婦人敎育史：体制内婦人団体の形成過程を中心に [A History of Women’s

97
  

However, over the past couple of decades, a few interdisciplinary scholars have started exploring

the role of space in women’s group activities in Japan. For example, the home economics scholar

Matsumoto Keiko, looking at the interwar period, shows how suburban women in Hanshin Kan –

a residential district encompassing the Osaka and Kōbe metropolitan regions in western Japan –

developed social networks through group socializing activities. Similar to the organizations in

Tokyo that I discuss later, the groups in western Japan were organized around hobbies, alma

maters, and self-cultivation. In her dissertation, Matsumoto occasionally discusses the

significance of the physical spaces that commercial institutions designed specifically for women

as venues for gatherings.171 Work by the architectural historian Kondō Mikako, who has a

background in political science, focuses even more closely on women’s active engagements with

urban built environments from the 1920s onward. Using magazines and internal bulletins of

politically active women’s organizations, Kondō reveals how women demanded opportunities to

improve urban environments in Tokyo. Through analyses of women’s petitions, written requests,

and articles, as well as public records, she demonstrates not only women’s desires to contribute

to the good of the city, but also how the municipal government of Tokyo started counting on

these contributions, in the form of their participation in public meetings and volunteer clean-up

activities of streets and parks.172

While these recent dissertations derive much of their evidence from women-specific

publications, the cultural historian Toya Ri’ina focuses more on the built environment itself.

Toya takes up the emergence of Shiseidō Parlor – an upscale, Western-style cafe in the Ginza

                                                                                               
Education in Modern Japan: Focusing on the Formation of Pro-Government Women’s Organizations] (Tokyo:
Domesu Shuppan, 1979); Garon, “Women’s Groups and the Japanese State: Contending Approaches to Political
Integration, 1890–1945.”
171
Matsumoto, “Women’s Going Out and Socializing in Hanshinkan Residential Suburbs in Taishō and Early
Shōwa Periods.”
172
Kondō, “Women in the Movement for Improving the Urban Environment in Japan, the 1920s–70s: Focusing on
the Case of Tokyo Wards.”

98
  

commercial district in 1915 – and interprets its relationship with changing gender norms that

shaped shakō. She shows how this particular building type proliferated, as socializing started to

involve conversations over coffee rather than as part of Japanese tea ceremonies, which was a

popular hobby for men of means. As these cafés became more widely available, social norms

began to embrace women’s casual socializing and appearance in public spaces.173 These recent

studies suggest that the availability of such spaces was critical to the expansion of women’s

group activities. However, the historical focus of these studies has typically been placed on the

Taisho period onward, perhaps because scholars have relied heavily on materials from popular

women’s magazines, which flourished in the period.

In fact, this exclusive temporal focus on the 1910s onward is consistent with broader

trends in historical investigations into Japanese women’s group activities, spatial or otherwise.

One major reason for this tendency is the historical context of the scholarly field: women’s

history started as a subdiscipline in postwar Japan as part of the feminist movement, with

women’s liberation as the primary motivation. As such, the focus has been on the women’s

organizations that first succeeded in achieving legally-protected political rights for women, in

order to highlight their power and accomplishments.174 Although there were some women’s

organizations prior to the Taisho period that were politically active, the history of such groups

remains underexplored by scholars. For example, immediately after the Russo-Japanese War

(1904–05), women who were interested in a socialist political organization called Commoners’

Company [Heiminsha 平民社] sent petitions to the House of Representatives, asking for an

                                                                                               
173
Toya Ri’ina 戸矢理衣奈, “Kōkoku to Shiteno Shiseidō Pārā: Kōsai Yōshiki No Henyō to Yōma 広告としての
資生堂パーラー：交際様式の変容と「洋間」 [Shiseidō Parlor as Advertisement: Transition in the Style of
Socializing and ’Parlor’],” Nihon Kenkū 日本研究 [Japan Studies] 40 (2009): 277–317.
174
On the connection between the women’s liberation movement and women’s historiography in Japan, see
Ishiduki, Women’s Movements in the Interwar Period, 25–35.

99
  

amendment to Article Five of the Security Police Act, which prohibited women’s participation in

political gatherings (Item Two) and membership in political parties (Item One). The group

ultimately failed to gain these concrete concessions, however.175 As a result, scholars have

tended to neglect these kinds of earlier activities, choosing instead to highlight more successful

organizations like New Women’s Association [Shin Fujin Kyōkai 新婦人協会, NWA], which

was led by prominent women’s rights activists and achieved the amendment of Item Two in

1922.176 While there are some self-published histories of women’s organizations that were active

prior to the Taisho period, such as JWCTU, I have not been able to locate any extensive case

study on the spaces used for women’s group activities in the Meiji period.177

Yet, NWA’s use of space hints at the significance of the existing spatial and social

networks of women’s groups, which TEGSAA and JWAE arguably helped to build. About two

decades after the gatherings of TEGSAA and JWAE on March 28, 1920, NWA held its official

launch gathering at Seiyōken in Ueno Park, the same park. Hiratsuka Raichō and Ichikawa Fusae

– two prominent women’s rights activists of the time – formed this association specifically to

achieve women’s suffrage in Japan. Hiratsuka initially shared the idea to create the NWA at the

first gathering of the Kansai Women’s Federation [Kansai Fujin Rengō Kai 関西婦人連合会,

KWF], an alliance of women’s groups in the western region of Japan, when they met at the

Ōsaka Asahi Shinbun headquarters on November 24, 1919. At this gathering, which was

                                                                                               
175
Kodama, A Brief History of Women’s Suffrage Movement, 45–51.
176
Josei no Rekishi Kenkyūkai 女性の歴史研究会 Ori’i Miyako 折井美耶子, Shin Fujin Kyōkai No Kenkyū: Josei
Kaihō Undō No Sakigake 新婦人協会の研究：女性解放運動のさきがけ [New Women’s Association: A
Progenitor of Women’s Liberation Movement] (Tokyo: Domesu Shuppan, 2006); Josei no Rekishi Kenkyūkai 女性
の歴史研究会 Ori’i Miyako 折井美耶子, Shin Fujin Kyōkai No Hitobito 新婦人協会の人びと [People of New
Women’s Association] (Tokyo: Domesu Shuppan, 2009).
177
For example, JWCTU met at a church and a Christian school in the 1880s. See Nihon Kirisuto Kyō Fujin Kyōfū
Kai 日本基督教婦人矯風会, ed., Nihon Kirisutokyō Fujin Kyōfūkai Hyakunenshi Get a Copy Find a Copy in the
Library 日本キリスト教婦人矯風会百年史 (Tokyo: Domesu Shuppan, 1986), 35–55.

100
  

attended by 182 women, Hiratsuka communicated NWA’s immediate objectives to the audience

through a speech and a printed prospectus. According to the prospectus, one of NWA’s

objectives was an amendment to Article Five of the Security Police Act, similar to the socialist

women who were interested in Commoners’ Company. NWA saw any way to achieve equal

political standing with men as scaffolding for the ultimate goal of achieving women’s right to

vote in municipal and national elections. After repeated petitions and groundwork to mobilize the

House of Representatives, NWA eventually achieved the amendment of Item Two in 1922.

While women’s membership to political parties was still prohibited by Item One, women were

finally allowed to organize and participate in political gatherings with this amendment.178 The

fact that an openly political organization like NWA was able to hold an official gathering in this

in-park facility, even when the law still prohibited women’s political participation, suggests the

existence of gendered assumptions and norms for the uses of urban parks. Why did the

government and police aggressively push men out of parks, while letting women organize for a

political cause, illegally? A closer look at the activities of TEGSAA and JWAE, and their

incremental expansion into parks, can help us to address this question.  

Systematizing Women’s Social Activities for the Nation:

The Beginnings of TEGSAA and JWAE

TEGSAA and JWAE were established around the same time, and the two organizations

shared a commitment to women’s education and a similar style of operations, which focused on

regular gatherings. TEGSAA was formed as the alumnae association of Tōyō Eiwa Girls’

                                                                                               
178
Ishiduki, Women’s Movements in the Interwar Period, 153–84. At the 1920 official launch gathering at Ueno
Seiyōken, they voted on the board members, declaration, principles, and bylaws. Despite being recognized as the
first women’s organization that contributed to women’s suffrage in Japan, NWA dissolved in December 1922. Its
legacy was inherited by Women’s Suffrage League [Fujin Sansei Ken Kakutoku Kisei Dōmei Kai 婦人参政権獲得
期成同盟会], established in 1924.

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School, a private girls’ school with multiple programs, up to the higher girls’ school level. The

Woman's Missionary Society at Methodist Church of Canada established this school in 1884, as

one of the earliest female educational institutions in Tokyo. After a decade of being in operation,

the school had produced more than a hundred alumnae. The principal’s wife, together with an

alumna, held a small tea party, which developed into forming the official association the next

year. Emerging out of the desire of former students, the association’s primary activity was

hosting reunion gatherings, which were held in the spring and the fall for the purpose of “knitting

up their old friendships.”179 They also kept a close relationship with their alma mater,

occasionally running fundraising campaigns for construction and scholarships. To maintain

communication with the alumnae who spread around and beyond Japan, they issued bulletins

once a year.180

JWAE also started out as a group that was associated with women’s education, but it had

a different goal. In 1886, three female professors from Tokyo Women’s Higher Normal School

and Peeresses’ School decided to host a gathering to discuss women’s education, which then

developed into the JWAE in 1887. Though it was started voluntarily by educated women, the

JWAE was a conservative group, whose objectives aligned more with the view that women

should contribute to nation building by serving at home as good wives and wise mothers.

According to JWAE’s bylaws, the group’s aim was to “popularize women’s education and

nurture their moral fiber.” As educators, the founders believed that education was necessary for

women. Yet, in their view, this education should focus more on moral aspects, rather than on

                                                                                               
179
Tōyō Eiwa Jogakkō Dōsōkai, “Dōsōkai Kaisoku 同窓会々則 [Bylaws, the Alumnae Association],” Tōyō Eiwa
Girls’ School Alumnae Association Bulletin (December 1898): 16.
180
On TEGS’s establishment, see Tōyō Eiwa Jogakuin Ghyakunenshi Hensan Jikkō Īnkai 東洋英和女学院百年史
編纂実行委員会, ed., Tōyō Eiwa Jogakuin Hyakunenshi 東洋英和女学院百年史 [A Hundred-Year History of
Tōyō Eiwa Girls’ School] (Tokyo: Tōyō Eiwa Jogakuin, 1984), 17–28. On the activities of TEGSAA, see Ibid.,
628–30.

102
  

intellectual ones. Established in the period when even secondary education for girls was not

common, JWAE initially attempted to provide women with an alternative form of education,

primarily by holding monthly lecture gatherings. To communicate the lecture contents to their

members, they also published and circulated bulletins monthly.181

Both groups, by focusing on regular gatherings, met the new expectations for women’s

shakō, although their stated purposes and frequencies of the gatherings varied. After the

government initiative centered on Rokumeikan fell apart, shakō began connoting systematized

activities for socializing. For example, in his 1902 etiquette book, author Imai Kanji

conceptualized shakō as an “art [jutsu 術]” that could be acquired, not an inborn trait. According

to Imai, shakō was “a normal practice of the middle class and above, to build and maintain social

relationships.”182 He emphasizes the systematic nature of shakō, as opposed to other forms of

socializing that women might already be engaging in – activities he dismissively as “random

                                                                                               
181
The first small gathering was called Tokyo Women’s Conversation Colloquium [Tokyo Fujin Danwa Kai 東京婦
人談話会]. On the beginning and bylaws of JWAE, see Dai Nihon Fujin Kyōiku Kai, A Fifty-Year Record of Japan
Women’s Association for Education, 2–6; Tsumagari Yūji 津曲裕次, “Ishii Fudeko Kenkyū: Dai Nihon Kyōiku Kai
Zasshi Tono Kakawari 石井筆子研究：『大日本婦人教育会雑誌』との関わり [The Journal of the Association
for the Women’s Education in Japan and Fudeko Ishii],” Junshin Jinbun Kenkyū 純心人文研究 [Humanities
Studies, Nagasaki Junshin Catholic University] 11 (2005): 25–31. Later, they held more frequent, small group
classes for music, art, and cooking. They also established a craft school for poor girls, which was short-lived.
Original: 婦人敎育の普及をはかり，徳操を養成するを以てす (2)
182
Imai Kanji 今井完治, Fujin to Shakō 婦人と社交 [Women and Shakō] (Tokyo: Shūseikan, 1902), 1–11. As I
could not locate any other publication written by Imai, it is difficult to get to know his personal background. But this
books should have been written to be read by younger women for their self-cultivation. The publisher Sūuseikan
published multiple etiquette and textbooks to be used for girls’ education. In addition, the foreword of Women and
Shakō was written by Hatoyama Haruko. She was educated at Tokyo Women’s Higher Normal School, the only
governmental school where women could receive a university-like education. As an educator, she taught at the
normal school and eventually helped to establish the Kyōritsu Girls’ Vocational School [Kyōritsu Joshi Shokugyō
Gakkō 共立女子職業学校] in Tokyo in 1886. In addition, in 1895, Hatoyama started a distant learning program
called the Japanese Women’s Academic Society [Dai Nihon Jogakkai 大日本女学会] to serve rural regions, where
opportunities for girls’ secondary education were limited. On Hatoyama, see, for example, Mabashi Michiko 真橋美
智子, “Hatoyama Harukono Katei Zo to Katei Kyōiku: Wagako No Kyōiku Wo Tegakari to Shite 鳩山春子の家庭
像と家庭教育：『我が子の教育』を手がかりとして [Haruko Hatoyama’s Image of Home and Home
Education: Focusing on Wagako No Kyoiku],” Nihon Joshi Daigaku Kiyō: Ningen Shakai Gakubu 日本女子大学
紀要人間社会学部 [Faculty of Integrated Arts and Social Sciences Journal, Japan Women’s University] 20 (2009):
1–4.

103
  

chats among live-in maids and children’s plays.” By doing so, Imai still expected shakō to be

structured to some extent, even if it no longer referred merely to highly stylized social events.183

Systematization of activities was also important as part of middle-class women’s strategic

commitment to home management – an expectation that was increasing as girls’ secondary

education permeated society. In her 1907 distant learning textbook for women, educator

Hatoyama Haruko, who had expressed her agreement with Imai’s idea, wrote, “Our shakō is now

so spread out, and each opportunity is becoming thin. Even if you set a regular visiting day, you

are still busy, especially when you need to receive many guests. I think it is a good idea to

establish a club and hold regular tea parties once or twice a month.”184 Making a contrast

between this systematic way of socializing and the traditional practice of repeating visits to one

another’s homes, Hatoyama presented the idea of organizing a group and having regular

meetings with the members as a concrete way to give structure to socializing activities. The

rhetoric of efficiency would have resonated well with these women, who received more formal

education than before and were expected to manage their households with intelligence, rather

than passively serving the directions of their male heads of the household.185

Despite all these commonalities, the member demographics of TEGSAA and JWAE were

slightly different, and these distinctions were also reflected in how they organized regular

gatherings. Most TEGSAA members tended to come from families called ryōka [良家, lit. good

                                                                                               
183
Imai, Women and Shakō, 124–45. His explanation of “a socializer [shakōka 社交家]” indicates what he
specifically imagines shakō to be: “She [a woman socializer] enjoys music with others, leads interesting
conversations, drinks and eats when necessary, and creates public occasions for joy and pleasure, such as evening
parties, banquets, and garden parties.”
184
Hatoyama Haruko 鳩山春子, Fujin No Shūyō 婦人の修養 [Women’s Self-Cultivation] (Tokyo: Dai Nihon
Jogakkai, 1907), 181. Traditionally in Japan, it was polite to give a visit back once one received a visit. “Visiting
day” was a practice of consolidating all one-to-one home visits to a specified day weekly or monthly.
For her forward in Imai’s book, see Hatoyama, “Jo 序 [Foreword],” in Women and Shakō, 1–2.
185
On the emphasis on the role of mother in the ideal Japanese woman, see Koyama, The Norm of Good Wife, Wise
Mother, 47–92.

104
  

family] – families of means and/or social respectability. The ryōka daughters were typically

supposed to get married to men with well-respected, well-paid jobs, such as public and private

bureaucrats, corporate managers, teachers, entrepreneurs, and other professionals like lawyers

and doctors. The school history indicates that some notable alumnae were indeed married to

military and government officials, as well as entrepreneurs. As expected by their parents, most

TEGSAA members had become wives and eventually mothers.186 Thus, the organization’s

activities were designed to suit the needs of this demographic. While they agreed to hold the

spring gathering at their former school, they tended to look for venues outside of the school for

the fall gatherings. As stipulated in Article Nine of the group’s bylaws, the members were

allowed to bring children, as well as female acquaintances and friends, to the gatherings.187 With

regular but infrequent gatherings that were family-friendly, the members balanced their duties as

wives and mothers with the maintenance of their friendships, even after leaving the school.

Perhaps in part because of their infrequency, these gatherings were well attended. For example,

four-fifths of the alumnae (eighty members) attended the first spring gathering at the school on

                                                                                               
186
On the alumnae and the beginning of TEGSAA, see Tōyō Eiwa Jogakuin Ghyakunenshi Hensan Jikkō Īnkai, A
Hundred-Year History of Tōyō Eiwa Girls’ School, 86–89, 132–64, 628–37. TEGSAA members included women
who had graduated, as well as those who had dropped out early from the school. Unlike Tsuda College and JWU,
the schools discussed in the previous chapter, TEGS did not focus on higher education. It was a school for girls to
prepare themselves for a successful marriage. Most TEGS students dropped out in the middle of the program, once
they had a good marriage opportunity. The school history contends that a lot of TEGS alumnae became “jōryū fujin
上流婦人 [lit. upper-class women]” after they left the school. But the way of life described in the history reads more
like that of “chūryū 中流 [lit. middle class].” Although some alumnae got married to kazoku men, who were
considered as the upper class in Japan, the others got married to professionals, such as educators, public and private
bureaucrats. While the distinction between the upper and middle classes in Meiji Japan is not easy, these wives of
professionals were usually considered as part of the emerging middle class. According to women’s historian Barbara
Sato’s calculation based on data available from national income tax records, 2.3 percent of the total population was
middle-class in 1903, 6.5 percent in 1918, and 10 percent in 1921. Whether middle class or upper class, TEGS
alumnae fell into an economically privileged category. See Sato, The New Japanese Woman: Modernity, Media, and
Women in Interwar Japan, 30.
187
Tōyō Eiwa Jogakkō Dōsōkai, “Bylaws, the Alumnae Association,” 16.

105
  

March 26, 1895. Continuing these regular gatherings at a constant pace, by 1937, the

membership had grown to approximately 1,300 women.188

Meanwhile, JWAE members included elite women from aristocratic kazoku families,

who had learned to practice Western-style shakō at Rokumeikan. Immediately after the first

gathering at a kindergarten in 1887, the educators who founded JWAE started recruiting these

noble women to the association’s leadership positions “based on the social conditions of the

time.”189 While they did not elaborate on what they meant by “the social conditions of the time,”

their intentions appear to be two-fold. First, they could have been attempting to promote the

legitimacy and visibility of the organization by having kazoku women as part of the leadership.

As these aristocratic families maintained intimate relationships with and cultural proximity to the

imperial family, they were recognized as role models of respectable society in imperial Japan.190

Asking such women to join the organization could be part of the strategy of JWAE founders to

acquire members quickly at the beginning. Second, these aristocratic women might have been

seen as cultural resources, who could help to guide and plan women’s group activities. In

addition to their participation in diplomatic dance parties, kazoku women had also organized and

led two charity sales at Rokumeikan in 1884 and 1885. As these events were widely reported in

newspapers, educated women like the JWAE founders likely knew about these contributions and

                                                                                               
188
For the number of members, see Murakami Hideko 村上秀子, ed., Shōwa 12 Nen Fujin Nenkan 昭和十二年婦
人年鑑 [Women’s Yearbook, 1937] (Tokyo: Tokyo Rengō Fujin Kai, 1937), 158.
189
Dai Nihon Fujin Kyōiku Kai, A Fifty-Year Record of Japan Women’s Association for Education, 2.
Original: 当時の世態よりして此種の目的を達する為には高貴婦人の賛助賛同をも求めざるべからず，先
ず其方面に向て運動を開始し勧誘する事となる (2)
190
Takie Sugiyama Lebra, Above the Clouds: Status Culture of the Modern Japanese Nobility (Berkeley: University
of California Press, 1993), 62–105. Even in contemporary Japan, honorary positions in non-profit organizations are
often granted to members of the imperial family. Similarly, leadership positions of the women’s organizations
established in the late 1880s were occupied by members of the imperial family and by kazoku.

106
  

saw them as working toward the social good.191 They could have expected kazoku women to

serve as a source of first-hand experience and knowledge on how women could operate

organized activities for the betterment of the nation.

At the founders’ requests, Mōri Yasuko and Nabeshima Nagako, who were both from

high-ranking families, took the positions of president and vice president, respectively. While we

might assume that these noble women joined the group in name only, they indeed participated in

the activities regularly. Mori and Nabeshima, who remained its leaders until the 1930s, hosted a

number of monthly lectures and other business meetings at their mansions and gardens in Tokyo.

Records indicate their attendance at meetings held outside of their own properties as well.192

Anthropologist Takie Lebra points out that kazoku women did not have opportunities for casual

socializing, such as having random chats with neighbors. Their homes were clustered in certain

districts in Tokyo, but girls and women could not leave these residences alone, without a

chaperon (called an otsuki [お付き]). As kazoku women felt restricted by such continuous

surveillance, they were actively engaged in cultural activities.193 It is not surprising, from that

perspective, that women like Mori and Nabeshima were eager to participate in outside gatherings

for shakō.

As of 1890, twenty out of the 219 members, or about 9 percent of the JWAE

membership, were kazoku women.194 As active participants, noble women had considerable

                                                                                               
191
Hashimoto Chikanobu 橋本周延, “Rokumeikan Ni Okeru Kifujin Jizenkai No Zu 於鹿鳴館貴婦人慈善会之図
[Ladies’ Charity Party at the Rokumeikan],” Illustration, November 1888, 特チ 5 3886, 準特チ 5 4152, Waseda
University Library, http://www.wul.waseda.ac.jp/kosho/chi05/chi05_3886/.
192
For the gatherings at the mansions of Mōri and Nabeshima, see the Table 2.2.
193
On the lifestyle of kazoku, see Lebra, Above the Clouds: Status Culture of the Modern Japanese Nobility, 147–
98. Especially on p. 152, Lebra captures the infrequency of casual interactions between kazoku people with others.
One of her informant stated, “There was no easy way of having tsukiai [interaction] with your neighbors. You
couldn’t just drop in, saying, ‘Hi, here I am!’”
194
Dai Nihon Fujin Kyōikukai, “Dai Nihon Fujin Kyōikukai Kai’in Seimei Hyō 大日本婦人教育会会員姓名表
[Directory of JWAE Members],” Dai Nihon Fujin Kyōikukai Zasshi 大日本婦人教育会雑誌 [Bulletin of Japan
Women’s Association for Education] 1 (1889): 40–45.

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influence on the ways in which JWAE operated. As we will see below, their involvement made

the gatherings more exclusive and lavish than those of TEGSAA. As a whole, the group’s

membership was the largest at the turn of the twentieth century, with 673 members as of 1901.

The next year, the general assembly, which focused less on learning and more on entertainment,

was attended by 800 participants, including guests. But after the death of President Mōri, the

membership declined, and eventually the association merged with other organizations in 1937.195

Moving around the City to Get Together

As Tables 2.1 and 2.2 show, both TEGSAA and JWAE visited various kinds of places to

hold their regular gatherings.196 Moving around the city to secure meeting venues was unique to

                                                                                               
195
The number of members was 79 when it was merged with two other groups. For the number of members and
participants, see Dai Nihon Fujin Kyōiku Kai, A Fifty-Year Record of Japan Women’s Association for Education,
72–83, 90–91, 460–62.
196
I compiled the data of JWAE by synthesizing two sources. One is JWAE’s fiftieth anniversary memorial book--a
chronological collection of their events and activities up until 1937. The other is Bulletin of Japan Women’s
Association for Education--a monthly internal publication to communicate their activities and contents of monthly
lectures. Every issue of the Bulletin usually has a news section called “Honkai Kiji [本会記事],” where they
reported on the activities of the previous month. While the information of the Bulletin is usually more detailed, some
of the issues are no longer available at any archive in Japan. To complement the information on the missing issues, I
referred to the memorial book. Even with the cross-referencing, the resultant table still misses some information. For
example, the first issue of Bulletin lists only two regular gatherings, the first in February 1888 and the eighth in
November 1888. As JWAE held regular gatherings monthly and took a break in summer (July and August), it is
very likely that they also held regular gatherings in March to June, as well as in September and October. Yet, as
neither of the Bulletin nor the memorial book provides the information on the second to seventh gatherings in 1888,
it is impossible to account for the details of the gatherings. For this reason, we should consider this table not as a
comprehensive list of their gatherings. In reality, JWAE must have held more gatherings than those listed on Table
2.2. For the memorial book, see Dai Nihon Fujin Kyōiku Kai, A Fifty-Year Record of Japan Women’s Association
for Education. For the issues that indicate missing meetings, see Dai Nihon Fujin Kyōikukai, “Honkai Kiji 本会記
事 [News of the Association],” Bulletin of Japan Women’s Association for Education 1 (1888): 39–45.
I collected the data of TEGSAA’s gatherings from their annual bulletins, which are archived at TEGS’s school
archive called the historical material room. At the school’s archive, I collected the news section called “Honkai Kiji
本会記事” in all available issues. Upon data collection, I followed the regulations and restrictions of the archive.
Because of data protection policy, I was not allowed to collect bulletin pages that contain personally identifiable
information, such as member directories. In addition, the issues between 1911 and 1919 are missing in the archive
and no other archive in Japan holds TEGSAA bulletins. As such, Table 2.1 shows TEGSAA’s activities up until
1910. TEGS has edited and published their school histories six times, on their fiftieth, seventieth, eightieth, a
hundredth, a hundred and tenth, a hundred and twentieth anniversaries. Although these school histories are valuable
to understand TEGSAA’s relationships with the school, the association's activities are abbreviated in the histories.
For this reason, Table 2.1 relies mostly on the bulletin information. For the information of TEGS archive, see Tōyō
Eiwa Jogakuin 東洋英和女学院, “Shiryō Shitsu 史料室 [Historical Material Room],” Tōyō Eiwa Jogakuin 東洋英
和女学院 [Tōyō Eiwa Girls’ School], accessed August 19, 2018, https://www.toyoeiwa.ac.jp/archives/. For the

108
  

women’s organizations. During this period, men’s shakō was centered around distinct social

organizations called clubs [kurabu 倶楽部], which were modeled after gentlemen’s clubs in the

United Kingdom and the United States. Early examples of men’s clubs included Kōjunsha [交詢

社] and Tokyo Club [Tokyo Kurabu 東京倶楽部], which were established in 1880 and 1884,

respectively.197 Similar to Western gentlemen, Japanese men nurtured their professional and

political networks at these clubs. Between and after working hours, members had meals together

and amused themselves with recreational activities, along with having serious or trivial

discussions. The majority of clubs were run and/or supported by corporations, professional

organizations, and university alumni associations.198

Major men’s clubs tended to establish clubhouses in the early stages of their

development, as member-exclusive gathering spaces. For example, one journalist reported on

thirteen men’s clubs in Tokyo, including professional, political, school alumni, and local

organizations, in his 1934 book entitled Tour of Clubs. All of the thirteen clubs either purchased

or rented their own spaces in the first few years after their establishment. In addition, the

                                                                                               
publications by TEGS, see Tōyō Eiwa Jogakkō Gojūnen Shi Hensan Īnkai 東洋英和女学校五十年史編纂委員会,
ed., Tōyō Eiwa Jogakkō Gojūnen Shi 東洋英和女学校五十年史 [A Fifty-Year History of Tōyō Eiwa Girls’ School]
(Tokyo: Tōyō Eiwa Jogakkō, 1934); Inoue Ken’nosuke 井上健之助, ed., Tōyō Eiwa Jogakuin Shichijūnen Shi 東洋
英和女学院七十年誌 [Memorial Book of Tōyō Eiwa Girls’ School Seventieth Anniversary] (Tokyo: Tōyō Eiwa
Jogakuin, 1954); Tōyō Eiwa Jogakuin 東洋英和女学院, ed., Shashin de Miru Hachijū Nen 写真で見る 80 年
[Looking Back on to the Eighty Years with Photographs] (Tokyo: Tōyō Eiwa Jogakuin, 1965); Tōyō Eiwa Jogakuin
Ghyakunenshi Hensan Jikkō Īnkai, A Hundred-Year History of Tōyō Eiwa Girls’ School; Hyakunijūnen Shi Hensan
Īnkai 120 年史編纂委員会, Tōyō Eiwa Jogakuin Hyakuniūnen Shi 東洋英和女学院 120 年史 [History of Tōyō
Eiwa Jogakuin 1884–2004].
197
Kōjunsha is an alumni association of Keiō Gijuku. Tokyo Club’s membership was dominated by kazoku. On the
clubs, see Kōjunsha 交詢社, ed., Kojunsha Hyakunenshi 交詢社百年史 [A Hundred Years of Kōjunsha] (Tokyo:
Kōjunsha, 1983); Tokyo kurabu 東京倶楽部, ed., Tokyo Kurabu Monogatari: Jentoruman No Hyakuniū Nen 東京
俱楽部物語：ジェントルマンの 120 年 [Stories of Tokyo Club: A Hundred and Twenty Years of Gentlemen]
(Tokyo: Tokyo kurabu, 2004).
198
Hashizume Shin’ya 橋爪紳也, Kurabu to Nihonjin: Hito Ga Atsumaru Kuūkan No Bunkashi 倶楽部と日本人：
人が集まる空間の文化史 [Clubs and Japanese People: A Cultural History of Gathering Spaces] (Kyoto: Gakugei
Shuppansha, 1989), 45–53.

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centrality of clubhouses is reflected in the changing uses of the term kurabu – a phonetic

representation of the English term “club” – in Japanese. According to cultural historian

Hashidume Shin’ya, this term initially referred to the organizations. But by the mid Meiji period,

the term also started referring to the physical clubhouses where these organizations met.199 With

such a physical foothold, men had less of a need to move around the city to socialize.

Unlike their male counterparts, it took time for women’s organizations to gain access to

dedicated spaces for gatherings, and some organizations could never afford such spaces. When

the 1918 Directory for Women’s Shakō was published, some of the thirty-seven women’s

organizations listed were already more than two decades old. Yet, half of them were still housed

in other institutions, such as temples, schools, hospitals, municipal offices, or even members’

homes.200 While JWAE was one of the few women’s organizations that managed to secure an

exclusive gathering space early in the twentieth century, it still took them almost two decades to

do so. After holding small offices primarily for administrative purposes, JWAE finally managed

to raise the funds to build their first clubhouse in 1909. However, JWAE could not hold on to

this clubhouse; after less than ten years, they had to part with this space because the maintenance

costs significantly affected their operational budget.201 It took TEGSAA much longer to have a

dedicated gathering space; the organization was granted the use of a room in the school only in

                                                                                               
199
Ibid., 45.
200
Nihon Fujo Tsūshinsha, Directory for Women’s Shakō, March 1918]. Even for the organizations that listed
independent addresses, the spaces were likely to be administrative offices rather than full-service clubhouses, where
dining and other recreational facilities were provided.
201
On the JWAE’s clubhouse, see Dai Nihon Fujin Kyōikukai, “Kaihō 会報 [News of the Association],” Bulletin of
Japan Women’s Association for Education 160 (1903): 45–48; Dai Nihon Fujin Kyōikukai, “Kaihō 会報 [News of
the Association],” Bulletin of Japan Women’s Association for Education 161 (1904): 46–48; Dai Nihon Fujin
Kyōikukai, “Kaihō 会報 [News of the Association],” Bulletin of Japan Women’s Association for Education 174
(1905): 50–51; Dai Nihon Fujin Kyōikukai, “Kaihō 会報 [News of the Association],” Bulletin of Japan Women’s
Association for Education 198 (1909): 30–35, 41–42.

110
  

1933, when TEGS constructed a new building.202 Until they established these exclusive spaces,

members of both JWAE and TEGSAA had to move around the city to identify and secure access

to spaces that could accommodate their gathering crowds.  

Searching for Venues to Gather: The Case for Using Domestic and Familiar Spaces

The women from TEGSAA and JWAE shared some patterns in their choices of gathering

venues, which show an incremental expansion away from domestic spaces and into other spaces

in the city. Urban open spaces, including parks, were one of the three kinds of spaces that both

associations visited for gatherings multiple times. Before they started meeting at parks, however,

they repurposed member residences or holiday homes [bessō 別荘], as well as other spaces with

which they were already familiar, for gatherings. In terms of the logistics required to gain access

to a gathering space, it is not difficult to imagine that using member-owned properties was one of

the least complicated options for these women. Ideologically, meeting at home must have been

seen as the least problematic, too. In addition to the strong association between women and

home, as I discussed earlier, there was an established practice of using domestic spaces for the

maintenance of social relationships. Since some middle-class women had already started

organizing regular meeting days or tea parties to host multiple visitors, as Hatoyama suggested in

her book, holding a larger gathering at home must have felt like a relatively natural transition.

Such public uses of supposedly private spaces of the home could also meet the expectations that

the male intellectuals like Tokutomi and Imai promoted: Women could become more

comfortable in front of and with non-family members, while serving their domestic duties as

                                                                                               
202
TEGSAA reported on the completion of the construction in the 1933 issue of the Bulletin. See Tōyō Eiwa
Jogakkō Dōsōkai, “Keijiban!! 掲示板！！ [Bulletin Board!!],” Dōsōkai Kaihō 同窓会会報 [Alumnae Association
Bulletin] (December 1933): 6.
Original: 新築校舎内に同窓会室が出来ました。皆様がクラス会に、講習会に、研究会に、座談会に、何
なりと思ひ思ひに御利用下さることをお待ちします。

111
  

wives and mothers. In short, using members’ homes for gatherings suited such ambivalent,

transitional ideals about Japanese womanhood in the late Meiji period.

However, the use of these domestic spaces was also limited; getting together as a crowd

required a physical area that was large enough to accommodate the members’ bodies and

activities. While the number of the participants varied, regular gatherings of TEGSAA and

JWAE were generally attended by significant crowds – forty to eighty participants in the case of

TEGSAA, and between thirty to seven hundred participants for JWAE. Since the JWAE

members’ homes, especially the mansions and gardens of the kazoku women members, tended to

have more space, JWAE used homes more frequently than TEGSAA did. Unlike the homes of

ordinary people, aristocratic homes were already designed to receive multiple guests in the late

Meiji period. A kazoku family estate typically included a Western-style house [yōkan 洋館], a

building used primarily for public purposes, including receiving the Emperor’s visits. The day-

to-day activities were conducted in a separate Japanese-style house, called a nihon kan [日本館],

on the same estate. In a Western-style house, on the other hand, there would be a parlor and/or

party room, which was sufficiently spacious to accommodate a dance party.203 Either way, noble

women would have had less trouble hosting large crowds, even up to seven hundred participants.

JWAE’s active leaders, like Mōri and Nagashima, often offered to host the gatherings at their

own places.

While TEGSAA also used the members’ residences for gatherings, they did so much less

frequently than JWAE did; in fact, only two gatherings were held at members’ homes. One was

                                                                                               
203
On kazoku mansions, see Jordan Sand, “Was Meiji Taste in Interiors ‘Orientalist’?,” Positions: East Asia
Cultures Critique 8, no. 3 (2000): 637–73; Awano Takashi 粟野隆, “Meiji Ki Tokyo No Kindai Teitaku Kūkan Ni
Okeru Yōhū Teien No Yōshiki to Kūkan 明治期東京の近代邸宅空間における洋風庭園の様式と空間 [Style
and Space of Semi-Western Gardens in Modernized Residential Spaces in the Meiji Tokyo],” Randosukēpu Kenkyū
ランドスケープ研究 [Journal of the Japanese Institute of Landscape Architecture] 68, no. 5 (2005): 381–84.

112
  

the first reunion outside of the school, which was held in 1896 at the vacation home of an alumna

named Mrs. Watanabe and attended by seventy-seven members. Although there is no visual or

textual material detailing the appearance of this vacation home, both the location (“In front of

Meguro Station”) and the planned activities (“walking around the garden as they liked”) suggest

that the home likely provided more space than a typical house in Tokyo.204 At the end of the

nineteenth century, the district around Meguro Station was just being developed as a residential

neighborhood. Formerly used as agricultural fields, only a small number plots would have been

sold around the year before the reunion (Figure 2.1).205 While we do not know the exact address

of the vacation home, maps from that year show several spacious plots “in front of Meguro

Station,” one of which was likely to be Mrs. Watanabe's. In addition, the activity of “walking

around the garden as they liked” indicates that the site was spacious enough to accommodate a

large outdoor area. Nonetheless, owning such a vacation home might not have been too common

to TEGSAA members, depending on their husbands’ jobs. Thus, rather than using members’

residences for gatherings, TEGSAA tended to look for other venues.

  In addition to the members’ homes, the organizations used spaces that were already

familiar, including the school, in TEGSAA’s case, and facilities built and maintained specifically

for aristocratic families, in JWAE’s case. Because some or all members of these groups had

already established their uses of these spaces for different purposes, acquiring permission to use

them for gatherings was likely to be easier. While these conditions contributed to making these

                                                                                               
204
Tōyō Eiwa Jogakkō Dōsōkai, “Honkai Kiji 本会記事 [News of the Association],” Tōyō Eiwa Girls’ School
Alumnae Association Bulletin (December 1896): 1–2.
205
See figure 2.1 to compare 1881 and 1909 maps around Meguro Station. They show the expansion of residential
areas. Maps can be located on Tokyo To Shinagawa Ku 東京都品川区, ed., Shinagawa Ku Shi: Shiryōhen Bessatsu
Chizu Tōkei Hyō 品川区史：資料編別冊地図統計表 [History of Shinagawa Ward: Maps and Statistics
Appendices] (Tokyo: Tokyo To Shinagawa Ku, 1972), 6–9.

113
  

spaces already favorable to the women, the organizations also actively made efforts to reinterpret

and expand the meanings and functions of these spaces.

JWAE frequently used Rokumeikan (later known as Kazoku Hall), as well as Peeresses’

School Kindergarten, for their gatherings. After the government-led diplomatic initiative fell

apart at Rokumeikan, a group of aristocrats had purchased the guesthouse to use it for their own

gatherings and events.206 Already familiar with attending social events in this space, as discussed

earlier, it is not surprising that the kazoku women in JWAE’s leadership looked for a gathering

space in the guesthouse. Similarly, Peeresses’ School Kindergarten was an obvious choice, as the

facility had been established in 1885 specifically for daughters of kazoku families.207 Like in the

case of using their own members’ homes, JWAE was able to capitalize on the resources of these

elite families to secure gathering spaces.

Even though these places were indeed familiar to JWAE leaders, it required some effort

to repurpose the spaces for the use of gatherings. For example, the exclusive Rokumeikan had to

be made open to the general population, since non-kazoku members regularly attended JWAE

meetings. While we do not have a complete list of attendees for each gathering, the numbers

show that there were non-kazoku members in attendance. For example, while twenty of JWAE

members were kazoku women as of 1889, the regular gathering at Rokumeikan in February 1892

was attended by forty to fifty members; in other words, more than twenty non-kazoku members

participated. Thus, holding regular gatherings at Rokumeikan entailed non-kazoku women

entering otherwise kazoku-exclusive spaces. To legitimize this use, the understanding of these

                                                                                               
206
On Rokumeikan and Kazoku Hall, see Kasumi Kaikan 霞会館, ed., Kazoku Kaikan Shi 華族会館史 [History of
Kazoku Kaikan] (Kyoto: Kasumi Kaikan Kyōto Shisho, 1966), 293–471.
207
On Peeresses' School and kazoku daughters, see Kazoku Shiryō Kenkyū Kai 華族史料研究会, ed., Kazoku
Reijōtachi No Taishō Shōwa 華族令嬢たちの大正・昭和 [Taishō and Shōwa Periods of Kazoku Daughters]
(Tokyo: Yoshikawa Kōbunkan, 2011).

114
  

kazoku-exclusive spaces needed to be updated. By holding repeated gatherings in these elite

spaces, JWAE might have contributed to blurring the boundaries between people from different

social statuses.

Using the space of the kindergarten for JWAE gatherings required even more innovation.

While a typical mother from the middle or lower class might be actively engaged in the activities

at her child’s kindergarten, Peeresses’ School Kindergarten was not a place that kazoku women

visited on an everyday basis. According to Lebra’s ethnographic account, mothers from

aristocratic families were only minimally involved in day-to-day parenting tasks. For example,

they did not take their children or pick them up from school on their own; this was the work of

the attendants that followed each member of the family.208 Thus, meeting at the kindergarten to

socialize was not an activity that these women were already casually engaging in. Like meetings

in other venues, these gatherings had to be pre-planned, and both kazoku and non-kazoku women

had to go out of the home specifically for the purpose of meeting there.

Meanwhile, TEGSAA frequently used their alma mater as a gathering venue. Because

TEGSAA was an association clearly affiliated with TEGS, it seems natural for them to seek a

space for gathering at the school. To welcome new graduates into the alumnae association, they

even agreed to hold the annual spring reunion at the school on the day of the graduation

ceremony. However, their access to the space was still limited, and TEGSAA did not have full

freedom to use the space anytime they wanted. When holding a gathering, they had to use

existing rooms, notably the room referred as the “Western-style guest room [seiyō kyakuma 西洋

客間].” As the name suggests, this room was designed to receive guests at the school, not

designed for gatherings. As such, TEGSAA needed to coordinate with the school’s schedule in

                                                                                               
208
Lebra, Above the Clouds: Status Culture of the Modern Japanese Nobility, 155–64.

115
  

advance. For example, one year TEGSAA could not hold the spring reunion gathering because

the schoolhouse was being remodeled.209 They had to wait until 1933 to have a dedicated

alumnae room in the school, to which they could have exclusive access anytime they wanted it.

Women Moving into Urban Spaces: Ordering Unruly Parks

The two associations started using open spaces in the city, like parks and gardens, to

varied degrees, in the 1890s (1899 for TEGSAA and 1893 for JWAE). While their early uses of

domestic and familiar spaces had also required some creative reinterpretations, deciding to hold

their gatherings in public spaces required an even bigger leap. Given that parks had started being

used as sites for political movements and were seen as risky, these urban open spaces might have

been seen as unapproachable for respectable women like the members of TEGSAA and JWAE,

at least upon first glance. However, as we will see, their uses of parks for gatherings emerged at

the intersection between the authorities’ intentions to use women as a civilizing presence within

parks and the distinct spatial cultures that the two associations had already cultivated.

As noted earlier, because these spaces had long been recognized as sites of potential

danger, the government sought ways to mitigate risks even before officially opening parks to the

public. One of the government's strategies was to construct a more orderly space to keep the

delinquents out. In the 1873 national decree to establish parks, we can see how the national

government was already intervening to limit how people used the open spaces. The decree reads,

To the prefectures, re: selection of the sites for the establishment of parks in the three
prefectures [Tokyo, Kyoto, and Osaka] and other populated areas, there are places that
crowds traditionally visited and enjoyed walking around, such as the places of
outstanding landscapes and historic sites of great figures (e.g. the precincts of Konryūsan
Sensoji and Tōeizan Kaneiji etc. in Tokyo [...]), as well as non-taxable sites with
                                                                                               
209
See Tōyō Eiwa Jogakkō Dōsōkai, “Honkai Kiji 本会記事 [News of the Association],” Tōyō Eiwa Girls’ School
Alumnae Association Bulletin (December 1900): 1–2.
Original: 先例年の如く春期同窓会を開くべき筈なりしも同校新築中とて心ならずも春期の会合を見合せ
新築落成開校式と共に此月此日同窓会を開くに至れり

116
  

undefined ownership. These sites should be spaces that all people can enjoy for good, and
thus should be established as parks. Every prefecture must select and survey such sites,
and then submit the site selection with site drawings to the Ministry of Finance for
approval.210

The landscape historian Shirahata interprets this decree as the national government’s strategy for

managing the culture of outdoor pleasure, which people had already established without the

institution of parks, from a top-down perspective. Instead of proposing the physical construction

of new parks, the national government made the prefectural governments identify the sites that

had traditionally been visited by people, in order to establish administrative control over them.

By approving, rejecting, and sometimes ranking the selected sites, the government demonstrated

their views on what was appropriate and inappropriate. As Shirahata argues, through such

authoritative actions, the national government began training Japanese people to view the

existing places of outdoor pleasure in a particular way.211 In response to this decree, Tokyo

selected five sites, including the suggestions that were given: the precincts of Konryūsan Sensoji

and Tōeizan Kaneiji. If the candidate sites were not owned by the prefecture yet, the national

government expropriated the specified sites for park use and consigned the management to the

prefecture. As a result, parks were technically established as properties of the national

government, but their management was conducted by municipal governments.212

                                                                                               
210
Naikaku Hōmukyoku 内閣官報局, “Dajō-Kan Futatsu Dai 16 Gō 太政官布達第 16 号 [The 16th Decree,
Council of State],” in Hōrei Zensho Meiji Roku Nen 法令全書 明治六年 [Encycropedia of Laws, 1874] (Tokyo:
naikaku kanpō kyoku, 1878), 13.
Original: 府県ヘ○ 公園設置ニ付地所選択ノ件
三府ヲ始人民輻輳ノ地ニシテ古来ノ勝区名人ノ旧跡等是迄群集遊観ノ場所（東京ニ於テハ金龍山浅草寺
東叡山寛永寺境内ノ類、京都ニ於テハ八坂社清水ノ境内嵐山ノ類総テ社寺境内除地或ハ公有地ノ類）従
前高外除地ニ属セル分ハ永ク万人偕楽ノ地トシ公園ト可被相定ニ付府県ニ於テ右地所ヲ択ヒ其景況巨細
取調図面相添ヘ大蔵省ヘ可伺出事
211
Shirahata, “Okugai Kūkan No Kō to Shi: Kindai Nihon No Kōen Shi Kara 屋外空間の公と私：近代日本の公
園史から [Public and Private in Outdoor Spaces: The Case of Parks in Modern Japan],” in Kindai Nihon No Kō to
Shi, Kan to Min 近代日本の公と私、官と民 [Public and Private, Government and People in Japan], ed. Markus
Rüttermann マルクス・リュッターマン Inoki Takenori 猪木武徳 (Tokyo: NTT Shuppan, 2014), 365–83.
212
Satō, A History of the Development of Parks and Green Spaces in Japan, Vol.1, 78.

117
  

Soon, entrepreneurs started making proactive proposals to gain permission to be involved

in the park management. For instance, landscape historians highlight the importance of one

proposal, made by an entrepreneur named Enomoto Rokubē to the municipal government of

Tokyo, as a predecessor of park regulations. The entrepreneur’s proposal reads,

In principle, parks must be always clean so that children, elders, and women can ramble
around at ease and in leisure. Let’s remove old tea shops, construct proper buildings in
the right places, and rent the spaces [in the buildings] out to selected industries, so that
children, elders, and women can enjoy taking a walk outside while heading toward their
destination in the city. Let’s prohibit alcohol consumption in the parks.213

Although this proposal itself was not executed, it encapsulated the ideal of order as a strategy to

turn religious precincts into modern parks. The entrepreneur suggested, for example, moving

eating and drinking establishments, where people often became intoxicated, into a designated

district as a way to allow children, elders, and women to walk around the park more freely. He

also recommended removing temporary stalls, selecting reputable businesses to operate in and

near the parks, and organizing the businesses into “proper buildings,” as another strategy to

achieve safety for visitors. In the eyes of progressives of the time like Enomoto, these strategies

of spatial organization could make the spaces “clean [seiketsu 清潔],” and have a civilizing

effect on the park sites.

                                                                                               
213
Enomoto Rokubē 榎本六兵衛, “Ueno Kōen Keiei Ukeoi Shutsugan 上野公園経営請負出願 [Request for the
Privilege to Manage Ueno Park],” in Tokyo Shi Shikō Yūen Hen Dai Yon 東京市史稿（遊園編）第四 [Historical
Documents of Tokyo City: Leisure Spaces, Part 4], ed. Tokyo Shiyakusho 東京市役所 (Tokyo: Tokyo Shiyakusho,
1932), 545–50. Dated November 1873–February 1874.
Original: 是迄山内二取建有之候葭簣張掛茶屋之類は一時取拂被仰付候様仕度、然る後改而適宜之場所の
ミ貸渡候而は、自儘之家作いたし、自然不體裁に相成可申哉二付、園中相當之修造いたし、業體相撰ミ
候上貸渡可申候、且遊覽之もの持參は格別、園中二而酒肉を賣候儀は相禁し申度候。
Landscape historians have brought up this proposal as one of the first park regulation efforts in the following articles
and a book: Shinji Isoya 進士五十八 Tonsho Hiroyuki 頓所弘行, “Meiji Ki Tokyo No Kōenchi Ni Okeru Inshoku
Shisetsu No Shiteki Kōsatsu 明治期・東京の公園地における飲食施設の史的考察 [A Historical Study on the
Facilities for Eating and Drinking in the Public Parks of Tokyo in the Meiji Period],” Zōen Zasshi 造園雑誌
[Journal of the Japanese Institute of Landscape Architects] 51, no. 5 (1987): 37–42; Kaneko, “Foundmental Study
on Transition of Management Institution for Public Parks,” 317–22; Kobayashi Yasushige 小林安茂, Ueno Kōen 上
野公園 [Ueno Park] (Tokyo: Tokyō To Kōen Kyōkai, 1994), 36.

118
  

As suggested, most parks did eventually remove temporary stalls and started vetting in-

park businesses more closely. For example, in the 1873 “Rules for Park Use,” the office of

Tokyo Prefecture allowed renting the in-park plots only to “businesses that are not dirty.”

According to the terms and conditions, tenants had to agree to clean up their plots and

surrounding environs every night after visitors left and to report to the management.214 In

addition, the rent of the in-park plots tended to be more expensive than those in normal

commercial districts, which prevented disreputable businesses from operating there. The parks

then paid for maintenance and improvements to their spaces with the rent revenue.215

By way of an example, in Ueno Park, spatial regulations were both physical and

behavioral. For instance, the management issued their “Regulations in Ueno Park” in 1876,

which prohibited delinquent behaviors, such as harassing others who were walking around,

littering, begging, tree climbing, and sleeping on benches or on the grass. The regulations

suggest that, while the park was a public space, this did not mean that people could do anything

they liked there. Rather, as a place where people from different walks of life visited, one should

neither bother others nor perform unexpected activities.216 Going even further, in the 1891

                                                                                               
214
Tokyo Fuchiji Ōkubo Ichiō 東京府知事大久保一翁, “Kōen Toriatsukai Kokoroe 公園取扱心得 [Rules for Park
Use],” in Historical Documents of Tokyo City: Leisure Spaces, Part 4, ed. Tokyo Shiyakusho, 518–19. Dated May
24, 1873.
Original: 公園取扱心得
一、公園中二於テ一時展觀物ヲ置キ、或ハ百花草木ヲ植へ、遊人休息ノ爲メ出茶屋ヲ設クルノ類、其他
見苦シカラサル商業ハ、現場見分ノ上地所貸渡、午後五時限リ渡世差許候事。但、竃ヲ築立、住居スル
儀不相成事。
215
Tahata Kenzō 田畑謙蔵 Nishimura Katsuzō 西村勝三, “Kōenchi No Gi Ni Tsuki Ukagai 公園地の儀に付伺
[Inquiery about the Park Site Case],” in Historical Documents of Tokyo City: Leisure Spaces, Part 4, ed. Tokyo
Shiyakusho, 646. Dated May 1874.
Original: 右殘半ヲ盡ク高除地ト致シ、酒店貸座敷體ノ營業ヲ差許シ、屋税地税ヲ以テ右入費二充テ候外
無之卜存
216
Ordered by Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department in 1883, all parks started displaying the rules that Ueno Park
had already implemented in 1876. See Keishi Sōkan Kabayama Sukenori 警視総監樺山資紀, “Kōen Keiji Seitei 公
園掲示制定 [Displaying the Park Rules],” in Historical Documents of Tokyo City: Leisure Spaces, Part 4, ed.
Tokyo Shiyakusho, 785–87. Dated May 1, 1883.

119
  

“Rules for Rest Stalls in Ueno Park,” the management specified the number, dimensions, forms,

and locations of temporary stalls in the park.217 In 1908, they revised these regulations further

with their “Rules for Ueno Park Users,” which required visitors to “respect the park’s reputation

and scenic beauty.”218 The park management did their best to monitor what could happen in

these sites, by combining regulations on both the built environment and on acceptable behaviors.

On the one hand, the regulations were designed to exclude people who did not fit into the

state elites’ ideal. As we have seen in the rules above, beggars, who attempted to obtain money

from other visitors, were not even allowed entry to the park. In-park businesses were required to

obtain a permit for occupation and operation. As we have seen in the other set of rules, only the

tenants who were able to keep the space clean and tidy as well as capable of paying the high rent

were allowed to operate. In Ueno Park, stalls needed to follow physical requirements as well. As

more elite businesses filled the parks, these spaces became more unavailable to visitors with little

financial and cultural capital. In his 1899 report about in-park establishments, one magazine

editor captured the moment when a visitor was pushed out of a supposedly public space. He

                                                                                               
217
“Ueno Kōen Kyūkeijo Yatai Kisoku 上野公園休憩所掾臺規則 [Rules for Rest Stalls in Ueno Park]” (1891)
cited in Kaneko, “A Foundmental Study on Transition of Management Institution for Public Parks,” 319. In
addition, in 1876, the President of the National Museum in Ueno Park already ordered the removal of all stalls
[kakejaya 掛茶屋] in the park site in order to “clean up the ugliness (醜態を掃除する).” See Machida Hisanari 町
田久成, “Ueno Kōen Kakejaya Tekkyo 上野公園掛茶屋撤去 [Removal of Stalls in Ueno Park],” in Historical
Documents of Tokyo City: Leisure Spaces, Part 4, ed. Tokyo Shiyakusho, 827–29. Dated February 14, 1876.
218
“Ueno Kōenchi Shakuyōsha Kokoroe 上野公園地地所借用者心得 [Rules for Ueno Park Users]” (1908) cited in
Kaneko, “A Foundmental Study on Transition of Management Institution for Public Parks,” 321. As a basis, a
tentative set of rules for in-park business operators had already been established in 1878. In particular, Article Two
of the tentative rules reads: “Because parks are the sites for ordinary people to enjoy leisure, buildings should stay
away from insanity as much as possible. They should also not hinder scenic beauty.” See Takada Shōkichi 高田正
吉, “Kōen Dekasegi Kari Jōrei Seitei 公園出稼仮条例制定 [Establishing a Tentative Set of Rules for in-Park
Business Operations],” in Tokyo Shi Shikō Yūen Hen Dai Go 東京市史稿（遊園編）第五 [Historical Documents
of Tokyo City: Leisure Spaces, Part 5], ed. Tokyo Shiyakusho 東京市役所 (Tokyo: Tokyo Shiyakusho, 1933), 150–
59. Dated October 2, 1878.
Original: 本應ニ於テハ詮議ノ上、実地差支エナク且ツ園内ノ繁盛ヲ助クヘキモノト思量スレハ、相当ノ
借地ヲ許可スヘキ事。
但公園ハ衆庶快楽ノ場所ナルヲ以、建家ハ成丈ケ不潔ヲ厭ヒ，景色ヲ不損様注意可致、但建物落成ノ上
ハ掛リ官員ノ検査ヲ可受事。

120
  

wrote, “Businesses that receive special treatments operate their restaurants as if that [the park] is

their own place. Once one takes a seat, tea is immediately delivered. A poor person cannot even

sit there peacefully.” The editor continued, “But nobody has yet been mad at the economic

success of such businesses. I do not expect changes in the rent for in-park establishments. First

and foremost, I demand changes in the ways people use the park spaces.”219 This editor

recognized that the park management’s financial reliance on these businesses drove the exclusion

of people without means. Making the space available to all people did not automatically mean

that the space was accessible to everybody. Rather, the space became more friendly to people

with good manners and less accessible to those who could not behave in specific ways.

Elite women, such as those in women’s organizations, tended to be the beneficiaries of

these regulations. Such peacekeeping or policing initiatives offered them an environment where

they could relatively safe from disturbances, on their way to and from as well as within the

parks. This was especially the case for women who had the means to pay for the already-vetted

businesses, which could secure a safer environment that was filled only with visitors from a

similar social ranking. The certified status of these establishments was particularly important for

women, as it distinguished them from places in the former religious districts, which tended to be

surrounded by so-called pleasure quarters [yūkaku 遊郭]. These segregated districts, which

included licensed brothels as well as unlicensed brothels disguised as drinking establishments,

were traditionally concentrated around popular religious institutions. As the national government

                                                                                               
219
Anon., “Kōen 公園 [Park],” Jogaku Zasshi 女学雑誌 [Magazine of Girls’ Learning] 177 (1889): 55–56.
Original: 公園の清不清、快不快は、＊に大ひに市民の気風に関係あるのみならず、亦以て其気風如何ん
を検知するの標準たるべし、東京市中の諸公園には、無用なる官舎らしきものの造立せられたるもあ
り、周辺に馬場を造りて全く風景を殺したるもあり、特待せらるる料理茶屋が我物顔に店を出すもあ
り、腰を掛くると其儘茶持来りて貧民に安座せしめざるものあり，而して此等の景況を見て怒るものを
未だ嘗てあらず、故に吾人は公園使用料の改良を望まずして、先づ其使用法の改良あらんを請ふ，上野
を見よ、浅草を見よ、芝を見よ、風景尤佳、幽遼尤極、の処ろに至りて、抑そも人の遊ぶものと家の立
つものを、其の何れか多きを問へ。

121
  

attempted to get rid of the official system of prostitution, elites, men and women alike,

condemned prostitutes by calling them “dirty-job women [shūgyō fu 醜業婦].” Having the vetted

establishments as options made the parks into a morally safe space for women.220 This

wholesome image of parks continued to strengthen over the coming decades. In 1921, Tamura

Tsuyoshi, a famous forestry professor who taught landscape design, even considered the level of

women’s presence as an indicator of democracy in the parks. In a professional magazine called

Gardens, Tamura wrote, “We can see how democratic a park design is by assessing how it is

suited for women’s uses. Women are a barometer that shows the value of the park.”221 The new

spatial order, which TEGSAA and JWAE participated in, was thus specifically designed to

resolve any potential conflicts that might arise when different social groups came to a single

place, by minimizing unexpected or uncontrollable behaviors and encounters.  

Following Distinct Spatial Cultures in the Park: Gathering at Sangitei and Seiyōken

The gatherings that I mentioned at the beginning of this chapter encapsulate the distinct

spatial cultures of TEGSAA and JWAE, which influenced the ways that they used the space of

the park. The two associations met at Ueno Park around the same time, but they used different

in-park establishments. For instance, TEGSAA’s gathering took place on October 11, 1902.

More than fifty members gathered at Sangitei, a tea shop in Ueno Park (Figure 2.2). At this

regular biannual reunion, many of the members were accompanied by their children. They had a

business meeting and lunch at the tea shop, then strolled around other park facilities, including

                                                                                               
220
On the initiative to eliminate pleasure quarters, see Obinata Sumio 大日方純夫, Nihon Kindai Kokka No Seiritsu
to Keisatsu 日本近代国家の成立と警察 [The Establishment of Modern Nation State in Japan and the Police]
(Azekura Shobō, 1992), 279–305.
221
Tamura Tsukoshi 田村剛, “Fujin to Kōen 婦人と公園 [Women and Parks],” Teien 庭園 [Gardens] 3, no. 11
(1921): 454–55.
Original: 公園が民衆的に出来ているかどうかは，いつでも婦人の利用に適しているかどうかを見れば分
る．そこで婦人は公園の価値を測る尺度のやうなものである This issue is a special issue on parks.

122
  

the zoo and cyclorama (a cylindrical platform where people could enjoy panoramic images), and

chatted with friends. Their scheduled activities ended around 4:00 PM. Two of the members

came all the way from Yokohama, a city that was more than twenty miles away from the park.222

The association’s bulletin reported, “We are very glad and should celebrate that the members

eagerly participate in every meeting to maintain our old friendship. We hope more members can

join the gathering to build up our pure relationships.”223

JWAE’s gathering took place about fifteen months later. At 4:00 PM on January 18,

1904, members gathered at Seiyōken, a renowned Western-style restaurant in the same park

(Figure 2.3). This gathering was a joint meeting with three other women’s organizations – Orient

Women’s Association [Tōyō Fujin Kai 東洋婦人会], Girls’ Education Association [Joshi

Kyōiku Kai 女子教育会], and Japan Women’s Study Association [Dai Nihon Jogakkai 大日本

女学会]. All together, more than forty people participated. It was a farewell dinner party for

JWAE member Yasui Tetsu, a schoolteacher who was going to Thailand to establish a school for

daughters of Thai aristocrats. Because this was a party to celebrate the honor of being selected to

serve on this national educational project, a few male government officials and intellectuals

specializing in education joined this party as well. Little details about the program are known,

but according to a later report, it was a “gorgeous party.”224

                                                                                               
222
These out-of-city participants must have taken train from Yokohama. The reports of other meetings at public
gardens and parks indicated train as their primary means of transportation to the gathering venues. For example, the
report of a 1901 meeting at Omori Hakkeien, a public garden in Tokyo, stated, “as the trains arrived at the station,
our sisters (fellow alumnae), accompanying their dear children, joined the meeting one after another (2).” See, for
example, Tōyō Eiwa Jogakkō Dōsōkai, “Honkai Kiji 本会記事 [News of the Association],” Tōyō Eiwa Girls’
School Alumnae Association Bulletin (December 1901): 2–3.
Original: 郊外運動には此上なき好日なりき、然れは汽車の着する毎に諸姉には愛児方を携へられて続々
来会せらる（2）
223
Tōyō Eiwa Jogakkō Dōsōkai, “Honkai Kiji 本会記事 [News of the Association],” Tōyō Eiwa Girls’ School
Alumnae Association Bulletin (November 1902): 1–3.
224
Dai Nihon Fujin Kyōikukai, “Kaihō 会報 [News of the Association],” 1904, 46–48.

123
  

Examining the two in-park establishments, Sangitei and Seiyōken, in detail can reveal

some of the reasons why both TEGSAA and JWAE ended up in Ueno Park around this time.

While the two dining establishments were geographically very close to each other, they targeted

different clientele. These differences are articulated in the descriptions of the establishments in a

1896 special issue of a magazine called Culture Graphic, which focused on Ueno Park. Sangitei,

the tea shop where TEGSAA met, was described as follows:

By the side of Suribachi Hill, there is a small mossy hill. On the hill, a humble hedge is
installed. Visitors are left to make their way there by small steps made of stumps and
bunched up roots and trunks. There, cherry blossoms, pines, maples, and azaleas are
planted. The trees cross their branches each other, which looks like they are inviting
people who want to have a rest. The shop is very elegantly built. The building is built in a
semi-Western and semi-Japanese style, but not vulgar. There are a few tables installed,
where coffee and lemon soda are served. Across the footpath, another shop is located,
with wisteria trellises and willows. Some girls with flower hair pieces are serving and
offering tea there, which is very adorable. In spring, their sakura mochi are so delicious
that they have Tokyo girls smiling. In fall, poets hold poetry gatherings over colored
leaves and sake. This tea shop is named Sangitei (lit. three-good-things shop) because
there are three things to enjoy here: the moon, snow, and flowers.225

By contrast, Seiyōken, the Western-style restaurant where JWAE met, was described as follows.

To the West of the Great Buddha statue, there is a white, Western-style restaurant with
red columns. Its name is Seiyōken. While there are countless restaurants known for
Western-style cuisine in Tokyo, people consider this restaurant to be at the top of the list.
There are several vast rooms in the restaurant. Each room is extremely clean and
decorated beautifully, with imported pieces of equipment. All the halls are carpeted, and
in the center [of each room], a dining table is located. The table is covered with white
cloth. A huge vase is placed in the center of the table, where many kinds of flowers are
arranged to enable visitors to feel [a sense of] spring in any season. By the side of the
vase, glass blocks are placed neatly, clean water is displayed, or fragrant water is
installed, so that visitors can enjoy it on their own. From the beginning, Japanese people
have visited this restaurant. People from the West also visit it. So, visitors keep coming
during the day and night. This restaurant is always populated with some visitors, all of
                                                                                               
225
Anon., “Sangitei 三宜亭,” Fūzoku Gahō 風俗画報 [Culture Graphic] 123 (1896): 28.
Original: 摺鉢山の傍にあり、青苔露滑かなる小丘陵に、ささやかなる眞狭垣を結び、木根切株を畳んで
足取り軽く段階を見せて、来客の踏むに任せ、桜松楓霧島の植、枝を交わして休らふ人を招くに似た
り、締搆極めて撲雅、和洋を折衷してしかも俗に流れず、数脚の食卓を据え、コーヒ、ラムネを注ぐ、
亭に対し徑を挟んで低く藤棚を吊り、殊にまたささやかなる離亭を構え、楊を移して少女数髪、茗を酌
み客に侑む、其の情愛すべし、春は桜餅に都乙女の豊頬を落し、秋はもみじに酒を温めて風流韻士の詩
嚢に入る、三宜亭の名は月雪花の永めに富めばなるべし。

124
  

whom are wealthy. When a grandson of the Korean King came [to Japan], he visited
here. There are almost no visitors from the West who do not wish to come to this
restaurant. It must be because their cuisine is sophisticated that this restaurant is so
favored. But the cuisine is not the only reason. It must also be because of its great
location and brand that the restaurant has been established for so long. Visitors to this
restaurant include those who enjoy flowers, those who want to escape the heat, those who
enjoy the moon, those who enjoy colored leaves, as well as those who enjoy snow. This
restaurant is indispensable to the park.226

These descriptions generally illustrate the modesty of Sangitei’s design, as well as the

extravagance of Seiyōken’s. For example, the descriptions of “a humble hedge” and “small

steps” for walking over tree branches indicates the simpler construction of Sangitei. In

comparison, a 1870 illustration shows that well-made stone steps were installed to lead to the

front porch of Seiyōken (Figure 2.4). The exterior aesthetics were also different. The description

of Sangitei’s style “a semi-Western and semi-Japanese style, but not vulgar” is interesting

because it implies that the mixture of styles was seen as potentially risky, as it could result in an

aesthetic impurity that was displeasing to onlookers. Unlike Sangitei, Seiyōken was built in a

single, consistent style, which could be easier for people to recognize. Inside the buildings, the

extremes of modesty and extravagance were even more visible. While only “some tables” were

installed at Sangitei, the rooms at Seiyōken were “extremely clean and decorated beautifully,

with imported pieces of equipment,” including flower vases, glass blocks, and fragrant water.

                                                                                               
226
Anon., “Seiyōken 精養軒,” Culture Graphic 123 (1896): 29–30. Words inside the parentheses are added for
clarification by the author-translator.
Original: 大仏の西に当りて赤柱、白亜洋製に擬して築ける楼亭あり、之を精養軒と称す、都下西洋料理
を以て名あるもの多しと雖も、必ず此楼を以て指を第一に屈す、楼亭数巨室を設けて、室ごとに必ず清
潔を極め、器具舶来品を用ゐて、品ごとに必ず美麗を飾る、宴席全てくゆ（絨毯）を敷き、中央の食
机、覆うに白稜布を以てす、机心亦一大花瓶を置き、百花を合挿して、四時春を貯へ、其側に数個の硝
瓦を星列して、或いは清泉を盛り、或は香液を儲へ、以て客の嘗むるに任せたり、此楼は、邦人固より
来り、西洋人も亦来り、来る者昼絶えず、夜も亦絶えず、絶えずと雖も、来る者は蓋し豊富の人に非ざ
るはなし、往年朝鮮の王孫羲和宮の来るや、亦此に館す、其他外賓珍客概ね此に望まざるはなし、蓋し
大方の眷顧を受くる所以のものは、其料理法の整斎するのみならず、築搆地の宜しきと、最も久しく名
を得るとも因らずんばあらず、故に此楼に上る者は、花を賞するか為にする者もあるべく、涼を納るる
が為にする者もあるべく。月を観るが為にする者もあるべく、紅葉を愛するが為にする者もあるべく、
雪を眺むるが為にする者もあるべし。公園中、実に此楼なかるべからず、

125
  

The scarcity of available visual depictions of Sangitei also suggests the banality of the shop’s

interior appearance, which made it unworthy of detailed description. In the only two drawings

that I have been able to locate, Sangitei was drawn as a small plain structure, as a backdrop and

on the edge of the illustrations (Figures 2.2 and 2.5). Meanwhile, the grandeur of Seiyōken was a

common visual theme in representations of Ueno Park (Figures 2.3 and 2.4).

The descriptions, as well as the visual materials, suggest that the levels of spatial

elaboration reflected and invited particular customer bases, which were segmented by the

abundance of their financial and cultural capital. According to the descriptions in Culture

Graphic, Sangitei was a low-key tea shop that was visited by a mixed clientele, including girls

and male poets, while Seiyōken was a top Western-style restaurant in Tokyo frequented by

“wealthy people” and international guests.227 Based on the frequent announcements for poets’

gatherings at Sangitei in newspapers, these kind of meetings seem to have been common at the

establishment.228 Because the specific dimensions of Sangitei are unknown, TEGSAA members

                                                                                               
227
We know the “poets” at Sangitei were men because female professionals during this period were rare and were
specifically referred to using the prefix of joryū [女流, lit. women-style]. The use of the term joryū with a profession
name connotes that the profession is not typical of women. The term was widely used in the field of art, such as
writing and performance. On the historical uses of this term, see Suzuki Naoko 鈴木直子, “Kōdo Seichō to Hayashi
Mariko ‘On’na Bunshi’ Ni Okeru On’na No Ekurityūru 高度成長と林真理子『女文士』における女のエクリチ
ュール [Rapid Economic Growth and Woman’s Ecriture in Hayashi Mariko’s On’na Bunshi],” Nihon Bungaku 日
本文学 [Japanese Literature] 59, no. 11 (2010): 48–58.
228
For example, the following newspaper articles reported poets’ gatherings at Sangitei: Anon., “Zuiō Ginsha Dai
Kyū Shū Renku 随鴎吟社第九集連句 [Zuiō Ginsha Couplet the 9th Couplet],” Asahi Shinbun 朝日新聞, May 25,
1905, 5; Anon., “Sangitei Shōshūseki Jō Kadai 三宜亭小集席上課題 [Small Gathering at Sangitei],” Asahi
Shinbun, June 9, 1905, 5; Anon., “Zuiō Ginsha Dai Jūyon Shū Renku 随鴎吟社第十四集連句 [Zuiō Ginsha
Couplet the 14th Couplet],” Asahi Shinbun, November 18, 1905; Anon., “Zuiō Ginsha Dai Jūgo Shū Renku 随鴎吟
社第十五集連句 [Zuiō Ginsha Couplet the 15th Couplet],” Asahi Shinbun, December 14, 1905, 5; Anon., “Konzan
Hengyoku Zuiō Ginsha Dai Nijūisshū Renku Ueno Sangitei Ni Oite 崑山片玉 随鴎吟社第 21 集聯句＝於上野公
園三宜亭 [Konzan Hengyoku Zuiō Ginsha The 21st Couplet, at Ueno Sangitei],” Yomiuri Shinbun, July 13, 1906,
5; Anon., “Zuiō Ginsha Dai Sanjū Hakkai Reikai 随鴎吟社第卅八回例会 [Zuiō Ginsha the 38th Gathering],” Asahi
Shinbun, March 17, 1908, 6; Anon., “Fūsha Renku Ueno Sangitei Nite 楓社連句 上野三宜亭にて [Fūsha Couplet,
at Ueno Sangitei],” Yomiuri Shinbun, July 27, 1910, 5; Anon., “Zuiō Ginsha Renku Ichigatsu Jūgonichi Ueno
Sangitei Ni Oite 随鴎吟社連句 1 月 15 日 於 上野三宜亭 [Zuiō Ginsha Couplet, at Ueno Sangitei, January 15],”
Yomiuri Shinbun, January 19, 1911, 5; Anon., “Kanshi Zuiō Ginsha Shichizetsu Renku Jūgonichi Ueno Sangitei Ni
Oite 漢詩 随鴎吟社七絶連句 15 日、於上野三宜亭 [Chinese Poetry Zuiō Ginsha Shichizetsu Couplet, at Ueno
Sangitei, on the 15th],” Yomiuri Shinbun, May 18, 1911, 5; Anon., “Kanshi Zuiō Ginsha Renku Rokugatsu

126
  

might or might not have shared the space with other visitors or groups when they had their

gathering of fifty members. Nonetheless, what is clear is that Sangitei was a space that was

favored by both local girls seeking seasonal confections like “sakura mocha,” as well male poets

seeking inspiration for the topics of their poems, such as “the moon, snow, and flowers.” The

fact that this was a space where men and women mixed was not insignificant; as mentioned

earlier, the mere possibility for encounters with people with unfamiliar backgrounds in public

spaces would have had the potential to ruin women’s reputations in the premodern era. The fact

that women-only groups like TEGSAA, along with other girls in Tokyo, visited this

establishment signals the changes in gender norms for gathering spaces. At the same time, it also

suggests that it was class, rather than gender, that defined the clientele of this establishment.

While illustrations of Seiyōken also show women and men as customers, the space

appears to be more dominated by men. In the illustrations of Seiyōken, most visitors wear

Western-style clothing, at a time when these styles were still unfamiliar to most Japanese people.

The customers’ familiarity with the latest styles from abroad indicates their awareness of foreign

cultures, as well as a higher level of access to financial resources to obtain these clothes for

everyday use.229 In the illustrations, we can also see a horse and buggy and a few rickshaws

parked at the gate of Seiyōken. While visitors like TEGSAA members either walked or took the

train to Ueno Station, which was located to the east of the park, Seiyōken customers did not have

to share transit spaces, such as stations and train cars, with people from different backgrounds.

Their journey from home to the establishment was rather protected, although they might have

seen and been seen by other people. Of course, having access to personal transportation, like

                                                                                               
Jūichinichi Ueno Sangitei de 漢詩 随鴎吟社連句 6 月 11 日、上野三宜亭で [Chinese Poetry Zuiō Ginsha
Couplet, at Ueno Sangitei, June 11],” Yomiuri Shinbun, June 18, 1911, 5.
229
On the history of clothing, see Kon, Fukusōshi 服装史 [A History of Dressing] (Tokyo: Domesu Shuppan,
1972), 325–29.

127
  

their Western-style clothing, indicated their financial wealth. These class differences separated

their experiences from those of non-elite people, who might have felt no affinity with foreign

styles. It was this cultural behavior, including their disposition toward specific aesthetic styles

within the material culture of the time, that established such different places in a single park.

  As  these  distinctions  demonstrate,  central to the JWAE’s spatial culture of shakō was

exclusivity. JWAE did not use parks and gardens, which were technically open to everyone, as

frequently as TEGSAA. Their gatherings at parks and gardens included Korakuen Garden (in

1893, 1902, and 1903), Koishikawa Botanical Garden (in 1901), and a garden in Shiba Park (in

1907). In addition to these public gardens and parks, JWAE also used the private gardens of

members’ residences on at least nine occasions between 1892 and 1908. When they met in public

spaces, they either booked a high-end dining establishment or rented out a section of the park.

When they used private gardens, the food was catered or prepared on site, with help from the

members’ live-in maids who worked in the kitchens of these residences.230 For example, the

venue for the 1907 meeting was Sanentei in Shiba Park, an upscale restaurant similar to

Seiyōken. At the 1902 meeting at Kōrakuen Garden, on the other hand, JWAE installed

temporary food stalls in a dedicated section of the garden, and members and guests were

encouraged to savor food and drinks in these spaces, while enjoying the landscape. Using private

                                                                                               
230
For example, one general assembly on April 26, 1902 at the vice president's residence was described as follows
in the original Japanese: 晴天ならば例によりて園遊会の筈に有之候ひしも、雨天のため殊に同邸の御手数
を煩はし候。西洋館は階上階下すべて会のために開放せられ、舞踏室を会場にあて被下候。コーヒー
店，粟餅店、すし茶店等は日本館の各室に紅白の幕を張り、会員たち甲斐甲斐しく周旋の労を取られ，
来会者一同非常の満足を以て午後五時散会いたし候。（50）Close to 500 people participated in this
assembly. Dai Nihon Fujin Kyōikukai 大日本婦人教育会, “Kaihō 会報 [News of the Association],” Bulletin of
Japan Women’s Association for Education] 144 (1902): 49–51. For another garden party at Kōrakuen Garden, see
Dai Nihon Fujin Kyōikukai, “Kaihō 会報 [News of the Association],” Bulletin of Japan Women’s Association for
Education 149 (1902): 55–56.

128
  

outdoor spaces in this way was referred to as having a “garden party [enyū kai 園遊会]” in their

bulletins.

A precedent of garden parties can be found in the premodern practice of “garden sharing

[niwa gashi 庭貸し].” In the late Edo period, wealthy lords opened their gardens on their own

terms. For instance, people could rent a space in the garden temporarily for the exclusive

viewing of seasonal flowers. Because the agreement to rent the space was only made through

social contacts, it is likely that this option was available only to people who interacted with the

lords; ordinary commoners would have had little opportunity to take advantage of these

opportunities. According to landscape historian Ono Sawako, groups of women were common

borrowers of private garden spaces because these closed spaces were safer than other popular

sites, such as religious precincts.231 As some of the JWAE members were kazoku, who came

from the households of former lords, it is not surprising that they continued to practice similar

gatherings. While modern parks and gardens were supposed to be spaces that were open to

different people, then, they were still used in exclusive ways by users who had more access to

social and financial capital.

This exclusivity was a tradition that JWAE followed outside of their use of parks and

gardens, as well. Akasaka Sankaido (in 1907 and 1908) and Tsunashima Mitsui Club (in 1908)

were clubhouses that were shared by three professional organizations and employees of Mitsui

Corporation, respectively. They housed some of the traditional functions of clubhouses, such as

meeting facilities and dining establishments. While these clubhouses were expected to be used

primarily by the members of the organizations, others could rent the spaces on an hourly basis by

                                                                                               
231
Ono Sawako 小野佐和子, Rikugien No Niwagurashi: Yanagisawa Nobutoki “En’yū Nikki” No Sekai 六義園の
庭暮らし：柳沢信鴻「宴遊日記」の世界 [Garden Life in Rikugien: The World of Yanagisawa Nobuyuki’s
“Diary of Pary and Play”] (Tokyo: Heibonsha, 2017), 220–28.

129
  

paying a fee.232 Although JWAE did not have its own clubhouse until 1918, they sometimes took

advantage of renting a semi-autonomous space at these fee-requiring facilities. From the garden

parties at parks to the construction of the clubhouse, JWAE consistently practiced spatial

exclusivity. Seiyōken was chosen for the particular gathering in such a culture.

The TEGSAA members, by comparison to JWAE, frequented public parks and gardens

much more often. As early as 1896, TEGSAA decided to always have one of their two regular

gatherings outside of the school. For these gatherings, they often opted for parks and other

gardens, perhaps partially because they could not secure a venue at a members’ home. In

addition to hosting three gatherings at Sangitei in Ueno Park (in 1902, 1903, and 1908), other

venues included Shimizudani Park (in 1899), Ōmori Hakkeien Garden (in 1901 and 1907),

Sangitei in Ueno Park (in 1903, 1904, and 1908), and Mukōjima Kagetsu Garden (in 1906).233

Nonetheless, visitors were expected to enjoy landscapes, especially flowers, in these parks and

gardens, much like in the parks that been developed in former religious precincts.234

                                                                                               
232
On Mitsui Club, see Ishida Shigenosuke 石田繁之介, Tsunamachi Mitsui Kurabu: J. Kondoru No Kenchiku o
Megutte 綱町三井俱楽部：J.コンドルの建築をめぐって [Tsunashima Mitsui Club: On J. Condor’s
Architecture] (Tokyo: Chūō Kōron Bijutsu Shuppan, 2001).
233
Tōyō Eiwa Jogakkō Dōsōkai, “News of the Association” (December 1896): 1–2; Tōyō Eiwa Jogakkō Dōsōkai,
“Honkai Kiji 本会記事 [News of the Association]” Tōyō Eiwa Girls’ School Alumnae Association Bulletin
(December 1899): 1; Tōyō Eiwa Jogakkō Dōsōkai, “News of the Association” (December 1901): 2–3; Tōyō Eiwa
Jogakkō Dōsōkai, “Honkai Kiji 本会記事 [News of the Association],” Tōyō Eiwa Girls’ School Alumnae
Association Bulletin (November 1903): 1–2; Tōyō Eiwa Jogakkō Dōsōkai, “Honkai Kiji 本会記事 [News of the
Association],” Tōyō Eiwa Girls’ School Alumnae Association Bulletin (July 1907): 1–2; Tōyō Eiwa Jogakkō
Dōsōkai, “Honkai Kiji 本会記事 [News of the Association],” Tōyō Eiwa Girls’ School Alumnae Association
Bulletin] (December 1908): 2–4.
234
The legacies of these places varied. For example, Shimizudani Park started with the donation of a former samurai
garden to the city of Tokyo, then later developed into a public park. Ōmori Hakkeien Garden and Mukojima
Kagetsu Garden, on the other hand, were newer commercial developments in the suburbs, whose developments were
prompted by the extension of railways to the east and west of the city. On Mukōjima Kagetsu Garden, see Ogawa
Isao 小川功, “Meiji Ki Kinō Ribā Saido Rizōto Keiei No Risuku to Kankō Shihonka: Bokutō Mukōjima No Kousen
Yado Arima Onsen to Yūen Kagetsu Kadan No Kōbō Wo Chūshin Ni 明治期近郊リバーサイドリゾート経営の
リスクと観光資本家：墨東・向島の鉱泉宿・有馬温泉と遊園・花月華壇の興亡を中心に [Risk of Riverside
Urban Resort Development and Tourism Capitalist],” Atomi Gakuen Joshidaigaku Manejimento Gakubu Kiyō 跡見
学園女子大学マネジメント学部紀要 [Journal of Atomi University Faculty of Management], no. 12 (2003): 1–21;
Tokyo Shi Shishi Hensan Īnkai 東京市市史編纂係, ed., Tokyo Annai Gekan 東京案内 下巻 [Guide to Tokyo, Part

130
  

Looking at the broader context of Ueno Park helps us to understand what factors might

have encouraged TEGSAA to choose Sangitei as the venue for their gathering, other than its

price point. First, the selection indicates TEGSAA’s preference for locations with high

accessibility. All of the parks and gardens that they chose were located either close to their

former school or were accessible by railways, which were expanding all over the city at the

time.235 Their bulletin indicates that TEGSAA members were scattered around Tokyo and

beyond, and most members came to the out-of-school venues by train. For example, the report of

the meeting at Hakkeien Garden (in 1901) stated, “It was a perfect day to do some exercise

outside the city. As trains came, the alumnae joined one after another, accompanied by their

children.”236 In addition, the venue was described not only by its name, but by its location: “In

front of Omori Station, Omori Hakkeien Garden.” This level of specification implies the

importance of the proximity to the station. In a similar vein, even for the only member’s property

that was used for the first out-of-school assembly, the venue was described as “In front of

Meguro Station, Mrs. Watanabe’s Vacation Home,” which again communicates the significance

of the location.237

Another possible reason why TEGSAA opted for low-key establishments like Sangitei

was that the members’ children often accompanied them. Although TEGSAA members were

relatively well-to-do, it is likely that most of them did not have the option to leave their children

                                                                                               
2] (Tokyo: Shōkabō, 1908), 757; Takahashi Tomo’o 高橋友夫 Miyabe Jirokichi 宮部治郎吉, Tokyo Kyōdo Chishi
Ensoku No Tomo 東京郷土地誌遠足の友 [A Companion to Local Geography of Tokyo] (Kinshōdō, 1904), 51–52.
235
On the railway expansion in Tokyo, see Imao Keisuke 今尾恵介, Tokyo No Tetsudō Hattatsushi: Chizu de
Kaimei 地図で解明！東京の鉄道発達史 [History of Railway Development in Tokyo, with Maps] (JTB
Paburisshingu, 2016), 14–31.
236
Tōyō Eiwa Jogakkō Dōsōkai, “News of the Association” (December 1901): 2–3.
Original: 郊外運動には此上なき好日なりき、然れは汽車の着する毎に諸姉には愛児方を携へられて続々
来会せらる（2）
237
Tōyō Eiwa Jogakkō Dōsōkai, “News of the Association” (December 1896): 1–2.
Original: 目黒停車場前渡邊氏別荘

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at home with maids. Although the employment of live-in maids had been common well into the

Meiji period, gender historian Sakai Hiromi has shown that at the beginning of the twentieth

century, maids were in short supply due to both rising alternative employment opportunities for

the young women who had traditionally held those jobs, as well as changing ideals regarding the

modern household. By 1921, fewer than one-eighth of the households in Tokyo headed by

professionals (e.g. educators, bureaucrats, bankers, etc.) employed live-in maids. Sakai suggests

that the figures for the first decade of the twentieth century might not have been too much

higher.238 The report of the 1901 Hakkeien meeting, cited above, shows how common the

practice of bringing children to gatherings was for the women in the TEGSAA. Parks and

gardens were preferable venues because they included entertainment and amusement facilities

that the women’s children could enjoy. In the case of Ueno Park, the cyclorama and zoo were

such facilities.239 Mukōjima Kagetsu Garden, where the group held a later gathering, was also

equipped with a children’s playground.

Further, taking children out of the house could have been seen as a welcome excuse for

TEGSAA members to also get away from home for a while – a strategy that folklorists Joan

Radner and Susan Lanser call “distraction.” According to Radner and Lanser, the term refers to

“strategies that drown out or draw attention away from the subversive power of a feminist

message.” They continue, “Usually distraction involves creating some kind of ‘noise,’

                                                                                               
238
Former maids left homes to take new kinds of jobs at urban institutions, such as department stores and company
offices. The restricting work environment of live-in maids was no longer appealing to those women as the other
means to earn became available. See Sakai Hiromi 坂井博美, “Ai No Sōtō” No Jendā Rikigaku: Iwano Kiyo to
Hōmei No Dōsei, Soshō, Shisō 「愛の争闘」のジェンダー力学：岩野清と泡鳴の同棲・訴訟・思想 [Gender
Dynamics of “Fight of Love”: Cohabitation, Lawsuit, and Idea of Iwano Kiyo and Hōmei] (Tokyo: Perikansha,
2012), 203–37.
239
For example, the zoo was described as a place for ordinary people in the following guidebook: Anon., Shinsen
Tokyo Jicchi Annai 新撰東京実地案内 [A New Guide to Real Tokyo] (Tokyo: Tokushidō, 1893), 42.
Original: ●動物園 同所にあり諸禽獣虫魚のみを集めて飼養し、庶民をして縦覧せしむる所なり、一人に
付縦覧券二銭

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interference, or obscurity that will keep the message from being heard except by those who listen

very carefully or already suspect it is there.”240 Because they brought their children with them to

the meetings, TEGSAA members could have just told their husbands that they were going out to

a park for the children’s benefit, instead of explaining that they were going to a women-only

gathering to enjoy chatting with old friends. From this perspective, choosing venues that could

accommodate children would have been an efficient means to combine their own goals and

pleasures with their required domestic duties; it solved the multiple issues that women’s absence

from home could otherwise provoke.

Having the company of children, however, could have also made TEGSAA members opt

out of upscale establishments like Seiyōken, where more formalized socializing events were

often held. In terms of their programming, TEGSAA meetings tended to be more casual. For

example, their meetings were always lunch gatherings, rather than dinner parties. Sometimes,

their meetings did not even require a reservation at an eating establishment. As the report of one

botanical garden meeting indicated, TEGSAA members sometimes brought their own lunches.

The report stated, “We enjoyed eating the packed lunches we brought as well as walking around

the garden while chatting.”241 Although this is a report of a later meeting (in 1922), it indicates

the inclusive, relaxed atmosphere of TEGSAA gatherings. Accompanying children to such

casual meetings must have been easier than doing so at formal parties and venues. Holding a

meeting at a place like Seiyōken was not a practical option for TEGSAA members with children,

                                                                                               
240
Joan N. Radner and Susan S. Lanser, “Strategies of Coding in Women’s Cultures,” in Feminist Messages:
Coding in Women’s Folk Culture, ed. Joan N. Radner (Urbana-Champaign: University of Illinois Press, 1993), 15.
241
Tōyō Eiwa Jogakkō Dōsōkai, “Honkai Kiji 本会記事 [News of the Association],” Tōyō Eiwa Girls’ School
Alumnae Association Bulletin (December 1922): 2–3.
Original: 各々持参の御弁当をいただき園内を散歩しつつ語り合ふなど楽しき時を過ごしぬ。（2–3）

133
  

even though they could financially afford it from time to time. Relatively relaxed venues like

Sangitei could meet this need for informality and inclusivity.

Women Civilizing the Parks

Despite the different structural and spatial patterns that influenced the ways that

TEGSAA and JWAE members gathered, by stepping back a bit, we can see that both groups

were participating in the broader transformation of the city. As we have seen, it was about a

decade before women began establishing these organizations for shakō that the government

began transforming some of the religious precincts into parks. In the process of making these

spaces available to the public, the government intensified their regulations in and of the parks,

gradually making these into spaces of order. The women’s gatherings can thus be understood as

part of this ongoing process of establishing social and spatial order in the emerging urban parks.

While respectable women benefited from the orderly spaces of parks, the broader social

conditions of the parks suggest that women might have also been mobilized to push men’s

political activities out of the space. In other words, behind these initiatives to establish order in

the parks, lay the government’s strategic efforts to control what they deemed disorder, notably

political and social movements from the mid 1870s to the late 1910s. In particular, the Freedom

and People’s Rights Movement called for the national government to establish a structure for

constitutional democracy. As a result, the Constitution of the Empire of Japan and the Imperial

Diet were established in 1889. However, full suffrage was granted only to men who met certain

age and income tax criteria. Basically, only wealthy adult men were allowed to be elected and to

vote, while men from lower classes (and all women) were excluded from participating in

representative national politics. The first wave of the Universal Suffrage Movement sought to

tackle this political inequality by organizing liberalists and socialists toward men’s universal

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suffrage. For these movements, activists typically held gatherings to mobilize people through

political speeches and discussions. As the nation’s capital, Tokyo was where the activities were

most heated.242

In and outside of parks, wary of the demands for change, the national government, in

tandem with the Tokyo Metropolitan Police, systematically monitored and controlled people’s

political activities and attitudes. From the 1870s onward, the national government used

neighborhood police officers to surveille people’s day-to-day activities. At the national

government’s request, police officers went door-to-door to catalogue people’s attitudes toward

the government. This survey was enforced unevenly, however; the officers focused more on poor

or unemployed people, while treating government officials, kazoku, and capitalists more mildly.

As the movement to establish the Diet accelerated, the government commanded the police to

focus more on regulating political gatherings. In response, the police started sending officers to

political gathering venues. The officers were allowed to terminate the gatherings if they

recognized that the goal was to attack the current political system. This regulation was turned

into official legislation in 1880, in the form of the Gathering Ordinance [Shūkai Jōrei 集会条例],

which required prior approval from the police for political gatherings and for the establishment

of political parties. The government and police further intensified these regulations, putting into

place the Gathering and Political Party Act in 1890 and Security Police Act in 1900.243

The national government also started using space, or more specifically, the sites and

facilities that they owned in the city, to regulate political gatherings. First, the government

prohibited outdoor political gatherings with Article Nine of the 1880 Gathering Ordinance. An

                                                                                               
242
Yasumaru, Experiences of Civilization: Japan in the Transitional Period to the Modern, 216–301.
243
On the political policing of this period, see Obinata Sumio 大日方純夫, “Jiyū Minken Undō Yokuatsu Taisei No
Hensei 自由民権運動抑圧体制の編成 [Formulation of the System to Opress Freedom and People’s Rights
Movement],” Rekishi Hyōron 歴史評論 [History Review] 405 (1984): 85–107.

135
  

1885 guidebook for police officers indicates that the regulation on outdoor gatherings was even

stricter than the Gathering Ordinance specified. One chapter reads, “Political gatherings should

not be held outdoors. Even with a temporary stall or other similar structures, if people can hear

the gathering from the outside freely, we consider this as outdoor and prohibit it.”244 This

passage suggests that what concerned the government and the police was the possibility for this

excitement to spread throughout the city; they believed that hearing and sensing the energy from

these crowds could provoke riots and other violent incidents.

In this context, policing in parks was an important spatial apparatus for regulating

political movements. Landscape historian Ono Ryōhei points out that, in the masterplan

developed by the 1885 City Improvement Council [Shiku Kaisei Shinsakai 市区改正審査会],

more parks tended to be planned in the neighborhoods where more political gathering incidents

were reported in the 1885 police statistics. The plan was to build police boxes in the corners of

those planned parks. Ono interprets this plan for establishing parks and police boxes side by side

as the government’s strategy to extend spatial surveillance of political gatherings. The open

spaces in the city could technically be used as venues for large-scale political gatherings. Yet, as

land that was owned and managed by the national or municipal government, parks were in fact

becoming one of the most restricted spaces in the city. While the national government also

endeavored to establish and increase parks in the city because of the cultural and ecological

benefits they provided, the possibility that park spaces could also empower citizens to gather for

political purposes bothered the government greatly.245

                                                                                               
244
On the policing on gatherings, see Keishichō 警視庁, ed., Keimu Yōsho 警務要書 [Guidebook of Policing]
(Tokyo: Keishichō, 1885), 1–9.
Original: 政談の集会は屋外に於て為すを得ざるものなれば、仮令小屋掛等あるも外部より自由に聴聞す
るを得べき場所は屋外と同視し、これを禁止すべし
245
Ono, The Birth of Parks, 49–56.

136
  

As noted earlier, men could still contest the tightening control over political gatherings by

disguising them as other types of gatherings, such as sports gatherings and get-togethers. Even

with the passing of the 1890 Gathering and Political Party Act and the 1900 Security Police Act,

all men still maintained the legal rights to organize political meetings, as long as they were pre-

approved and attended by the police, as well as held indoors. Meanwhile, women had even less

room for contestation after the passing of these acts. When a gathering was deemed political,

police officers refused the entry of women to the venue. For example, in 1905, police officers

stopped a few women who attempted to enter an event organized by Commoners’ Company, the

socialist political organization that interested some women. The officers told the interested

women that the law prohibited their participation in any political gathering. This incident made

the women aware of the legal restrictions on their political rights and prompted their petitions to

revise the Security Police Act. While these women eventually submitted petitions to the House

of Representatives to demand revisions, their attempts were unsuccessful. Until the act was

partially amended in 1922, women continued to be deprived of all rights to participate in political

activities.246

Inviting women to parks seems to have been part of the national government's strategy to

establish social order. The tightening rules for park use and women’s increasing presence in

these spaces went hand in hand. Given that the period’s gender norms already restricted

respectable women’s behaviors in significant ways, even in a crowd, these women tended not to

make noise and violence. For example, in 1908, Baron Mōri Gorō, the son of JWAE’s president

who supported the organization’s activities, gave a speech on how he expected members to

socialize:

                                                                                               
246
Kodama, A Brief History of Women’s Suffrage Movement, 16–79.

137
  

Of course, there should also be a recreational aspect [to JWAE’s activities]. But there are
two kinds of recreation: elegant and vulgar kinds. I would like you to choose the elegant
kind. Please talk about your questions about home chores and parenting over organized
meals and tea. Talking about these topics is the practical shakō – directly beneficial to
you. Also, please refrain from wearing expensive and showy pieces of clothing and
jewelry.247

As Mōri Gorō expected, socializing women were not supposed to stand out. They were also

expected to be apolitical, chatting about chores and parenting, rather than more contentious

issues. It would be understandable that the government did not try to restrict the gatherings of

such women; indeed, similar to the women who were mobilized to ameliorate urban problems in

American parks, Japanese women seem to have been mobilized to participate in parks as the

inverse of what was deemed problematic at that point in time – that is, in order to calm men’s

violence and delinquency.  

The Eve of Women’s Openly Political Gatherings

As we have seen, the gatherings of women in TEGSAA and JWAE emerged out of a

push and pull, between the strategic efforts of government leaders and intellectuals and the

women’s own efforts to balance their duties with their desires. While Meiji intellectuals

encouraged women’s shakō activities, the national and municipal governments created parks and

worked to establish order in those spaces. In search of spaces for gatherings, women took

advantage of these emergent spaces, which were more and more regulated by the state. Even if

women were being encouraged to use parks in order to serve the interests of the state, the

availability of these kinds of urban spaces also did allow women to expand their non-domestic

                                                                                               
247
Dai Nihon Fujin Kyōiku Kai, A Fifty-Year Record of Japan Women’s Association for Education, 150.
Original: 勿論一面には娯むといふ事もなければなりません。併し其娯みの内にも、上品であるのと、下
品であるのとあります。呉々もお願い致し度いのは、会員諸氏は其上品なる娯楽をお取りになりまし
て、御会食の折にもお茶話の際にも互ひに家事の疑問を訊き合ふとか、育児のことを談じ合ふとかいふ
様な利益を主としたる実用的な御社交をなすって頂き度いのであります。でありますから、勿論お召物
や装飾品等の華美は可成禁じて頂きたいものであります。

138
  

activities of shakō in the city. These early social gatherings of financially well-off women were

not explicitly political or demonstrative in conception or practice. Nonetheless, the very fact that

large groups of women organized meetings on their own, and in public, was itself quite a radical

change and action to take, given the historical and social context.

Arguably, these women’s gatherings also helped pave a path for women to organize

themselves for political purposes in later periods – a legacy that other scholars have neglected to

explore in depth. After their successful launch at Ueno Seiyōken in 1920, NWA expanded on the

existing network of women’s groups, most of which have probably cultivated their own spatial

networks for gathering, just like TEGSAA and JWAE. Indeed, one of NWA’s tactics was to

build on and activate the existing network of resources that earlier women’s organizations had

already constructed. For instance, NWA began the groundwork to start their organization long

before the launch gathering. Hiratsuka and Ichikawa individually visited regional women’s

organizations in Ōsaka and Nagoya to gain their support. Their bylaws, established at the 1920

launch gathering, also reflected this attitude. One item of Article Three stipulated that NWA

“cooperates with women’s organizations all over Japan to organize a comprehensive alliance of

women in Japan for women’s shared benefits.” From the very beginning, NWA recognized the

necessity of mobilizing this existing network. Their tactical reliance on the existing networks

was one aspect that differentiated NWA from unsuccessful suffragettes, like the women who

tried to join Commoners’ Company after the Russo-Japanese War. For instance, the numbers of

signatures that NWA and socialist women were able to collect to petition for the amendment of

Article Five of the Security Police Act suggest the power of the existing networks. Whereas the

socialist women only collected 459 signatures in 1905, NWA collected 2,057 signatures in 1920.

While it still took NWA a few rounds of petitions for the amendment to be passed by the

139
  

Imperial Diet, the numbers indicate that NWA was able to mobilize far more women nationwide,

in part thanks to this existing network.248

We do not know much about what these women at TEGSAA and JWAE might have been

thinking when they expanded their own spatial networks for gathering. But one newspaper article

communicates that carving out a place of their own was no small feat, even for the well-off, elite

women at JWAE. On January 31, 1909, JWAE held an opening ceremony for their first

clubhouse. According to the article, Shimoda Utako, a JWAE member and a leading female

educator who had also established a girls’ school in Tokyo in 1899, was so moved that tears were

rolling down her face “from the beginning to the end of the ceremony.”249 These women never

advocated for a specific political or social cause, at least explicity. Yet, the act of gathering to

socialize was not entirely apolitical either. These women pored considerable effort into their

initiatives to have regular gatherings, seizing opportunities to establish their uses of urban spaces

outside of the home. Here, similar to the case of Tsuda College, the inconsistent policies and

attitudes of governmental authorities at times disrupted or limited women’s efforts, but they

ultimately accepted that women had a role to play in these new spaces. Mobilizing respectable

women to depoliticize the parks might, ironically, have propelled the growth of women’s

political movements.

                                                                                               
248
These women not only signed the petitions, but more than 10,000 women also attended the sessions during the
forty-fourth round of the Imperial Diet in 1921, when the amendment was being discussed. In this round, women
took up more than one fifth of the gallery. For the process toward the amendment, see Kodama, A Brief History of
Women’s Suffrage Movement, 45–51. NWA's tactics were similar to those of Californian women, who achieved
suffrage to vote in their state in 1911. According to architectural historian Jessica Sewell, their uses of spaces in the
second campaign in 1911 contributed to their success. Unlike their first campaign in 1896, women used a wider
range of spaces, including parlors at home, streets, and commercial institutions. These were spaces that they had
frequented more and more on an everyday basis since the 1890s. For Californian suffrage, see Sewell, Women and
the Everyday City: Public Space in San Francisco, 1890–1915.
249
Anon., “Mutsuki No Hana: Fujin Kyōikukai Kaikan Shiki 睦月の花：婦人教育会開館式 [A Flower in January:
Opening Ceremony for the Clubhouse of the Women’s Association for Education],” Asahi Shinbun, February 1,
1909, 5.

140
  

Chapter 3: Spaces for Working

Discipline and Female Staff as Sensory Capital at a Department Store, 1895–1927

 
In September 1901, Furuya Tsuru was hired as one of the first saleswomen at the Mitsui Kimono

Textile Store [Mitsui Gofuku Ten 三井呉服店], which would later become Mitsukoshi

Department Store, a leading department store chain in Japan. About three decades later, Furuya

shared her experience at the turn of the century, writing:

We [the first three saleswomen] took charge of the accessory department with Japanese-
style hair and otaiko obi. We started working in September 1901, when there were no
electric train cars and automobiles yet. People took horse-car trains. We were probably
the first female sales staff in Japan. The accessory department was newly created in the
store, and it sold accessories like obidome, socks, scarves, and cosmetics. The department
was unique to Mitsukoshi, and probably the basis of today’s department stores. The
department also sold trial products that were made at our alma mater.250

Together with two other female colleagues, Furuya was assigned to the newly created accessory

department, while senior salesmen and shop boys served other departments that sold various

kimono textiles in the traditional style. Textiles used to be the sole merchandise of kimono

stores. In the late nineteenth century, however, business managers began diversifying their

merchandise, in an effort to expand their clientele. Kimono accessories, such as belts [obi 帯]

and socks [tabi 足袋], were the first non-textile items that were incorporated into the

merchandise. Over the next few decades, kimono textile stores continue to expand, eventually

including different styles of clothing, accessories, furniture, and electronics, as well as spaces to

dine and to watch theatrical and artistic performances. In the transformation to department stores,

the selling styles and spaces changed even further, and an increasing number of women started

                                                                                               
250
Furuya Tsuru 古谷ツル, “Joten’in No Kotodomo 女店員のことども [On Female Store Staff],” in Hyakkaten
Sōran: Mitsukoshi 百貨店総覧: 三越 [A Comprehensive Guide of Department Store: Mitsukoshi], ed. Hyakkaten
Shōhō Sha 百貨店商報社 (Tokyo: Hyakkaten Shōhō Sha, 1933), 171. Otaiko obi was an emerging tying method of
kimono belts. It was considered fashionable in the 1900s.

141
  

working on the selling floor. Furuya and their colleagues were pioneers in this new role of

female store staff [joten’in 女店員], the women who supported the expansion of Mitsukoshi and

other department stores in Japan.

This chapter investigates the spatial mechanisms for the rise of female store staff by

focusing on Mitsukoshi’s flagship store. By exploring the locations of the departments where

female store staff were assigned, I demonstrate how managers placed female employees in places

where higher traffic and exposure to visitors was expected. Using accounts from the managers

and female store staff found in magazine articles, I argue that the managers’ strategic placement

of workers on the selling floor exemplified how they used saleswomen as sensory capital. By

doing so, managers were able to keep the attention of visitors, who constantly craved new

shopping experiences. To continue capitalizing on their sensory value, managers needed to retain

their female store staff in the male-dominated workforce on the selling floor. But, at the same

time, to display their standards of sexual morality, managers somehow needed to control the

saleswomen. As a technology of coexistent control, they exercised disciplinary power and

advertised it as their commitment to the principle of separating the genders outside of work.

While these disciplinary mechanisms permeated the store environment and resulted in female

and male workers segregating themselves from each other, some women also evaded these

mechanisms by intentionally distancing themselves from the roles expected of them. Toward the

end of the chapter, by looking at instances of micro-subversions, I suggest that disobedient

female store staff managed to produce some free time to explore the city, under the pretext of

work.

142
  

Department Stores and the Collapse of Status System

The rise of the department store, like the growth of women’s higher education institutions

and the emergence of public parks, had a lot to do with the broader social rearrangements that

occurred in modern Japan, after the collapse of the Tokugawa shogunate and the strict status

system. Textile retailers like Mitsui Kimono Textile Store had operated since the Edo period, and

their primary clientele were wealthy lords and their families, who could afford expensive

kimonos and were allowed to show this level of wealth in their clothing. While some merchants

and farmers could also have had access to sufficient financial resources to afford the same level

of consumption, they were not allowed to wear kimonos made of expensive textiles like silk, at

least in public. In accordance with the system of hereditary status, what one could wear was

regulated by a set of legislations, the so-called Luxury Prohibition Orders [Shashi Kinshi Rei 奢

侈禁止令] issued by the Tokugawa shogunate.251 The diversification of merchandise was one of

the strategies that kimono textile stores employed to tackle the loss of their former customer

base, once the wealthy lords left Tokyo and returned to their home domains. With a wider array

of offerings, kimono textile retailers began luring less affluent clientele in the city. At the same

time, the fall of the status system allowed more freedom in how to dress. Hence, consumer goods

like kimonos became an important part of cultural expression in people’s everyday lives,

fostering the expansion of specialized kimono textile retailers into one-stop retail institutions like

                                                                                               
251
On the Luxury Prohibition Orders in Edo and kimono industry, see Hayashi Reiko 林玲子, Edo Ton’ya Nakama
No Kenkyū: Bakuhan Taisei Ka No Toshi Shōgyō Shihon 江戸問屋仲間の研究：幕藩体制下の都市商業資本
[Ton’ya Nakama in Edo: Urban Commercial Capital under the Bakuhan System] (Tokyo: Ochanomizu shobō,
1978); Hashimoto Sumiko 橋本澄子, Zusetsu Kimono No Rekishi 図説着物の歴史 [Illustrated History of
Kimonos] (Tokyo: Kawade Shobō Shinsha, 2005), 108-09. Wealthy merchants used, but hid luxurious textile as
lining fabric.

143
  

department stores.252 Thus, changes in the space of the department stores reflected this larger

demographic reorganization of the city.

Mitsui Kimono Textile Store had operated as a specialized kimono textile retailer in the

city of Edo since 1673. While its competitors, such as Shirokiya, Takashimaya, and

Matsuzakaya, similarly transformed into department stores in the early twentieth century,

Mitsukoshi is particularly well-known for being on the vanguard of this transformation of the

retail industry in Japan. For example, as I will elaborate below, as early as 1895, it converted the

upper floor of a two-story mercantile house into a merchandise display space filled with glass

showcases, following retail practices in the United States. Most notably, in 1903, Mitsukoshi

issued a provocative statement called the “Department Store Declaration,” in which the store

management demonstrated their commitment to modernizing the merchandise, space, and retail

practices in the following years. Even a few years before that, Mitsukoshi managers had already

started to employ women, as part of this broader initiative to modernize the store.253  

Consuming Bodies:
The Emergence of Shop Girls and the Spatial Politics of Department Stores

In the existing literature on department stores in Japan, sociologists, cultural historians,

and architectural historians have investigated both the rise of female staff and the spatial

transformation of department stores, but they have tended to treat these topics separately.

                                                                                               
252
Hatsuda Tōru 初田亨, Hyakkaten No Tanjo 百貨店の誕生 [The Birth of Department Stores] (Sanseidō, 1993).
Hatsuda discusses how department stores stayed relevant to the changing urban demographics using different
strategies. I discuss this study more in detail below.
253
Mitsukoshi Kabushiki Gaisha 三越株式会社, Kabushiki Gaisha Mitsukoshi 100 Nen No Kiroku, 1904-2004:
Depātomentosutoa Sengen Kara 100 Nen 株式会社三越 100 年の記録: デパートメントストア宣言から 100 年
[Records of Mitsukoshi Co., Ltd., 1904–2000: 100 Years from the Department Store Declaration] (Tokyo:
Mitsukoshi, 2005). Throughout the period before the WWII, Mitsukoshi led the modernization and expansion of
commercial institutions, and by 1933, held eleven branches in Japan, South Korea, and China. For a list of branches
as of 1933, see p.140.

144
  

Sociologists, for instance, have discussed the rise of female department store staff as part of the

rise of professional working women [shokugyō fujin 職業婦人] in interwar Japan. World War I

prompted the expansion of manufacturing industries in Japan, and the growth of these companies

and institutions required more clerical workers to support their administrative functions. In

addition, the demand for white-collar workers produced more clerical job opportunities for

women in the city. As we saw in the first case study of this dissertation, the 1899 Higher Girls’

School Order mandated all municipalities to establish public secondary educational institutions

for women. By the time this demand emerged and expanded, more and more women were

undertaking secondary education and starting to look for job opportunities outside of the home.

As they became available as part of the labor force, women with some education –

although not as educated as Tsuda College students – took jobs that had not previously been

considered appropriate for women, becoming bus conductors, office clerks, and shop clerks.

While these opportunities fulfilled their desires and needs to work and earn wages, workplace

managers used the female workforce primarily as inexpensive laborers. For example, at

department stores, female staff were paid lower wages, on a daily or hourly basis, relative to

male employees, who were full-time and salaried. Somewhat ironically, the inexpensiveness of

their labor helped women compete with their male counterparts for those clerical jobs. These

145
  

studies are helpful for understanding how the female laborforce expanded in the interwar period,

though they pay little attention to the spatial conditions of these workplaces.254

In addition to the affordability of their labor, cultural historians like Yoshimi Shun’ya and

Barbara Sato have recently pointed out that the sexuality of female workers drove the rise of the

urban female workforce, and of female store staff in particular. According to Yoshimi, aside

from the labor needs, corporate managers capitalized on people’s appetite to consume the

sexuality of these female workers. For example, as part of their job, female movie theater

receptionists interacted intimately with customers by holding their hands in the dark theater.

Similarly, department store managers expected their female staff to interact with visitors

intimately at the store. As the sexuality of female department store staff began to be perceived as

commodities to be consumed from the mid 1920s onward, they were often called “shop girls

[shoppu gāru ショップガール]” instead of “female store staff [joten’in 女店員],” which

highlighted the youth and modernity that they represented. Yoshimi’s study further suggests that

                                                                                               
254
On professional working women in the interwar period, see, for example, Iwashita Kiyoko 岩下清子, “Dai Ichiji
Taisen Go Ni Okeru Shokugyō Fujin no Keisei 第一次大戦後における「職業婦人」の形成 [Generation of
Shokugyō Fujin during the Post WWI Period],” Shakaigaku Hyōron 社会学評論 [Japanese Sociological Review]
19, no. 4 (1969): 41–53,103; Yamazaki Takako 山﨑貴子, “Senzen Ki Nihon No Taishū Fujin Zasshi Ni Miru
Shokugyō Fujin Imēji No Henyō 戦前期日本の大衆婦人雑誌にみる職業婦人イメージの変容 [Changes in
Images of Working Women in Major Womenʼs Magazine in Japan during the Prewar Period Following World War
I],” Kyōiku Shakaigaku Kenkyū 教育社会学研究 [Journal of Educational Sociology] 85 (2009): 93–112.

146
  

female staff played an important cultural role in modernizing the store as a commercial

institution.255

While sociologists and cultural historians have explored the expanding roles of the

female workforce at department stores, architectural historians have examined the built

environments of these same department stores, through rarely through the lens of gender. One

seminal study on department stores is The Birth of the Department Store, in which the

architectural historian Hatsuda Tōru illustrates how the building type of the department store

emerged and developed in pre-WWII Japan, as a strategy of former kimono textile retailers’ to

serve the new urban demographic. Synthesizing internal publications of Mitsukoshi with other

newspaper and magazine articles, Hatsuda outlines the strategies that Mitsukoshi and other

department stores used to modernize the shopping experiences, as their primary clientele shifted

from the wealthy lords to the emerging urban middle class. Notable strategies included changing

the selling style and space, increasing the diversity in their merchandise, and inviting non-

shopper urbanites to the store by adding auxiliary services like dining halls and rooftop

amusement parks. Hatsuda argues that, by accommodating these new functions, the built

environment of department stores became more inclusive and open to ordinary families.256

                                                                                               
255
Yoshimi Shun’ya 吉見俊哉, Shikaku Toshi No Chiseigaku: Manazashi to Shiteno Kindai 視覚都市の地政学:
まなざしとしての近代 [Geopolitics of Visual City: Modern Era as a Perspective] (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten,
2016), 114–51.
256
Hatsuda, The Birth of Department Stores; Hatsuda, Toshi No Meiji: Rojo Kara No Kenchikushi 都市の明治：路
上からの建築史 [The City’s Meiji: Architectural History on the Street] (Tokyo: Chikuma Shobō, 1981), 203–55.

147
  

Another architectural historian, Hashidume Shin’ya, similarly emphasizes how

department stores accommodated new customers through architectural changes. He argues that

architects intended to establish a sense of authority and intimacy in these institutions of

consumer culture, through their choice of styles, materials, and decorations. For example,

architects borrowed traditional styles and materials from Western architecture to establish

authority, while fostering intimacy and encouraging consumption through modern devices like

window displays.257 Overall, such studies have tended to highlight the processes by which

architects and managers of department stores made these spaces into sophisticated instruments to

urge more urbanites to become avid consumers in their everyday lives.  

Department Stores as Women’s Workplaces

With these existing studies in mind, if we take another look at Furuya’s testimonial of her

time working at Mitsukoshi, three sets of questions emerge. First, while these works from

sociology and cultural history account for the reasons why the numbers of female store staff in

department stores grew rapidly from the 1920s onward, they barely examine how managers

perceived and used earlier female store staff like Furuya, who started working about two decades

earlier than the proliferation of urban female workers. How did these first female store staff

begin working at the store, before the demand had been widely established? What did managers

                                                                                               
257
Hashizume, “Hyakkaten to Iu Birudingu Taipu: Shōhi Bunka to Toshi Keikan 百貨店というビルディングタイ
プ：消費文化と都市景観 [The Building Type of Department Store: Consumer Culture and Urban Landscapes],”
in Hyakkaten No Bunkashi: Nihon No Shōhi Kakumei 百貨店の文化史：日本の消費革命 [A Cultural History of
Department Stores: Consumer Revolution in Japan], ed. Yamamoto Taketoshi 山本武利, Nishiyama Tamotsu 西山
保 (Tokyo, 1999), 273–88.

148
  

expect from the women? Second, the sociological studies of post-1920s female store staff focus

only on managers’ strategies for using women at the workplace. What role did those women play

in the broader emergence and rise of the female workforce, if any? Third, studies in architectural

history have depicted department stores primarily as a culturally progressive place of

consumption, not as a workplace. Probably for this reason, the issue of female department store

staff has never been taken seriously within architectural history. How can we make sense of the

emergence and rise of this female salesforce, by investigating the space of the department store

itself through the lens of gender? How did spatial uses and perceptions shape the experiences of

women who served on the selling floors, like Furuya did?

To address these set of questions, I synthesize three kinds of evidence: architectural

drawings and photographs collected from professional journals and company publications,

unpublished employee records from Mitsui Archives, and first-hand narratives of managers and

saleswomen, primarily from trade and women’s magazines.258 As of 2018, Mitsukoshi is still

operating in Japan, as well as internationally, as part of Mitsukoshi Isetan Holdings. The flagship

store remains in the same location, although the buildings had to be significantly modified after

the devastation of World War II. While one might assume that it would not be too difficult to

glean evidence about this ongoing business, in the case of Mitsukoshi’s flagship store, only

fragmentary evidence is available for research. It is particularly difficult to gain access to

corporate materials that could help illuminate the everyday lives of these early female

employees, primarily due to Japanese practices of dealing with business documents.259 This

                                                                                               
258
At Mitsui Archives, Mitsukoshi employee directories between 1894 and 1928 can be located with the following
call numbers: A091/3-1 (April 1894), A091/3-1 (May 1896), A091/3-1 (January 1897), A091/3-1 (October 1898),
A091/3-1 (March 1899), A091/3-2 (March 1900), A091/3-2 (April 1901), A091/3-2 (May1901), A091/3-2
(February 1902), A091/4-1 (October 1908), A091/4-2 (February 1912), A091/4-2 (January 1918), A091/4-3 October
1927), A091/4-4 (October 1928).
259
From the company’s perspective, the documents are still in use and not considered historical records. Old
materials tend to be managed by the divisions of corporate communications, marketing, and public relations and

149
  

chapter, therefore, uses self-edited and published company histories as an alternative source of

historical materials. These kinds of company histories are part of an established genre in

Japanese historical writing, called shashi [社史, lit. company history]. Japanese companies

periodically put together their histories for memorial purposes, in which they disclose historical

documents that would otherwise be hard to access. Because company histories are published in

this unique context, Japanese historians recognize the company histories as sources of evidence,

rather than merely as secondary sources.260 I combine these materials with magazine articles,

newspaper articles, and professional drawings and writings by architects in order to reconstruct

the historical spatial experiences at the department store.

Combining these various forms of evidence, I reconstruct and interpret the spatial uses

and perceptions of the Mitsukoshi flagship store as a women’s workplace. This approach is

inspired by two studies: Susan Porter Benson’s Counter Cultures: Saleswomen, Managers, and

Customers in American Department Stores, 1890–1940 and Eguchi Kiyoshi’s “Changes in the

Perspectives on Skills at the Pre-War Department Stores.” As a social and labor historian,

Benson examines how managers dealt with their female salesforce, as well as how female

                                                                                               
used to highlight the company’s historical legacy. One primary use of the historical materials is memorial product
development. Except for special exhibitions at museums, the materials tend to be unavailable to the public, even for
research purposes. Although I was able to build some relationships with the members of Mitsukoshi’s corporate
communications division, gaining evidence from them was still difficult because the designated divisions tend to be
neither professionally staffed nor sufficiently systematized. Whereas public archives tend to have established
procedures to request, retrieve, browse, and copy the materials, this tends not to be the case for small corporate and
other organizational archives. Because these archives are not intended for academic researchers per se, the
individuals in charge of the archives act as gatekeepers, deciding whether and what to show on a case-by-case basis.
Many such archives are, at best, partially cataloged, and these catalogues tend to be unavailable online due to the
shortage of human resources and in order to protect their privacy. Even when they have partial databases, in many
cases visitors are not allowed to run searches on them. Mitsukoshi’s historical material room is such a case. For
example, the cover art of Mitsukoshi’s in-house magazine was turned to a pattern on a scarf.
260
Japanese historians have a dedicated community for the discussions of the methodological opportunities and
challenges. The community publishes a peer-reviewed journal: Shashi: The Journal Of Japanese Business And
Company History. Especially for a methodological note on using company histories as sources of evidence, see
Maureen Donovan, “Japanese Company Histories as Repositories of Tacit Knowledge,” Shashi: The Journal of
Japanese Business and Company History 4, no. 1 (2016): 5–7.

150
  

department store workers exercised their connections with the female-dominated clientele in

order to gain power at their workplace. Unlike the sociological studies on Japanese department

stores that I discussed earlier, Benson’s approach includes spatial analyses of the changing

layouts and facilities of department stores; in particular, she uses interior layouts to demonstrate

how managers spatially organized and controlled laborers.261 Eguchi’s work is useful because it

is about Mitsukoshi specifically; he analyzes the departments to which female staff were

assigned, using the store’s employee directories to keep track of the gendered ratios of each

department in 1908, 1918, and 1928. By doing so, Eguchi demonstrates how the kinds of

departments women were assigned to changed, as managers’ views on women’s skills shifted.262

Synthesizing this directory tracking approach with Benson’s spatial analysis of management

strategies, I trace to which departments women were assigned and where these departments were

located in the store. Then, I interpret the significance of these spatial arrangements vis-a-vis the

social and historical context.  

Using Women Behind the Scenes

In May of 1900, the year before Furuya was hired, three women began working at Mitsui

Kimono Textile Store as the first female employees. As Hibi Ōsuke, a managing director of

Mitsukoshi, contended, the kimono textile store started employing women because the store

managers “desire[d] to offer women a new job.” In his 1906 article entitled “Female Clerk,” Hibi

outlined the conditions of women’s jobs, writing:

                                                                                               
261
Susan Benson, Counter Cultures : Saleswomen, Managers, and Customers in American Department Stores,
1890-1940 (Urbana-Champaign: University of Illinois Press, 1986), 31–74.
262
Eguchi Kiyoshi 江口 潔, “Senzenki No Hyakkaten Ni Okeru Ginō Kan No Henyō Katei: Mitsukoshi Ni Okeru
Joshi Hanbai’in No Taijin Ginō Ni Chakumoku Shite 戦前期の百貨店における技能観の変容過程: 三越におけ
る女子販売員の対人技能に着目して [Changes in the Perspectives on Skills at the Pre-War Department Stores:
Focusing on Interpersonal Skills of Saleswomen at Mitsukoshi],” Kyōiku Shakaigaku Kenkyū 教育社会学研究
[Studies in Educational Sociology] 92 (2013): 129–49.

151
  

Women and wages: Quite a lot of companies and stores have recently started employing
women, which we should celebrate. At Mitsukoshi, we began employing women four
years ago. While we do not know why other companies employ women, we employ
women not because they are more inexpensive than men, but because we desire to offer
women a new job.

Previous jobs of women: Until recently, very few jobs were common to women, except
for the ones at home. If I categorize the jobs into two kinds, one is the kind that evokes
pity – such as female workers at spinning factories, match factories, and hair string
[motoyui 元結] factories. These are all manual labor [jobs] for the lower part [of the
female workforce], whose numbers are larger. The other is the kind that requires brain
capabilities, such as school teachers. This kind is different from the former. While it pays
well, the job requires a substantial level of knowledge. Because not everyone can take
this job, the numbers are very small. This is the higher part [of the female workforce].

A new direction for women’s jobs: Because these two jobs were too far apart from each
other, we wanted to offer women a new job, which is located in the middle of the two and
appropriate for women. This is how we started employing women [at Mitsukoshi]
(original emphasis).263

Thus, at the turn of the twentieth century, managers believed that it was still rare for women to

work wage-earning jobs outside of the home. Job opportunities for women were limited to jokō

[女工, lit. female factory worker], jobs that evoked “pity,” and jokyōshi [女教師, lit. female

school teacher], which required skills that not everyone had. These conceptions are consistent

with what sociological studies of professional working women in the interwar period have

                                                                                               
263
Hibi Ōsuke 日比翁助, “Joshi Jimuin 女子事務員 [Female Clerks],” Jogaku Sekai 女学世界 [World of Girls and
Education] 6, no. 4 (1906): 159. Hibi’s timeline “four years ago” from 1906 is not congruent with the fact that they
started employing women in 1900. But still, this statement illustrates one manager's perspective on women workers
and jobs well.
Original: 女子と給金 近来は大分各会社や商店で女子を採用する様になりましたが、是は誠に喜ぶべき
ことであります。私共三越呉服店でも、四年前から之を採用して居りますが、他はいざ知らず、三越で
は、給金が男子より安いからと云うので採用した訳ではないので、女子に新職業を与えたいという私共
の希望から起こったのです。
従来の女子職業 是まで世間で有りふれた女子の職業と云っては、家庭に於ける仕事の外には甚だ希少
で有った。今之を二種に別けると云うと、第一は紡績女工の如き、マッチ、元結等の製造の如き、人を
して何となく惻隠の心を起こさせる類のものである。是は総て手の方の仕事であって、そして低い方の
部分であって、そして又甚だ多数である。第二は、学校の教員如き、脳力を使用する側である。是は前
者と違って、収入も多い代りには、相当の知識の有る者で無くては出来ない仕事で、誰にでもと言う訳
に行かぬから、其数は至って少ない。是が即ち高い方の部分で有る。
女子職業の新方面 そこで前二者の間が余りに懸離れて居るから、此中間に位する程なもので、女子相
当の新職業を婦人に与えたいと思いついたのが抑の始めです。

152
  

shown.264 Offering an option that was neither too demeaning nor too intellectually challenging,

Mitsukoshi managers like Hibi attempted to show “a new direction for women’s jobs.”

Hibi’s account exemplifies Mitsukoshi’s attitude toward hiring female employees; the

company saw this shift as part of their commitment to building a new society. As Hibi indicated,

other companies and stores had already set a precedent. For example, six years earlier, in 1894,

Takahashi Yoshio, the general director of the Osaka branch of Mitsui Bank, had started

employing women to do clerical work, with the requirement that the women be from age sixteen

to twenty-five and have an elementary school education. This became known as the first hiring

of female clerical workers in Japan. Following this practice, other banks, insurance companies,

and national ministries also began considering women for clerical jobs, positions that were

previously dominated by men.265 Thus, the employment of women was not entirely new. But,

interestingly, Hibi’s narrative immediately dives into the issue of lower wages for women

employees in order to make his point. Hibi’s way of discussing this new initiative shows

Mitsukoshi’s effort to distinguish itself from these precedents by highlighting the company’s

socially-oriented perspective.

While the managers at Mitsukoshi seem to have conceived of hiring female store staff as

a strategy to display their commitment to the advancement of Japanese society, the first three

                                                                                               
264
Iwashita, “Generation of Shokugyō Fujin during the Post WWI Period”; Yamazaki, “Changes in Images of
Working Women in Major Womenʼs Magazine in Japan during the Prewar Period Following World War I.” In
addition, there are several monographs available on Japanese factory girls at the beginning of twenty century. See
Patricia Tsurumi E., Factory Girls: Women in the Thread Mills of Meiji Japan (Princeton: Princeton University
Press, 1990); Elyssa Faison, Managing Women Disciplining Labor in Modern Japan (Berkeley: University of
California Press, 2007).
265
Mitsui Bank and Mitsui Kimono Textile Store were both part of the same conglomerate operated by Mitsui
Family--a successful merchant clan, whose origin dates back to the time of Tokugawa. A year after the employment
female bank clerks, Takahashi was transferred to the kimono textile store and led the initiative of employing women
for store operations for the first time. On the first generation of female clerical workers at other companies, see
Kon'no Minako 金野美奈子, OL No Sōzō: Imisekai to Shite No Jendā OL の創造: 意味世界としてのジェンダー
[Invention of Office Ladies: Gender as a Semantic World] (Tokyo: Keisō Shobō, 2000), 23; Murakami Nobuhiko 村
上信彦, Meiji Joseishi, Chūkan, Kōhen: Onna No Shokugyo 明治女性史 中巻後篇: 女の職業 [History of Meiji
Women, Vol.2, Issue 1: Women’s Professions] (Tokyo: Rironsha, 1971), 22–24.

153
  

female employees actually had little to no contact with customers, which is clear from examining

the spaces in which they worked. At that point in time, the store was housed in a two-story,

Japanese-style mercantile house – the building that had been the home of the business since 1874

(Figure 3.1). When the women were first hired in early 1900, the spatial design of the store was

in the middle of a transition. Store managers had started to learn about new selling styles based

on retail practices in the West, particularly from the United States, and they were eager to try out

these new tactics for themselves. As part of this effort, the first and second floors of the store had

recently been rearranged to accommodate two different selling styles.

On the first floor, senior salesmen called bantō [番頭, lit. head clerk] served customers in

the traditional approach, called “sit-and-sell style” [zauri 座売り]. Customers came in from the

street through the single customer entrance to the selling space, then sat down with a senior

salesman to discuss items and prices (Figure 3.2). When showing kimono textiles to the

customer, the salesmen relied upon shop boys [kozō 小僧], who would retrieve items from the

back storage area. Because of this two-step selling style, the front and back areas of the floor

were designed to be separate spaces. The second floor, meanwhile, had previously been used to

house a boarding room for employees and as a parlor for visitors. However, in 1895, when

Takahashi was transferred to the kimono textile store, he had converted the second floor into a

display space, inspired by the glass showcases at Wanamaker’s, a department store in

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.266 At the time when the first women were hired at the store,

                                                                                               
266
Masuda Takashi – the store’s business advisor – sent a then-emerging architect, Yokokawa Tamisuke, to the
United States to learn about trends at American retail institutions. Yokokawa documented American retail stores and
submitted an illustrated report to Matsuda in 1898. The report presents fifteen pages of sketches of selling floors
with a caption that reads, “Please pay attention to how organized the interior displaces spaces are in every city and
state of the United States.” Thus, through such visits and delegates, the store executives gained knowledge on
American retail practices. These kinds of spatial changes, based on knowledge gained from research on other
businesses abroad, were conducted as an experiment. See Takahashi Yoshio Takahashi Yoshio 高橋義雄, Hōki No
Aato, Jō 箒のあと 序 [Trace of a Broom, Part One], Fukyūban (Tokyo: Shūhōen Shuppanbu, 1936), 131–32;

154
  

customers on the second floor could ramble through these glass showcases, browsing the items

without talking to salesmen (Figures 3.3 and 3.4). Although the available images from the time

period do not show much detail, the showcases appear to be filled with smaller items – perhaps

kimono accessories like belts. Although the upper floor had adopted this new selling style, the

floor plan indicates that there was still a front-back division, like on the first floor. After a five-

year experiment on this upper level, in October of 1900, the management turned the downstairs

into a display space as well. The items were categorized into four departments so that customers

could locate what they wanted to take a look at on their own.267

While such experiments were already underway when the first female store staff were

hired, the changes would not have affected them much. Indeed, the women were not placed on

the selling floor from the start; instead, two of them were assigned as telephone operators and the

other as a sewing quality inspector, which were both back office functions.268 Unfortunately, the

oldest available plan showing the layout of the store dates back to between October and

December of 1900, which was after the conversion of the downstairs floor into a display space.

But by combining this schematic floor plan with older photographs, we can see that there was a

                                                                                               
Yokokawa Tamisuke 横河民輔, “Gofuku Zakkaten Kenchiku Torishirabe Hōkokusho 呉服雑貨店建築取調報告
書 [Research Report: Retail Shops of Clothing and Accessories]” (Tokyo, 1898), unpaged. This report is
unpublished and archived at Historical Material Room of Mitsukoshi, and occasionally appear in museum
exhibitions.
Original: 一 呉服小売店は多く雑貨販売店に於いてするを普通なるが故に其精細の事は次項雑貨店の条
に於いて知るを得るべし其店頭陳列の模様は下に列出する米国各市府の呉服小売店図に就て如何に室内
列品の整理されたるやを見るべし
267
At Mitsukoshi (at this point still Mitsui Kimono Textile Store), the 1900 schematic floor plan did not indicate the
correspondence between the numbers and departments. In later years, Mitsukoshi carried the numbering even new
departments were added. For example, the number one remained as an abbreviation for cotton textiles no matter
what departments were added later. It is reasonable to assume that the four departments (the number one to four)
corresponded with the first four on the 1901 floor plan.
268
On the employee directories, women first show up in 1908, whereas the company histories have always
mentioned 1900 as the year in which they started employing women. It is possible that the store managers did not
consider the women as formal employees until 1908 (call number A091/4-1). On the first employment of women,
see Mitsukoshi Kabushiki Gaisha, Records of Mitsukoshi Co., Ltd., 1904–2000: 100 Years from the Department
Store Declaration, 36.

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clear division between the selling floor and the back offices, where the women were first

assigned to work (Figure 3.5). As Figure 3.5 illustrates, the design department, executive offices,

and storage were all organized in the back, farther from the entrance. As Figure 3.5 does not

include room descriptions for every section, it is difficult to understand precisely where the

women would have worked day-to-day. But, based on the descriptions that are available, we can

tell that the telephone operators and sewing quality checker likely worked in one of the “offices”

on the first floor and in one of the storage rooms, respectively.

Not only were the non-sales function jobs all consolidated in the back, but there was also

a dedicated, smaller employee entrance on the side, which led straight to the storage area,

accounting and industrial product departments, and other offices. If the women fulfilled only

their assigned functions, there would have been no need for them to appear on or even to pass

through the selling floor. Thus, even though female staff were present inside the store, they were

not likely visible to customers. As I have not been able to locate any first-hand accounts from

these first three female staff members, little is known about their actual experiences at work.

Nonetheless, we can assume that, for the customers at least, these working women might have

seemed more like a mere idea than a physical presence.  

Negotiating a Place for Women on the Selling Floor

Women did not remain in the back of the store for long, however. In 1901, three

saleswomen, including Furuya, appeared on the selling floor to serve the accessory department.

Mitsukoshi hired these three saleswomen soon after its complete abandonment of the traditional

sit-and-sell style in October 1900. This physical change, which turned the entire selling floor into

a space filled with showcases, entailed a de-skilling of the salesforce to a certain extent. The

156
  

merchandise knowledge of senior salesmen was depreciated, while the customers’ own

discretion was more appreciated.

While the de-skilling might have helped the managers to consider women, who were

regarded less suited for intellectual work, for sales positions, Mitsukoshi managers still

emphasized the social and cultural impacts of the employment of saleswomen. For instance, Hibi

– who was an assistant store manager at that time – contended, in retrospect:

Mitsukoshi did not need to use cheaper labor. There was no need to hire women into the
store that had been doing fine only with male employees for a long time. [...] But we took
a risk of bringing women into our store because we wanted to show that women were
suited to retail store staff as well as to expand women’s professional realm.269

This 1916 statement is consistent with the one he had made a decade earlier, about the store’s

“desire to offer women a new job.”270 Repeating such statements publicly in various trade and

women’s magazines, Hibi consolidated the idea of Mitsukoshi as a leading cultural institution.

Perhaps because of the discourse of social change that he constructed over time, Hibi has

been recognized as the leader who modernized the space and operations of Mitsukoshi.271

However, it was not only his cultural leadership, but also women’s own willingness to serve on

                                                                                               
269
Hibi Ōsuke 日比翁助, “Sukoburu Ryōkō Naru Joten’in No SaiyōHō to Kantoku Hō 頗る優良なる女店員の採
用法と監督法 [Wonderful Ways to Hire and Supervise Female Store Staff],” Nihon No Kanmon 日本之関門
[Hurdle of Japan] 1, no. 6 (1916): 26–27.
Original: 三越としては何も給料の安い人間を使用せねばならぬ必要はない。永年男店員のみで不都合の
なかつた店に俄に女店員を入れなければならぬ必要もない。 [...] それを強いて危険を冒しながら女店員
を入れる様にしたのは，商店員には女が適当であると云ふことを世の中に示し，女の職業の範囲を拡張
したいと言ふのが目的であつたのである。
This is congruent with Furuya’s recollection elsewhere: Furuya, “The Principle of Remember Male Store Staff Are
Your Enemy,” 104.
Original: が一面において日比さんは給料が安いから貴女方を使うのではない、女でも働くことが出来る
ということを示す意味において貴女方を使うのだからしっかりやってくれと常に激励してくださいまし
た。まあこんなことがあったので今日まで居られたのでせうね今から考へますと随分つらひこともあり
ましたがどうにか今日まで辛抱して来ました
270
Hibi, “Female Clerks,” 159.
271
For example, see Hoshino Kojirō 星野小次郎, Mitsukoshi Sōshisha Hibi Ōsuke 三越創始者 日比翁助 [Hibi
Ōsuke, Founder of Mitsukoshi] (Tokyo: Hibi Ōsuke Ō Denki Kankōkai, 1951); Hayashi Hiromi 林洋海, Mitsukoshi
Wo Tsukutta Samurai Hibi Ōsuke 〈三越〉をつくったサムライ日比翁助 [Hibi Ōsuke, the Samurai Who
Produced Mitsukoshi] (Tokyo: Gendai Shokan, 2013).

157
  

the selling floor, that drove the employment of women in these positions. Furuya’s recollection,

in 1933, of how she and her colleagues first obtained their jobs exemplifies this alternative

perspective:

In April of 1901, I graduated from the girls’ vocational school in Hitotsubashi. “Please
hire me,” I shamelessly asked managers at Mitsui Kimono Textile Store, which still
operated in the sit-and-sell style with the navy-blue shop curtain. The president at that
moment was Mr. Mitsui Genzaemon. Mr. Hibi, who would later bring growth and
innovation to Mitsukoshi, was still a sales manager starting new business practices. My
request for employment was rejected, probably because it was not yet the time to hire
women. Nonetheless, I asked one of the store staff, with whom I had a close connection,
to introduce myself to Mr. Hibi. He agreed to hire me, but said, “We can’t hire you alone.
Bring in some friends.” I then asked Mr. Hibi, “Please send the recruitment notice to my
alma mater.” He did so, and I was hired with two other alumnae, Satō Yone and Takatsu
Masano. We three were the first female sales staff.272

According to Furuya, it was from her position as a female vocational school graduate that she

initiated the conversation with the store management. Despite the initial rejection, she did not

give up on her idea of working at the store. She persisted with trying to make her request get

through to Hibi. Furuya’s claim as being “the first female sales staff” also suggests her sense of

pride to be at the forefront of this new practice. This recollection is significant because it

suggests that the position would not have been offered if Furuya herself had not actively pursued

it.

It is not easy to gauge how much Furuya’s actions influenced this actual process,

however. Congruent with the dominant discourse of Hibi as a progressive leader, another

retrospective trade magazine article highlights how the management was actively on the lookout

for female talent. In explaining how Furuya entered Mitsukoshi, the reporter writes,

It is said that, after his return from an international trip, the head of sales Mr. Hibi Ōsuke
suggested that, “Stores overseas employ a lot of female senior sales clerks. Their attitudes
are very mild and comforting. Why don’t we experiment with using women in Japanese
                                                                                               
272
Furuya, “On Female Store Staff,” 171–72. This article was the only one that was credited to a woman within this
edited history of Mitsukoshi Department Store. The article was a summary of the interview of Furuya, who was then
one of the few female staff supervisors.

158
  

stores?” He looked around everywhere and finally selected Kyōritsu Girls’ Vocational
School, which was established by Hatoyama Haruko.273

Kyōritsu Girls’ Vocational School was Furuya’s alma mater. While the primary components of

this story are consistent with Furuya’s retrospective account, in this article, it is Hibi who

proactively sought potential female candidates for the sales clerk positions, inspired by overseas

retail practices. In this version of story, Furuya just followed Hibi’s lead, instead of cultivating

the path for saleswomen on her own. Perhaps she did not actually have as much agency as was

presented in her version of story. Still, Furuya’s statement suggests that early female saleswomen

held a sense of empowerment and pride in establishing their own place on the previously male-

dominated selling floor. While Hibi’s version of story has been told again and again in the

history of department stores, women were not emotionless objects that were simply deployed to

the selling floor by the managers to represent the progressiveness of the institution.274 They were

human beings who had their own desires, hopes, and needs, which also drove their search for

jobs outside of the home. Without their willingness to serve, they would have never appeared on

the selling floor.

While Hibi supported the notion of women working on the selling floor as part of his

progressive ideals, many other managers – at Mitsukoshi and elsewhere – undermined the

saleswomen’s capabilities in trade magazines. Trying to make sense of how they could best use

female employees, managers shared their experiences and ideas in trade journals. Their

statements generally concluded that female employees were not as competent as their male

                                                                                               
273
Furuya, “The Principle of Remember Male Store Staff Are Your Enemy,” 103.
Original: 何んでも三越の大番頭日比翁助氏が何度目かの洋行から帰えって「外国の商店では女の番頭を
沢山使っているが，非常に物やさしく感じがよいから日本でも一つ使って見たら……」と八方探し回っ
て白羽の矢を立てたのが鳩山春子氏建てるところの共立女子職業学校であった。
274
Toyoizumi Masuzō 豊泉益三, ed., Hibi ō No Omoide 日比翁の思ひ出 [Memories of Mr. Hibi] (Tokyo:
Mitsukoshi Eigyō Bu, 1932); Hoshino, Hibi Ōsuke, Founder of Mitsukoshi; Hayashi, Hibi Ōsuke, the Samurai Who
Produced Mitsukoshi.

159
  

counterparts, although they recognized that women’s attention to detail and milder attitudes

toward customers might have some merits. For example, Suzuki Sadaichi, a manager at

Shirokiya, concluded in an article published at the time, “I have to say that female employees are

good if we use them as complements or assistants. If we expected them to work as regular or real

employees, we would just be disappointed.”275 Similarly, Satō Ystutarō at Matsuzakaya, a

kimono textile retailer from Nagoya, discussed the strengths and weaknesses of female

employees in an article, writing from his own experience. After pointing out three disadvantages

and one advantage, Satō notes:

These female store staff earn daily wages, from twenty-five sen to fifty sen. With this
amount, they cannot lead an autonomous life in a respectable way. But it is just inevitable
because it is still questionable if they can work as an independent, complete store
employee at a retail institution (original emphasis).276

For Satō, it seemed fair that female employees would not earn sufficient daily wages to lead a

respectable, autonomous life, while their male counterparts were paid a comfortable monthly

salary. Even after the store managers started using women, they continued to trivialize them as

mere supplementary human resources. Perhaps because of this dominant discourse, previous

studies have tended to take for granted the peripheral status of saleswomen at the stores.277

While women store staff might be considered to have a peripheral status from the point of

view of their managers, examining their department assignments through the lens of space opens

                                                                                               
275
Suzuki Sadaichi 鈴木貞一, “Joshi Ten’in No Tokuchō to Ketten 女子店員の特長と欠点 [Advantages and
Disadvantages of Female Store Staff],” Shōten Kai 商店界 [World of Retailing] 11, no. 1 (1931): 143.
Original: 単に補助店員又は助手として使用すれば上乗であると云わねばならぬ。若しこれに反し正又は
本店員として期待するならば或は失望せんかと思うのである。
276
Satō Yasutarō 佐藤安太郞, “Yo Ga Jikken Shitaru Joten’in No Jinsen Nan 予が実験したる女店員の人選難
[The Difficulty in Selecting Female Store Staff: From My Own Experience],” Shōgyō Kai 商業界 [World of
Commerce] 12, no. 2 (1909): 50.
Original : 之れ等の女店員の給料は日給と云う事にしてあって、約二十五銭以上五十銭位まで、与える事
になって居る。之れではその体面を保って自活する事は出来ないが、併そ実際に於いて女店員は商店に
於ける一個完全なる店員として認める価値は尚ほ疑問の裡にある今日は致し方があるまい。
277
Yoshimi, Geopolitics of Visual City: Modern Era as a Perspective, 80.

160
  

up an alternative interpretation. Consider, for example, the location of the department served by

the first saleswomen. As Furuya stated, the three saleswomen were all assigned to the accessory

department.278 More precisely, the management created this department to experiment with

women’s sales capabilities.279 The experimental nature is hinted at on a 1901 schematic floor

plan (Figure 3.6), where the accessory department was indicated simply with its name

(“accessory”), while the other departments were numbered from one to ten. Departments were

usually referred to by numbers in order to save time during operational conversations.280 In

Japanese, for instance, “momen uriba [木綿売場, lit. cotton textile department]” requires two

words, while “ichiban [一番, lit. number one] is a single word. The absence of a number

suggests that the significance of the accessory department had yet to be established at the time.

Nonetheless, the location of the accessory department suggests the primacy of

saleswomen in the store experience. The same 1901 layout shows that this department was

located in the forefront of the store, right next to the only customer entrance. There was only one

entrance because, at that time, visitors were still required to take off and deposit their shoes upon

entering, then retrieve them again upon exiting the store. The fact that the accessories were

located near the only entryway is thus critical, because it means that every visitor would have

passed through or by that department, even if it was not their intended destination.281 The

                                                                                               
278
Mitsukoshi Kabushiki Gaisha, Records of Mitsukoshi Co., Ltd., 1904–2000: 100 Years from the Department
Store Declaration, 37.
279
Kōgetsu 紅月, “Jotenin Furuya Tsuruko 女店員古谷つる子 [Furuya Tsuruko, a Female Store Staff],” Shōkō
Sekai Taiheiyō 商工世界太平洋 [Commercial and Industrial World, the Pacific] 7, no. 19 (1908): 94–96.
280
According to a long-time Mitsukoshi employee who was in charge of Mitsukoshi’s Historical Material Room as
of 2016, this practice of calling departments by numbers is still ongoing at Mitsukoshi.
281
This practice of shoes deposit was common in the department stores in Tokyo until after the 1923 Great Kanto
Earthquake. Until the earthquake made people realize that keeping shoes on during shopping was a safer and more
convenient choice, visitors usually deposited and collected shoes at the entrance, just like they did at home and sit-
and-sell style stores. Architect Denji Nakamura, who was specialized in commercial architecture, pointed out the
single entrance on the ground floor as a unique characteristic of Japanese department stores. See Nakamura Denji 中
村伝治, “Shōten Kenchiku 商店建築 [Commercial Architecture],” in Arusu Kenchiku Daikōza 2: Keikaku Ishō Hen

161
  

proximity to the entrance can be understood to represent a high traffic area, with considerable

exposure to visitors. By serving in the accessory department, the first saleswomen would have

been easily visible to most store visitors. In addition, people might have been able to see the

saleswomen even from the street outside of the building. As noted earlier, when the saleswomen

started working in the accessory department, the store was still housed in the mercantile house.

Although glass showcases were installed throughout the interior space, the traditional Japanese

style exterior remained intact. During business hours, the entrance was covered only with a

fluttering fabric curtain, as pictured in Figure 3.1. Outside of business hours, the entrance was

shut with large sliding doors, and the employees came in and out from the side door. This open

entrance was in place until the storefront was remodeled with glass window displays in 1903.282

Until then, since there were no other displays set up between the entrance and the accessory

department, the curtain would have only partially interrupted the view into the store. Similar to

other traditional Japanese buildings, the first floor was also constructed slightly higher than the

street level, in order to articulate a division between outside and inside. Due to these subtle

architectural features, pedestrians on the street likely did not see the entire figures of the

saleswomen, but they might have caught glimpses of them. It is notable that the saleswomen

were likely to be exposed to people’s eyes not only inside but also outside of the building.

The management did not make explicit statements on how they decided on the physical

location of this experimental accessory department. Yet, a comparison of schematic floor plans

                                                                                               
アルス建築大講座 2: 建築意匠編 [Als Lectures on Architecture 2: Planning and Design] (Tokyo: Arusu, 1930),
61–65.
282
Takahashi Sadatarō 高橋貞太郎 et al., Koto Kenchikugaku 16: Shoten, Hyakkaten, Jimusyo, Ginko 高等建築学:
商店・百貨店, 事務所, 銀行 [Advanced Architectural Studies 16: Retail Shops, Department Stores, Offices, and
Banks] (Tokyo: Tokiwa Shobo, 1933), 8; Fujita Zenzaburō 藤田善三郎, “Bunken Kara Mita Echigoya to
Mitsukoshi 文献から見た越後屋と三越 [Echigoya and Mitsukoshi Based on Historical Literature],” in A
Comprehensive Guide of Department Store: Mitsukoshi], ed. Hyakkaten Shōhō Sha, 56–87.

162
  

before and after the creation of this department suggests that this spatial configuration was

strategic. As of early 1900, there were four departments on the first and second floors.

Departments #1 (cotton) and #2 (hachijō 八丈, a type of silk textile) were located on the first

floor, while #3 (men’s kimono textiles) and #4 (silk gauze, lining fabric) were on the second

floor. Later in 1900, when the store underwent their major interior remodeling, these departments

were subdivided further and rearranged. It appears that the accessory department was created

during this remodeling. In the new floor plan, the two floors were divided into ten numbered and

two unnumbered departments. To make room for the additional eight departments, they

converted some of the back office spaces – namely, the general affairs, cashier, and distant sales

departments on the first floor, as well as the design department on the second floor – in order to

create more display spaces. The new downstairs accommodated departments #1 to #3 by using

former office spaces, which meant that these three departments were pushed to the back. The

front space, most of which used to be occupied by department #1, was dedicated to the

experimental accessory department. Department #1, cotton textile kimonos, was the largest in the

store, which indicates that the management expected a high demand for this merchandise.

Placing the accessory department to the front, even ahead of this large and popular department,

suggests its primacy in the management’s new strategy. After all, they could have placed the

accessory department elsewhere in the store if they had wanted to.283 If the managers were

actually unsure about women’s sales capabilities, as they stated in the trade magazines, they

                                                                                               
283
During the remodelling, the management had significantly reorganized the departments throughout the store
space. As a result, the new arrangement has little dependence on the previous one. New departments could be placed
anywhere. By way of example, another experimental department of scrap fabric was created on the second floor. On
the remodeling, see Mitsukoshi Kabushiki Gaisha, Records of Mitsukoshi Co., Ltd., 1904–2000: 100 Years from the
Department Store Declaration, 37.On the first assignment of women, see Fujita, “Echigoya and Mitsukoshi Based
on Historical Literature,” 69. In addition, a trade magazine article indicates that managers at other department stores
refrained from placing women on the selling floor. See Henkutsudō 偏窟洞, “Jotenin Hyōban Ki 女店員評判記
[Notes on Reputation of Female Store Staff],” Shōgyō Kai 商業界 [World of Commerce] 9, no. 6 (1908): 70–72.

163
  

could have conducted their experiments with selling accessories in a more hidden location in the

store. In other words, the wide array of possible locations that they did not choose, and their final

decision to place the accessory department in the front, suggests that they put the saleswomen in

this particular location for a reason.

Why, then, did the managers place the first saleswomen in such a high traffic location?

Although their intentions are not fully articulated in the managers’ first-hand accounts, several

sources suggest that they deployed the female store staff to generate a new kind of store

experience and to attract visitors. Furuya herself indicated that she and her colleagues attracted

much attention by simply standing on the selling floor. In an interview, she stated, “Once we [the

first saleswomen] were on the floor, there was a fuss because we were so novel and

unexpected.”284 Managers like Hibi appear to have been aware of the strong impressions that the

saleswomen made. As one female journalist summarizes, in retrospect:

Hibi Ōsuke was the store leader at that time. He was sensitive to business trends. He was
also a progressive thinker. Two years earlier, he started employing women as sales staff.
No merchants had ever employed women except for backroom work. Their merchandise
– including yūzen, chirimen, and other linen and silk textiles – was colorful, but the store
looked too bleak and dull, with only male head clerks in striped kimonos and aprons, as
well as shop boys. Adding young women to the workforce was quite a radical idea that he
had.285

This passage indicates three broader points about the context in which Hibi hired the first

saleswomen. First, people had started perceiving a “bleakness” and “dullness” in the store, even

though it had only been six years since the 1895 remodeling of the upstairs into a display space.

The short time that it took consumers to feel bored suggests that people expected the store to

change continuously. Second, the staff was considered to be part of the store experience. In

                                                                                               
284
Anon., “Women Originator 3: Female Store Staff Who Were Considered Novel and as a Spectacle,” 7; Furuya,
“The Principle of Remember Male Store Staff Are Your Enemy,” 104.
285
Nishi Kiyoko 西清子, Shokugyō Fujin No Gojūnen 職業婦人の五十年 [50 Years of Professional Women]
(Tokyo: Nihon Hyōron Shinsha, 1955), 151. Yūzen, chirimen, and linen/silk, were expensive types of textile.

164
  

particular, the homogeneous composition of the salesforce, with its male clerks and shop boys,

contributed to a sense that the store was no longer exciting enough for modern consumers. Third,

the female store staff were deployed to the selling floor to mitigate this looming sense of

familiarity. If the managers attempted to update a declining store experience that was perceived

visually, placing the saleswomen at the forefront – where their exposure would have been the

highest – makes sense as a strategy. Implementing this “radical idea” physically in the store,

managers like Hibi seem to have attempted to update the in-store experience, which was

becoming less interesting to customers.

In the passage, the word “colorful” is used as an inverse of “bleak and dull,” which

suggests that women were also used to make the store look more colorful. But in fact,

saleswomen were not visually “colorful.” As I will elaborate later in this chapter, their attire was

regulated so that they did not look too showy. Thus, it is likely that words like “colorful” and

“bleak and dull” were used metaphorically instead of literally in the passage. “Colorful” likely

referred to the state of heterogeneity and unfamiliarity, whereas “bleak and dull” referred to the

state of homogeneity and familiarity, associated with the male-only salesforce.

But what was it that made saleswomen so different, such that they could be perceived as

more “colorful”? Indeed, female store staff looked different from their male counterparts. But

one of the biggest differences was the manner in which they interacted with customers. For

example, Satō – the manager at Matsuzakaya who believed that it was inevitable that women

were underpaid because of their incompetence – highlighted these differences, writing:

A male store staff convinces a customer to buy by understanding the customer’s

preference, no matter what his own preference is. But female store staff do not seem to be
able to switch their minds this way. If the customer starts doubting, a female store staff

165
  

also wonders. Sometimes, they end up spending an unproductive time together in front of
the showcase, not leading to any sales.286

In this writing, Satō criticized saleswomen’s inability to work in the same way as salesmen, or in

the way that was familiar to him. Instead of talking someone into buying a product, a

saleswoman would consider options and think about different possibilities, along with the

customer. While Satō recognized this as a disadvantage of employing saleswomen, to Hibi, the

same empathetic attitude appeared to be a welcoming addition to the store. In his writing, Hibi

admitted that he heard complaints like “saleswomen neither talk nor flatter as much as

salesmen,” which was congruent with Satō’s perspective. Yet, Hibi continues, to see this as a

“disadvantage” was to make merely a “surface observation.” He notes:

They do not know the truth and capabilities of women, yet. […] One day, while I was
walking around the store, I saw two women humorously chatting with their bodies close
to each other. I thought they were sisters, but as I got closer, I realized one of them was
our sales staff. So, I later asked if she knew the customer beforehand. She said she did
not know the customer. That time, I felt certain that this was a big success.287
 
Contrary to Satō, Hibi considered saleswomen’s ability to build an intimate relationship with

female customers as a great asset. To Hibi, “the truth” was that this was a different but valuable

capability, while the discourse of their incompetence was just “a surface observation.”

                                                                                               
286
Satō, “The Difficulty in Selecting Female Store Staff: From My Own Experience,” 50.
Original: 男店員ならば、譬え自分は如何あろうと、客の嗜好を呑み込んで、直ちに購買心の誘発にかか
るのであるが、どうも女子には然云う気転が利かぬ勝ちである。故に顧客も迷いば、女店員も迷うて、
互いに無益の時間を陳列棚の前にまごまごして終に販売の機を失して仕舞うような事さえある。
[...] 決断的勇気に欠けて居るけれども、細心な注意に勝っている。
287
Hibi, “Female Clerks,” 160.
Original: 女子の欠点 [...] 且つ男子と比較して口数少くお世辞が足らぬ、などの批難は折り折り聞きまし
たが、それは皮相の観察で、未だ女子の真相と手腕（うでまえ）を知らぬからの言であります。
殆ど姉妹 私が或日店内を見廻って居ますと、二人の婦人が体と体とを、クッつけ合って、左も睦まじ
相に話して居るので、姉妹の客であろうと思って居ましたが、近寄って見ると其一人は店員ですから、
後で其店員に貴女は先刻の客を知って居るのかと聞いたら、知らない客だと答えました、で、私は其
時、これは大きな成功である、[...]

166
  

Whether negatively or positively perceived, the saleswomen’s more empathetic way of

interacting with customers certainly generated an impression that something new was underway

in the department stores. At the beginning, the numbers of saleswomen were so small that not

every customer interacted with them directly while shopping. Still, department store visitors

would have at least have seen interactions similar to the one that Hibi witnessed, because the

female store staff were located in a high traffic location. By their mere physical presence as well

as their friendly interactions, saleswomen could create an impression of novelty and

unfamiliarity and help construct a metaphorically “colorful” store experience.

Managing and Using Women’s Sensory Capital in the Workforce

Thus, exploring the location of the first saleswomen in context suggests not only that they

were far from being a trivial workforce, but that they offered what sociologist Pierre Bourdieu

would call “sensory capital,” which could be consumed by the customers who craved something

new in the store. Bourdieu defines capital as “accumulated labor (in its materialized form or its

‘incorporated,’ embodied form) which, when appropriated on a private, i.e. , exclusive, basis by

agents or groups of agents, enables them to appropriate social energy in the form of reified or

living labor.” According to this definition, capital can take any form if people pursue it for its

value, even if that is not monetary.288 At the turn-of-the-century retail store, the dominance of

men in the salesforce gave saleswomen a relatively high value as the holders of sensory capital.

The assumptions that women should be at home and that working women were rare could have

boosted their value even more. Their unique ability to serve in the form of sensory capital is also

part of why women were offered the opportunity to appear on the selling floor.

                                                                                               
288
Pierre Bourdieu, “The Forms of Capital,” in Handbook of Theory and Research for the Sociology of Education,
ed. John Richardson (New York: Greenwood Press, 1986), 241.

167
  

Along with this, the managers’ urge to continuously update the store experience drove the

employment of saleswomen. As philosopher Marshall Berman contends, staying at the forefront

of modernity requires self-disruption because of the craving “for permanent change, for

perpetual upheaval and renewal in every mode of personal and social life.”289 In an attempt to re-

establish the traditional kimono store as a modern retail institution, constant updates to the store

design and operations were key. The managers needed to keep offering experiences that were not

available somewhere else in the city. Even the managers like Suzuki at Shirokiya and Satō at

Matsuzakaya, who did not understand how to handle their female store staff, accepted women

into the workforce because they needed something new. No matter how much Hibi emphasized

the social aspects of women’s employment, he was also aware of all the other advantages of

having female store staff, which he could deploy to achieve his agenda of modernizing the store.

In this respect, women indeed played a central role in the transformation of the store.

In fact, Furuya had an awareness that she served as part of the new in-store experience. In

the retrospective interview that I cited at the beginning of this chapter, she describes the

accessory department as “newly created,” “unique to Mitsukoshi,” and “the basis of today’s

department stores.” These descriptions indicate her perceptions of the accessory department

initiative as novel. Of course, as this is a recollection, her memories and impressions might have

become combined with later experiences. Furuya’s account does not necessarily represent the

feelings of other female sales staff, either. Elsewhere, Furuya also recalled colleagues who “hid

in the corner of the department, when friends and neighbors visited the store.” Unlike Furuya,

some of her colleagues felt stigmatized for working outside of the home and appearing in front of

non-family members. Having to appear in the public, some saleswomen were even mistaken for

                                                                                               
289
Marshall Berman, All That Is Solid Melts into Air: The Experience of Modernity (New York: Penguin Books,
1982), 94.

168
  

sex workers early on. Society had yet to recognize them as “serious” workers, and their presence

was sometimes considered vulgar.290 But still, people like Furuya began to nurture a sense of

pride by identifying as pioneers for other working women, even if the opportunities offered to

them could also be seen as exploitative to some extent.

Democratizing the Store

At Mitsukoshi’s flagship store, the number of female staff continued to increase.291

Meanwhile in 1908, Mitsukoshi constructed its first new building (Figure 3.7). This wooden,

three-story building was built with a lightwell in the center, borrowing an architectural style that

they called “Renaissance style [Runesansu yōshiki ルネサンス様式]” from the West. One of the

biggest changes in the built environment was the openness of the space. For example, the bright

and spacious interior made a striking contrast with the dim sit-and-sell space in the Japanese-

style mercantile house. Previously, Mitsukoshi’s sales principle was based on the old saying,

“Great merchandise stay deep in the warehouse.” This meant that merchants should not show off

all their items, but maintain some mystery by keeping some pieces hidden. Because the ability to

sell by being as selective as possible was important, limited lighting was preferred as a way to

highlight just a few items for the customer.292 In contrast, the new interior was designed for the

                                                                                               
290
Furuya, “The Principle of Remember Male Store Staff Are Your Enemy,” 104.
291
As of 1927, 307 women worked at the store, accounting for 15.3 percent of the store workforce. Similar to the
first saleswomen at the accessory department, women tended to work at locations in the store that expected higher
customer traffic, selling less traditional types of merchandise. Although women still made up a small portion of the
workforce, their presence might have felt more outsized than these numbers suggest.
Mitsukoshi Gofuku Ten 三越呉服店, “Mitsukoshi Gofuku Ten Goan’nai Zu 三越呉服店御案内図 [A Floor Guide
of Mistukoshi Department Store,” wrapping paper, c.1927, Historical Material Room, Corporate Communications
Division, Mitsukoshi Isetan Holdings; Mitsui Dōzokukai Jimukyoku 三井同族会事務局, “Kabushiki Gaisha
Mitsukoshi Gofuku Ten Ten’in Meibo 株式会社三越呉服店店員名簿[Employee Directory of Mitsukoshi Co.,
Ltd.],” employee directory, October 1927, A091/4-3, Mitsui Archives; Kabushiki Gaisha Mitsukoshi Hyakkaten 株
式会社三越百貨店, “Kabushiki Gaisha Mitsukoshi Shokuin Meibo 株式会社三越百貨店名簿 [Employee
Directory of Mitsukoshi Co., Ltd.],” employee directory, October 15, 1928, A091/4-4, Mitsui Archives.
292
For their old sales principles, see Mitsukoshi Kabushiki Gaisha, Records of Mitsukoshi Co., Ltd., 1904–2000:
100 Years from the Department Store Declaration, 39.

169
  

new experience of letting customers walk through and look at all of the displayed items, whether

they would ultimately buy any of these items or not. Because the items were displayed

throughout the selling floors, the interior space needed to be much brighter, illuminating

merchandise from one corner to the other. The space also needed to get the customers moving

around the store. The new interior, full of natural light and glass showcases, communicated

transparency to customers, instead of “hid[ing] most of the items in the warehouse.” Upon their

entry to the interior of the store, what visitors now saw first was the set of grand stairs that lead

upstairs. On the second and third floors, the aisles surrounded the void under the central

lightwell. Through the surrounding aisles, visitors rambled around different departments while

still maintaining sensory connections with the outdoors. This way of setting up the circulation

would have made visitors feel that the interior space was a continuation of the street, even

though they still had to deposit their shoes at the entrance.

This change in the physical environment was made as part of Mitsukoshi’s bigger agenda

– to become a one-stop retail institution called a department store. Mitsui Kimono Textile Store

was incorporated, and the name was changed to Mitsukoshi Kimono Textile Store [Mitsukoshi

Gofuku Ten 三越呉服店] in 1904. On January 2 of the following year, Mitsukoshi published the

provocative advertisement mentioned earlier, the so-called “Department Store Declaration,” in

the major newspaper Jiji Shinpō. One clause of the declaration reads, “We will increase the

diversity of the merchandise so that you can get everything related to clothing and accessories

under one roof. By this, we will realize the department store, which is already in practice in the

United States.”293 Its transformation to a department store was Mitsukoshi’s major strategy to

                                                                                               
Original: 「良賈は深く蔵す」を信条とし、品物の見栄をよくするために暖簾で店内を薄暗くし、なるべ
く少ない商品を見せて客を満足させるのが番頭の腕、とされていた旧来の販売方法
293
Ibid., 362.

170
  

expand the clientele to include the emerging middle class. The Russo-Japanese War (1904–05)

accelerated the industrialization of Japanese society and created white-collar, salaried jobs for

educated men, which opened up more clerical jobs for women like Furuya. As this population of

salaried men with families grew, their buying power and their desires to express themselves

through consumer goods, including through the kimonos they wore, also increased. Eventually,

Mitsukoshi’s potential clientele was no longer limited to the people who inherited status and

wealth from the previous generation.294 To acquire the growing middle class as its customers,

Mitsukoshi democratized their merchandise and physical environment, which is what they meant

by “becom[ing] a department store.” In 1907, in particular, this expansion of merchandise

selection and service offerings accelerated. Items like children’s goods, Western clothes,

umbrellas, travel goods, toys, bags, and shoes were added to the store that year. Auxiliary

services like a photo studio, dining hall, and exhibitions were also added, even though the

business was still housed in the old mercantile house at the time.295 As the array of merchandise

                                                                                               
294
Design historian Jinno Yuki has shown that emerging middle class men were the primary clientele of urban
department stores in the late Meiji period--from the end of the nineteenth century to 1912. Those men were
motivated to purchase “good taste [shumi 趣味]” by following the latest trend in clothing, accessories, and hobbies
displayed at the department stores. The middle class men gained the information about trends and good taste through
“gentlemen studies [shinshi ron 紳士論]”--a discourse that men’s magazines constructed and publicized. Men’s
domination in the clientele ended at some point in 1910s or 1920s. While neither existing studies nor the materials I
excavated indicate exactly when it was, for example, urban ethnographer Kon Wajiro counted visitors at one of the
entrances of Mitsukoshi from 3:00 PM to 3:30 PM on November 20, 1928. His report indicates the female-male split
in the adult visitors was 1,065:1,077--almost half and half. In 1933, without any reference to sources, authors of a
design handbook for department store architecture indicated that the female-male split in the visitors was almost half
and half. But according to these architects, women tended to stay for twice as long as men in the stores. They
ultimately suggested 7:3 as a realistic estimate for the female-male split in purchasing power. Thus, women’s
presence (not number) surpassed their male counterpart. On Meiji men’s taste and consumer culture, see JJinno
Yuki 神野由紀, Hyakkaten de Shumi Wo Kau: Taishū Shōhi Bunka No Kindai 百貨店で「趣味」を買う：大衆消
費文化の近代 [Purchasing Good Taste at a Department Store: Mass Consumer Culture in the Modern Period]
(Tokyo: Yoshikawa Kōbunkan, 2015). On Kon’s field research, see Kon and Yoshida Kenkichi 吉田謙吉, ed.,
Kōgengaku Modernologio 考現学 モデルノロジオ [Modernology] (Tokyo: Gakuyo Shobo, 1986), 206-09. For the
design guidebook, see Takahashi et al., Advanced Architectural Studies 16: Retail Shops, Department Stores,
Offices, and Banks, 177.
295
Mitsukoshi Kabushiki Gaisha, Records of Mitsukoshi Co., Ltd., 1904–2000: 100 Years from the Department
Store Declaration, 68–69.

171
  

and services expanded, Mitsukoshi needed a physical space that could effectively accommodate

all of their offerings, for both old and new customers. Thus, the 1908 building was constructed to

accommodate these processes of democratization that had already been underway for several

years prior.

To facilitate visits by less affluent customers, the new building was also equipped with

spaces that were not focused on purchasing items at all, such as complimentary lounges. In the

lounges, visitors could sit and rest during shopping or browsing without leaving the department

store. As shown in Figure 3.8, the lounge was intricately decorated, from the walls to the ceiling

and the floor. The visitors Mitsukoshi was hoping to attract might have seen similar rooms in

magazines; as cultural historian Jordan Sand has shown, magazines like Ladies’ Graphic

reported on this kind of home décor that was popular among elites. As described in the previous

chapter, Japanese nobility often built separate Western-style buildings called yōkan on their

estates, which were decorated in similarly extravagant manners. While less affluent people might

have seen glimpses of such rooms, then, they did not have physical access to them; providing an

experience of such ornate facilities must have been a major draw for some of these customers.

Indeed, floor plans of the 1908 building suggest that Mitsukoshi was more successful

than expected in enticing less affluent clients. Within a year from moving into the new building,

Mitsukoshi converted some offices into a department for selling scrap fabric (pieces of kimono

textiles that were leftover and sold at bargain prices). According to an architectural plan that was

generated upon construction, the four offices were located behind the selling space on the first

floor (Figure 3.9). In a professional journal published at the time, Nakamura Denji, the chief

architect of this building project, claimed that the offices for direct sales administration and

172
  

accounting were going to be used to sell scrap fabric temporarily.296 But the schematic layout

that was used during the same year shows that all of the four back offices had been already taken

over to make way for the scrap fabric department. This prompt makeover of the back offices

indicates the urgent need for this department; it turned out that the odd ends of fabric – items that

high-end kimono textile stores like Mitsukoshi had not seriously considered as part of their

primary merchandise – were quite popular among the expanded clientele. One photograph taken

on a sale day in 1909 shows a fully packed selling floor, hence communicating the popularity of

bargains (Figure 3.10). On multiple levels, then, the 1908 building democratized visits to the

store, by inviting non-shoppers and less affluent people to this new urban institution.  

Women in High Traffic Locations

In this ever-changing environment, where did female store staff work? According to the

1908 employee directory, 46 women worked at Mitsukoshi’s flagship store, accounting for 8.1

percent of the workforce. It is not possible to map out women-served departments on the 1908

floor plan, which indicates only approximate locations of the departments; the employee

directory classified the staff only roughly into five sales divisions: upstairs (kimono), downstairs

(kimono), Western clothing, dry goods, and contemporary art. Each division housed multiple

departments, which sometimes spread to multiple floors. For this reason, it is impossible to

locate precisely where each female employee was working on the floor plan. Nonetheless, it is

worth noting that women took up 19.4 percent of the sundry goods division staff. This proportion

was twice as high as the average divisional women ratio of 8.1 percent and the highest among the

                                                                                               
296
Nakamura Denji, “Kanmatsu Fuzu Setsumei 巻末付図説明 [Explanation of the Pictures],” Kenchiku Zasshi 建
築雑誌 [Architecture Magazine] 257 (1908): 38–40.

173
  

five sales divisions.297 The 1908 plan shows that most of the dry goods departments, which

included shoes, bags, umbrellas, toys, and scrap fabric, were located to the left of the customer

entrance on the first floor. Although this is a partial picture, we can see that women still occupied

the area closer to the incoming traffic.

Mitsukoshi’s flagship store continued to be remodeled and expanded throughout the

1910s and 20s. However, it is not possible to identify precisely where women worked because

only fragmentary architectural drawings and schematic plans are available for these years. In

1914, the five-story, Renaissance-style building was completed on the former site of the

mercantile house, to the east of the 1908 temporary building.298 In 1921, the west wing of the

store was completed, taking over where the temporary building had stood.299 In 1923, the entire

store complex was significantly damaged by Great Kantō Earthquake, and it took four years for

the store to reconstruct the complex that they had constructed in the past decade.300 In other

                                                                                               
297
Kabushiki Gaisha Mitsukoshi Gofuku Ten 株式会社三越呉服店, “Kabushiki Gaisha Mitsukoshi Gofuku Ten
Jinmeibo 株式会社三越呉服店人名簿 [Employee Directory of Mitsukoshi Co., Ltd.],” employee directory,
October 31, 1908, A091/4-1, Mitsui Archives.
298
For this building, I have been able to locate architectural plans of the basement, first floor, and the rooftop and a
schematic plan for the first floor, though there is no information on the second to fifth floor, and none of the plans
indicate the location of each department. With the incomplete set of drawings, it is not possible to map where each
person worked. For the drawings Nakamura Denji, “Mitsukoshi Gofuku Ten No Kenchiku Ni Tsuite 三越呉服店の
建築に就て [On the Archtiecture of Mitsukoshi Kimono Store],” Architecture Magazine 29, no. 340 (1915): 199–
215.
299
For this seven-story building, I have been able to locate architectural plans of the basement, the first and second
floors, and the rooftop. These plans also do not indicate department locations, leaving the vast majority of space that
seems to have been the selling floor with no labels. Similarly, while the south wing was completed in a new adjacent
site in 1922, I have been unable to locate any architectural drawing or schematic plan for this building. For the
drawings of the 1921 building, see Anon., “Mitsukoshi Gofuku Ten Tokyo Honten Nishikan Kenchiku Gaiyō 三越
呉服店東京本店西館新築概要 [Architecture of Mitsukoshi Kimono Store West Wing, an Overview],”
Architecture Magazine 35, no. 419 (1921): 526–30.
300
For the expansion of the 1910–20s, see Suzuki Kenji 鈴木健二 Wakamatsu Toshiki 若松俊輝, Furuya Shinji 古
家靖士, “Nihonbashi Mitsukoshi Honten to Takashimaya Tokyo Ten No Zōkaichiku to Naibu Kōsei No,Hensen Ni
Kansuru Kenkyū 日本橋三越本店と高島屋東京店の増改築と内部構成の変遷に関する研究 [A Study on
Transition of Reconstruction and Internal Composition of Mitsukoshi and Takashimaya Department Store],” Nihon
Kenchiku Gakkai Kenkyū Hōkoku Kyūshū Shibu Keikakukei 日本建築学会研究報告. 九州支部. 3, 計画系
[Architectural Institute Japan Research Report, Kyūshū Chapter, Planning], no. 51 (2012): 117–20.

174
  

words, the spatial organization of the store itself was going through continuous upheavals during

this period.

Even without a clear and consistent picture of how the store staff were organized,

however, we at least know that the departments of non-traditional items tended to have higher

ratios of women employees, compared to the departments that sold kimonos. For example, as of

1918, 243 saleswomen worked at the store, accounting for 19 percent of the total salesforce.

Around 30 percent of the salesforce of non-textile departments was women, compared with 16

percent in textile departments.301 The non-textile departments tended to be located on the first

floor in the 1908 building and on the first or second floor in the 1927 building, as I will discuss

below. Thus, it is quite likely that saleswomen continued to serve in the locations that expected

higher exposure to visitor flows during the period until 1927.

In 1927, yet another reconstruction of the building complex was completed, with some

expansions. In this seven-story retail complex, 307 of the employees were women, accounting

for 15.3 percent of the workforce. Despite this seemingly low ratio, as noted, some of the high-

profile departments on lower floors were predominantly served by women (Figure 3.11). The

women-dominated departments included the departments of confectionary (57.9 percent) on the

first floor, toys (57.1 percent) on the second floor, bargains (69.2 percent) and ready-made

clothing (65 percent) on the third floor, and collars and accessories (77.8 percent) on the fourth

floor. Auxiliary services departments, such as dining halls (71.6 percent), the photo studio (66.7

percent), and the hair salon (50 percent), were also dominated by female staff.302 Thus, while

                                                                                               
301
Eguchi, “Changes in the Perspectives on Skills at the Pre-War Department Stores,” 134–35.
302
Mitsui Dōzokukai Jimukyoku 三井同族会事務局, “Kabushiki Gaisha Mitsukoshi Gofuku Ten Ten’in Meibo 株
式会社三越呉服店店員名簿[Employee Directory of Mitsukoshi Co., Ltd.],” employee directory, October 1927,
A091/4-3, Mitsui Archives.

175
  

most sales departments included female staff by this time, they were not evenly distributed

throughout the selling and service floors.

Those predominantly female departments were major visitor draws. In general, lower-

level sales departments were meant to receive higher traffic. A 1929 field study, conducted by

urban ethnographer Kon Wajirō and reporters from a women’s magazine called Ladies’

Companion, accounts for how departments were arranged at Mitsukoshi flagship store. In the

survey report, Kon describes a department store as “a multi-story building, which can be

considered as a vertical street.” As Kon observes, it was not only “people who intended to buy

something,” but also “those who just walked and browsed vacantly” who visited the store, as if

they were walking down the street. As for the arrangement of the various departments, he

continues, “On the fourth floor and above, the items that only a limited number of people would

need to buy are displayed. [...] Items that are popular to any kind of visitors are densely placed

on the way out of the store. On the upper floors, items that can slow visitors down seem to be

placed quite sparsely.”303 As Kon’s report indicates, departments were arranged on different

floors based on the expected traffic flows, for the two kinds of people – real and window

shoppers – who visited the store. Located at the entrance of the “vertical street,” items sold on

the third floor or below were meant for any both kinds of visitors.

Kon’s observation is congruent with the theory of department store design, which was

later shared by Nakamura, the chief architect of the 1927 building complex, who had also been in

charge of the 1908 building. Nakamura came to be recognized as a leading specialist in retail

environment design; in 1930, he published a well-known professional guidebook entitled

Commercial Architecture. By examining American practices, Nakamura identified the typically

                                                                                               
303
Kon, Modernology, 206-07.

176
  

vertical configuration of a department store, which used the first floor for selling more everyday

items like accessories and upper floors for items that required “quieter shopping.”304 Three years

later, two other architects published a design handbook for department stores and commercial

architecture, drawing on the studies of Nakamura and others. In the handbook, they write:

The entire first floor including the entrance is the most important area at a department
store. At American department stores, approximately 50 percent of sales are made on the
first floor. Therefore, architects should pay the most attention to the design, display
planning, and lighting on the first floor. The floor should be clean and beautiful. The
columns, walls, and ceilings should have elaborate decorations and engravings. The
ceiling should be high and bright. The decorations and lighting on the columns and
ceiling should be bright. The merchandise display and fixtures should be designed with
the most care to attract attention of the customers.305

In this passage, the two architects are explicit about the importance of the ground floor design.

Because the highest traffic and sales were expected to occur on this floor, the design needed to

be more elaborate.

Not only were the women-served sales departments more visited than others, it is likely

that they were some of the most profitable departments in the store by the mid 1920s. As noted,

women tended to sell items other than high-end kimono textiles, such as confectionary, toys,

bargains, ready-made clothing, collars, and accessories. At a comparable department store chain,

Matsuzakaya, the data shows that although expensive kimono textiles had higher profit margins

in the 1910s, by the mid-1920s, the departments selling inexpensive, non-traditional items

                                                                                               
304
Nakamura, “Commercial Architecture,” 58.
Original:売場内商品配置の工合は各国申し合せた様に一階は細々した小間物類や装身具類の如く大体一階
で普通の用の足りる様な品を売る事が普通であり，従って米国邊では一階は非常の人出でも二階はヒッ
ソリとして落着いて買物の出来るような品物を陳べる事が普通である．婦人用服装類の如きは何処でも
二階または三階位を占領して居り寛っくりとして買物をする事の必要なる様なものを陳列する事が一般
である．四階以上は厨房用具，陶器，硝子器，美術品，楽器，運動用具，最上階に近き所は家具敷物，
子供用玩具の如き嵩張ったものを普通とし，食堂は大抵何処でも最上階の全部を提供するは一般であ
る．地下階は少くとも二階迄を安価品売場に提供し一階入口から直ぐに地下室に降って百貨の安価品を
売る所謂マーケットの様なものにする事は世界一般である．
305
Takahashi et. al., Advanced Architectural Studies 16: Retail Shops, Department Stores, Offices, and Banks, 208-
09.

177
  

became more profitable. Using detailed fiscal data, business historian Nakanishi Satoru has

shown that higher numbers of inexpensive items were sold as the clientele expanded to the

middle and lower classes. Matsuzakaya, which had also transitioned from a kimono textile

retailer to a department store chain, competed with Mitsukoshi during the interwar years between

1919 and 1937.306 Of course, the business strategies of Mitsukoshi and Matsuzakaya differed to

some extent, but the competitors shared similar legacies, transitional paths, and clientele. As of

1929, Mitsukoshi’s store visitors had also shifted to the middle class, according to Kon’s

observation.307 Thus, we can assume that at Mitsukoshi, as well, saleswomen tended to serve the

departments that were significant not only from a sensory perspective, but also from a business

perspective.

In addition to the sales departments on the lower floors, the women-dominated auxiliary

service departments were major draws for visitors. For example, architectural historian Hatsuda

Tōru indicates that, as of 1933, the dining halls at Mitsukoshi usually catered close to 10,000

customers on a typical weekday and 16,000–17,000 customers on a Sunday or national holiday.

According to Hatsuda, Mitsukoshi had housed a customer dining hall since 1907, but it was

small. In 1921, a new one, stretching 9,216 square feet and accomodating 600 seats, opened on

                                                                                               
306
Nakanishi Satoru 中西聡, “Ryō Taisenkan Ki Nihon Ni Okeru Hyakkaten No Keiei Tenkai: Itō Gofukuten
(Matsuzakaya) No Hyakkatenka to Taishūka 両大戦間期における百貨店の経営展開: いとう呉服店 (松坂屋)
の百貨店化と大衆化 [Development of Management at a Department Store in Interwar Japan: Itō Kimono Textile
Store (Matsuzakaya) Became a Department Store and Popular],” Keiei Shigaku 経営史学 [History of Business
Administration] 47, no. 3 (2012): 3–31.
307
Kon and Ladies’ Companion reporters counted and observed people who were going out of the front entrance
from 3:00 PM to 3:30 PM on November 20, 1928. On this day, the Enthronement of the Emperor took place, and
some sort of celebratory events were underway at Mitsukoshi. While the count might not representative of a regular
day, according to the count, major adult visitors were “ordinary gentlemen” and “wives” in their twenties and
thirties. The majority of gentlemen “looked like salaried men.” The women tended not to accompany live-in maids,
which indicates the modesty of their lives. As we have seen in the previous chapter, as of the 1920s, live-in maids
were in supply shortage, and only affluent households could afford such domestic help. The salaried, white-collar
employment and maid-lessness were both typical of the middle class. At least, Kon’s observation suggests that the
majority of Mitsukoshi’s clientele were not cultural elites. On Kon’s observation, see Kon, Modernology, 206–16.

178
  

the sixth floor of the west wing of the building. Mitsukoshi continued to add dining halls in the

later buildings, and the 1927 building complex ended up holding three dining halls – one each on

the fifth and sixth floors, as well as in the basement – with 1,120 seats in total. As the dining

halls served children’s menus, they were popular destinations for families.308 Even visitors who

did not necessarily purchase any items on the lower floors were thus served by the growing

female workforce. Even after several remodeling and expansion projects, then, women continued

to serve at prime locations inside the department store and to gain more attention from the

visitors.309  

Consuming Representations of Saleswomen

As the increasing number of female store staff continued to serve the high traffic

locations in the department store, saleswomen’s sensory capital started being consumed outside

the store as well, through media that was often salacious. For example, in the 1920s and early

1930s, multiple writers published what later came to be known as “department store novels

[hyakkaten shōsetsu 百貨店小説],” in which the lives of female store staff were overly

dramatized. One good example is Department Store Revealed, a sensational work of fiction by

Ishikari Jirō. In the work, he describes saleswomen as being easily seduced by men: “The girls,

while selling stuff on the floor, are asked out for dates, taken in marriage, and seduced into

                                                                                               
308
Hatsuda, The Birth of Department Stores, 117–29.
309
The markedness of saleswomen was exemplified in customer complaints. According to Mitsukoshi executive
Hamada Shirō, female employees received more complaints than their male counterparts as of 1929. Such
complaints indicate customers’ heightened awareness of, and attention to the female store staff. For Hamada’s
account, see Okawa Sekiko 小川せき子 et al., “Otoko Wa Onna Wo Dō Miru Ka No Zadankai 男は女をどう見る
かの座談会 [A Roundtable on How Men View Women],” Fujin Kurabu 婦人倶楽部 [Women’s Club] 10, no. 3
(1929): 81. This is a report of a roundtable, in which four women and four men of various professions participated.
Original: 女の店員と男の店員とを大体に較べますと、お客さんから苦情が来るのは女店員の方が多いの
ですね。(81)

179
  

destructive relationships.”310 He pretends to “reveal” the process by which saleswomen became

degraded and sick in the ill-maintained environment. The chapters are given theatrical titles,

including “The Tragedy of Female Staff” and “A Confession by a Female Employee.” Other

novels, including M Department Store by Itō Sei, Movements on the Seventh Floor by

Yokomitsu Ri’ichi, and Female Department Store by Yoshiyuki Eisuke, similarly presented

department stores as a seductive, unsafe place, rather than as a serious workplace for women.

These fictional tales were widely circulated in magazines that proliferated in the same period.311

Journalists did not treat saleswomen as serious professionals, either. Instead, in

newspaper and magazine articles, they “reported” on saleswomen by depicting them as

gossipers. For instance, in 1930, the trade magazine World of Retailing carried an article entitled

“A Page from a Female Store Staff’s Diary.” This article is presented as the diary of Ishihara

Tamako, a female store staff of “MS department store.” Her portrait is placed above the text,

making the article look even more real. The excerpted page is filled with idle gossip, such as

news of a colleague’s marriage and career change:

Five female and two male store staff left the store for new jobs. Misses Masako and
Okiku are going to get married. Miss Nobuko is becoming a concubine, and Miss Shige’e
is working for Café Góndola. Miss Yoshino didn’t tell anybody where she is going. But I
could tell where she’s headed from what people talked about her on the selling floor.312

                                                                                               
310
Ishikari Jirō 石狩二郎, Abakareta Hyakkaten 暴かれた百貨店 [Department Store Revealed] (Tokyo: Seika
Shobō, 1932), 7.
311
Itō Sei 伊藤整, “M Hyakkaten M 百貨店 [M Department Store],” Shin Kagakuteki Bungei 新科学的文芸 [New
Scientific Literature] (Tokyo, May 1931); Yokomitsu Ri’ichi 横光利一, “Nanakai No Undō 七階の運動
[Movement on the Seventh Floor],” Bungei Jidai 文芸時代 [Literature Era] (Tokyo, September 1927); Yoshiyuki
Eisuke 吉行エイスケ, Onna Hyakkaten 女百貨店 [Female Department Store] (Tokyo: Shinchōsha, 1930).
Cautionary tales about vulnerable women in public urban spaces were shared across cultures. The nineteenth century
sensation novels and the early twentieth century urban legends fall into the same category. See, for example, Bill
Ellis, “Whispers in an Ice Cream Parlor: Culinary Tourism, Contemporary Legends, and the Urban Interzone,”
Journal of American Folklore 122, no. 483 (2009): 53–74; Arlene Young, Culture, Class, and Gender in the
Victorian Novel: Gentlemen, Gents, and Working Women (Basingstoke: Macmillan Press, 1999).
312
Ishihara Tamako 石原玉子, “Joten’in Nikki No Aru Pēji 女店員日記の或頁 [A Page from a Female Store
Staff’s Diary],” World of Retailing (June 1930), 77.

180
  

Throughout the article, this scandalous tone continues, giving the impression that Ishihara, and

female store staff in general, are always spreading rumors at work. Though this was an article in

a trade magazine where retail management practices were discussed, the entry does not include

any agony over her career, professional development, and work relationships with colleagues.

Instead, it reads more like a heavily edited or even manufactured diary entry, which was

designed to be consumed by the readers of the retail trade magazine: male managers of retail

shops. Not surprisingly, this kind of account also intensified the image of saleswomen as being

easily enticed by pleasure. Some of the new jobs that the author’s former colleagues are going to

take include those with shady connotations: a concubine, a server at a café (a drinking

establishment catering primarily to men), and a secretive job that could only be guessed. Not

only are the content and tone overdramatized, but also the effort to mask Ishihara’s identity is

curiously ineffective. Since the article disclosed her name and portrait, using an abbreviation for

the store name “MS department store” would have done little to protect Ishihara from potential

repercussions. Nonetheless, this example suggests that saleswomens’ real life stories – and/or

content that was disguised as such – were consumed through trade magazines, in addition to the

obviously fictional representations.

Newspapers also portrayed department store saleswomen as exotic, foreign, and

sometimes sexualized objects to be consumed by men. For instance, in an article entitled “My

Wife: Popular Entertainers Pick Theirs at Department Store,” a reporter shares a story about

taking popular entertainers around to different department stores in Tokyo, then asking female

store staff what they thought. The reporter begins the article by writing,

                                                                                               
Original: 転職になったのは女店員五名に男店員二名だったわ。正子さんとお菊さんは結婚なさる由。信
子さんはお妾さん、滋江さんはカフェー・ゴンドラに鞍替え、吉乃さんは誰にも仰言らないの。でも売
場の評判で大概の察しは付きましたわ。

181
  

“I want to find my future wife at a department store.” This is what everybody thinks. A
department store is a grand river where women [fish] overflow. We can see the lively
movement of the flesh under the thin scales of the fish. Now is the time! Popular artists
bravely cast rods for catching their wives. Did they catch any fish? If any of them caught
a beautiful fish, he might get married to [the fish] next season.313

The reporter and these entertainers went around to major department stores like Matsuya,

Takashimaya, Shirokiya, Matsuzakaya, and Mitsukoshi, identified candidates for who could be a

potential wife, and talked to these women on the selling floors. The article indicates no respect

for saleswomen as professional staff. Instead, it indicates that the men crowded into the stores to

get their comments during business hours. In the article, the reporter even conceptualizes women

as “fish” – something to be caught by men. Even in newspapers, then, representations of

saleswomen provided images of accessible exoticism and eroticism, instead of serious labor and

professional services.

In these ways, saleswomen became visible not only to store visitors, but accessible to the

wider general public. Media accounts, which tended toward the overly dramatic and exotic,

reproduced skewed images of saleswomen who were gossiping, degraded, and not serious about

work. As literature scholar Nakamura Miharu contends, literary representations like department

store novels were part and parcel of people’s experiences of department stores.314 While

Nakamura refers only to the philosopher Nelson Goodman when explaining his theoretical

underpinnings, his emphasis on the significance of abstract and conceptual understandings as

                                                                                               
313
Anon., “Washino Hanayome San: Geikai Ninkimono Ga Depāto Deno Mitate わしの花嫁さん: 芸界人気者が
デパートでの見たて [My Wife: Popular Entertainers Pick Theirs at Department Store],” Yomiuri Shinbun, July 17,
1937, 5.
Original: “デパートでお嫁さんを探したい” 誰もが願うところ デパートは女軍氾濫の大河だ、その魚たち
は、薄い鱗の下に、ピチピチと肉の躍動を見せている、いまこのときだ！芸界・漫画界の人気者は花嫁
探しの釣竿をもって、敢然糸を垂れた、釣り上がったか？美しい魚が手に入れば、誰か秋のシーズンに
結婚するかも知れぬ
314
Nakamura Miharu 中村三春, Shūjiteki Modanizumu: Tekusuto Yōshikiron No Kokoromi 修辞的モダニズム: テ
クスト様式論の試み [Rhetorical Modernism: An Experimental Study on the Styles of Text] (Tokyo: Hitsuji Shobō,
2006), 302.

182
  

spatial experiences also resonates with that of spatial theorists like Edward Soja.315 As the

sensational images of saleswomen were consumed through media, the images could turn into

expectations, which affected how visitors experienced the department stores in reality. In the

1920s, intellectuals expressed general disbelief toward modern girls [modan gāru モダンガー

ル], a category of young women who defied social expectations of submissiveness and female

domesticity.316 The discourse on department store saleswomen was part of this broader trend. As

Kitazawa Shūichi contended in 1925, “shop girls” – a nickname that described saleswomen

without acknowledging the labor and services that they provided – were “the most conspicuous”

among the modern girls.317 The synthesis of the constructed expectations and actual arrangement

of saleswomen at higher traffic locations made female store staff more perceivable and

noticeable, despite the actual composition of the store workforce.  

Discipline as a Technology of Coexistence

Departments stores who wished to use saleswomen as sensory capital were thus faced

with an idiosyncratic challenge: How could they maintain public morality [fūki 風紀] without

physically removing women from the selling floors? As I have reiterated, the ideal Japanese

woman was not supposed to appear in front of non-family members. To preserve sexual

morality, managers at other mixed-sex workplaces, like banks and insurance company offices,

                                                                                               
315
Geographer Edward Soja has highlighted the importance of “thinking trialectically” about space to understand
how people’s spatial experiences are formulated. Synthesizing the trialectics of spatiality developed by Henri
Lefebvre, Michel Foucault's theory of heterotopia, and Homi Bhabha’s theory of third space, Soja has emphasized
space as a hybrid of concrete and abstract as well as physical and conceptual experiences. Based on the trialectical
thinking, the sensational stories that were spread through media could have helped people imagine department stores
as the particular kind of place. See Edward W. Soja, Thirdspace: Journeys to Los Angeles and Other Real-and-
Imagined Places (Malden: Wiley, 1996). Soja’s discussion synthesizes the following seminal works of spatial
theory: Lefebvre, The Production of Space; Michel Foucault, “Of Other Spaces,” Diacritics 16, no. 1 (1986): 22;
Homi Bhabha, The Location of Culture (New York: Routledge, 1994).
316
Barbara Sato, “The Moga Sensation: Perceptions of the Modan Gāru in Japanese Intellectual Circles During the
1920s,” Gender & History 5, no. 3 (1993): 363–81.
317
Kitazawa , “Tokyo Chaos Report: Shop Girl,” 172.

183
  

separated women’s work spaces from men’s. Maintaining such a physical separation was

important not only for the managers, but also for women workers. According to sociologist

Kon’no Minako, female employees communicated through a tiny hole in the wall with their male

counterparts, who worked in a separate room.318 In another example, female clerks at an

insurance office refused an invitation to even attend a business meeting with their male

counterparts, by issuing a jointly-signed statement.319 However, department store managers did

not use such a straightforward technique of physical segregation. As we have seen above, female

sales clerks held sensory capital precisely because they were seen as new and out of place. To be

experienced as something different, they needed to stand and work in the male-dominated space,

not in a separate room. The managers thus needed to devise a technology of coexistent control,

rather than complete segregation, in order to continue capitalizing on women’s experiential

value, while at the same time avoiding a societal backlash for encouraging this seemingly

immoral practice.

In order to maintain this precarious balance, department store managers exercised what

social theorist Michel Foucault calls “discipline.” Foucault discusses discipline as a distinctly

modern type of power, which is brought into effect by establishing order in a given society using

space and time. To varied extents, modern institutions like schools, prisons, and corporations all

used disciplinary techniques to exert some measure of control over the population. Typical

examples of such techniques include building prisons in such a manner that a hierarchical

relationship can be established between the watchman and inmates, or establishing rigid class

                                                                                               
318
Kon'no, Invention of Office Ladies: Gender as a Semantic World, 39–40.
319
“Shokugyō Fujin Meikan 職業婦人名鑑 Directory of Professional Women,” Fujin Sekai 婦人世界 [World of
Women] 20:3 (1925) citited in Ibid., 25. The statement reads: : “We do not attend a meeting with men.” Original:
「男子の会合には一切出ないことになっている」という理由で「出席お断りと連名で、捺印して突き返
し」た

184
  

schedules for students in schools.320 Unlike the obvious forms of sovereign power that the

Tokugawa government enforced through status-based, separative policies, the modern

disciplinary mechanisms of modern Japanese institutions consisted of these subtler, more indirect

techniques to manipulate people’s thinking and behaviors. Department store managers

established their own forms of disciplinary mechanisms through three main steps. First, they

established the principle of female-male separation outside of work. Second, they repeatedly

reminded employees that department store staff were always being watched by the management,

colleagues, and society at large. Eventually, the employees internalized the disciplinary system

and began disciplining their behaviors by themselves.

Separation Outside of Work

As early as 1906, Hibi articulated this first disciplinary principle in a trade magazine article. On

the risks of employing women, he states in the article:

Ready to keep them under control: When controlling [female employees], letting men and
women share the space is the most dangerous thing. So, to deal with this, while we do not
distinguish women from men for work, we prohibit them from even interacting with each
other outside of the store.321

As can be seen in this statement, Hibi took for granted the need for men and women to share the

work space. Unlike managers at other mixed-sex offices, his strategy was to enforce and to

normalize a strict separation between women and men outside of work. To do so, first, Hibi

manipulated the times at which female and male employees left the store. In the same article, he

continues,

                                                                                               
320
Michel Foucault, Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison (New York: Vintage Books, 1977), esp., 215.
321
Hibi, “Female Clerks,” 162.
Original: 取締の用意 取締りの上に於て一番危険なのは、若い男女を同席させる事ですから、之に対す
る用意としては男女の間柄は職業上では区別をせず、交際の方では店外に於いても相往来する事を禁じ
てあります。

185
  

The time to leave: We enforce the time at which they [the female employees] leave the
store especially strictly. It is because allowing young men and women to leave the store
through a single exit together would not look great to outsiders and because it would be
full of dangers. At the first bell [...], we close the store, and female store staff leave the
store by passing the place where two female supervisors watch them. Fifteen or more
minutes after this [all female store staff leave the store], we receive the report of
completion and ring the second bell. Then, male employees leave the store.322

This passage indicates that Hibi understood that female-male coexistence “would not look great

to outsiders.” To guarantee some space between female and male employees on the way home,

Hibi used the mechanism of time. Of course, there was a possibility that female and male

employees could arrange a time and place to meet somewhere away from the store. However, the

two female supervisors made sure that all female employees left the store more than fifteen

minutes before their male counterparts. In fifteen minutes, women could walk about two-thirds

of a mile. Because the store was close to transit stops, they might have even gotten on a train by

the time that the male employees left the store.323 By manipulating the schedules of workers in

these ways, Hibi did his best to ensure that female and male employees would be separated by a

considerable physical distance outside of work.t

The available records do not indicate exactly how long this practice of staggering the

leaving times of male and female employees continued at Mitsukoshi. However, it seems that the

practice of separating men and women was still common at some department stores, up until the

1920s, by the technique that I refer to as a “commuting timesheet.” In a 1926 interview in the

                                                                                               
322
Ibid.
Original: 退出時間 特に退出の時間を八釜しく仕てあります。若い男女がぞろぞろと一つ口から出て行
く事は他所から見ても余り見善い物では無く、又甚だ危険の畏れがあるから。先づ第一の鈴（客が一人
でもあれば、失礼に当たる故に決して店員の帰るを許しませんから、日に依って異るけれども、此頃な
らば大抵四時から五時までの間です、で営業が済んで、婦人の取締り二名が、宿直長として居る其所を
通過して、女子の店員一同が退出します、之が了って後の十五分間を過ぎますと、此旨を届けて来ます
から、第二鈴を命じます、そこで今度は男子の店員が退出することにしてあります。
323
As Tokyo’s transit system was incrementally built, they needed to wait until 1903 to be able to hop onto a
streetcar. For the development of transit system in Tokyo, see Imao Keisuke Imao, History of Railway Development
in Tokyo, with Maps, 14–31.

186
  

newspaper Yomiuri Shimbun, one female store staff supervisor at an undisclosed “large

department store” with about 600 female employees discussed some of the methods for

maintaining public morals at the store. She states:

We do not allow [female store staff] to hang around on their way back home. We are so
strict that we record their departure time from the store and get the time checked by their
guardians [at home]. Serving as a saleswoman will be such a pain if you cannot tolerate
this strict regulation.324

Modern institutions like schools and corporations disciplined students and employees by making

them follow a predetermined schedule every day, often by using a workplace timesheet, which

recorded the start and end times of the work. Every time their work hours were recorded for the

uses of managers and supervisors, employees must have been reminded of the gaze of their

bosses. The workplace timesheet also had a practical merit of facilitating the precise calculation

of wages and salaries. While the timesheet was a non-gendered disciplinary technique, this

female store staff supervisor indicated that women experienced an extra layer of control. The

commuting timesheet, which required that guardians check and confirm the times when female

store staff departed from the store and returned home, was designed with the clear intention of

regulating the behavior of female store staff outside of work.

The lives of female employees were more restricted than their male counterparts in other

ways, as well. Male employees, who lived independently at designated company dormitories or

headed their own households, were not subject to the same level of supervision or control outside

of work hours. By contrast, female employees typically commuted from home, where they were

supposed to be supervised by their male heads of household. In addition, as I will elaborate

                                                                                               
324
Anon., “Amari Mazushī Ie No Ko Ha Joten’in Nimo Narenu: Bōten Kantoku No Hanashi 余り貧しい家の子は
女店員にもなれぬ: 某店監督の話 [Girls from Poor Households Can’t Even Become Store Staff, A Supervisor
Tells],” Yomiuri Shinbun, January 27, 1926, 7.
Original: 帰りには散歩も許しません，退店時間をちゃんとつけてかえし保護者の印を貰わせると云うや
かましさです。これだけの事に耐えられる覚悟がなければ女店員になることは非常な苦しみでせう

187
  

below, their behavior was more closely monitored and regulated at work. To the female

employees, the time and space between work and home could have otherwise been a brief

liberation from supervision; the commuting timesheet suppressed this possibility by keeping

them under surveillance even when they were in transit.

“Remember male staff are your enemy.”

In addition to these specific techniques that maintained the separation of men and women outside

of work, Hibi often made other reminders to female staff to keep their distance from male staff.

He often disguised these message as part of the store’s progressive commitment to society. As

early as 1904, female staff at Mitsui Kimono Textile Store had to sign an agreement stating that

they would not be engaged in relationships with male coworkers outside of work. Part of the

agreement read, “Female staff should recognize male staff as their own enemies.”325 As Hibi

discloses in his 1906 article, not only did managers make women sign the agreement, but they

also gave each female employee a thick piece of paper printed with the statement, “Remember

male staff are your enemy.”326 Furuya’s recollection indicates that female store staff kept the

paper with them on an everyday basis. In the interview from 1933, Furuya states, “Of course,

they were very strict on the issues of public morality. They got me a piece of paper with a

woodblock print of ‘Remember male staff are your enemy.’ I kept it under my belt just like a

                                                                                               
325
Mitsukoshi Kabushiki Gaisha, Records of Mitsukoshi Co., Ltd., 1904–2000: 100 Years from the Department
Store Declaration, 63. Additionally, the senior staff at Historical Material Room of Mitsukoshi has told the author
that, in earlier times, Mitsukoshi had a rule that women had to punch out five minutes earlier than men, so that they
did not encounter male coworkers on their way home. But so far, the author has not been able to find the evidence to
support the claim.
326
Hibi, “Female Clerks,” 162.
Original: それで、雇ひ入れる時に、
●男子の店員は己の讐敵と思う可し
（第何号） 営業部長（印）
と厚紙に書いた申付書を与え、之に対して「男子の店員は己の讐敵と思い可申候」と云う受書を取って
居ります。

188
  

talisman.”327 Tucked close to their bodies, the paper must have worked as a physical reminder

that managers expected the female staff to minimize interactions with their male counterparts.

While Furuya described the printed principle as a “talisman” that could protect her from

the “enemy,” the piece of paper, of course, did not repel male staff automatically. In reality,

female store staff internalized the principle through constant reminders and through self-

disciplining their own behaviors. In addition to this physical reminder, Hibi repeatedly gave

them verbal reminders. In the same 1933 interview, Furuya reflects on how this activated their

awareness of the broader social contexts:

Mr. Hibi always urged us to work hard by saying, “We do not employ you because you
are cheaper. We employ you to demonstrate that women are able to work.” I think I have
managed to make it through till today because of those [constant reminders.] Come to
think of it, there have been a lot of struggles, but I have somehow endured them till
today.328

This piece of recollection corroborates Hibi’s own statement:

Rules for female store staff: [...] The reason why we hired them [female store staff] is not
that they were cheaper, but that we intend to lead them to someplace farther. So, I always
tell them that we would like to be excused from their service if they intend to stay only
until marriage, or only to pay for their wedding kimono. I tell them that they should be
able to imagine that we have the intention to make every effort to support women.329

                                                                                               
327
Furuya, “The Principle of Remember Male Store Staff Are Your Enemy,” 105.
Original: そりゃ風紀問題は随分やかましくいわれました。男店員は汝等の敵と思へ--と書いた木刷りの紙
を頂いてお守りのやうにして毎日帯の間へ入れていました。
328
Ibid., 104.
Original: が一面において日比さんは給料が安いから貴女方を使うのではない、女でも働くことが出来る
ということを示す意味において貴女方を使うのだからしっかりやってくれと常に激励してくださいまし
た。まあこんなことがあったので今日まで居られたのでせうね今から考へますと随分つらひこともあり
ましたがどうにか今日まで辛抱して来ました
329
Hibi, “Female Clerks,” 161.
Original: 女子店員の心得 [...] 当店で汝等を雇うたのは、女は給金が安いからと云うのでは無い、どこま
でも汝等を導いて行こうという趣意なのである、だからお嫁に行くまでの腰掛にする、又は嫁入りの衣
服を造くる為めに這入るなどは、寧ろ始めから御免蒙りたい、少なくとも女子の味方に成って尽力した
いと云う意思が、此方に有るのですから、汝等にも其辺を察して貰らはねばならぬと言い聞かしてあり
ます。

189
  

The last sentence of the statement, especially, exemplifies how Hibi exploited the store’s

progressive stance of offering women a new job as a disciplinary measure. By repeating that they

were part of a broader progressive agenda, he urged female staff to remain conscious of their

behavior; it was not just a reflection of themselves as individuals, but also the basis for wider

judgments on the fitness of women workers in general.

Manipulating Women’s Bodies

Apart from the principle of “remember male staff are your enemy,” a set of stricter

regulations on women’s bodies was also put in place, which likely served to remind female store

staff that they gathered the attention of managers and visitors. Throughout the period between

the 1900s and 1920s, women’s attire and makeup were more restricted than those of men. In

1921, Mitsukoshi established a uniform for saleswomen: a bluish purple cotton kimono (Figure

3.12).330 Prior to that, several dress codes paved the way to instituting this uniform. In fact, the

store’s employee rules had always included some clauses on proper attire, ever since its

establishment in the seventeenth century. One old clause read, for example, “Do not dress in

anything other than cotton kimono and belts.”331 When they started employing women at the turn

of the twentieth century, the managers began developing more detailed dress codes only for

women. When they put out a call for applications for female sales clerks in 1903, they

simultaneously called for designs for the saleswomen uniform from the public.332 Although none

of the entries was selected for implementation this time, the call for female uniform designs

suggests the managers’ perceived need to regulate the visibility of women on the selling floor.

                                                                                               
330
Mitsukoshi Kabushiki Gaisha, Records of Mitsukoshi Co., Ltd., 1904–2000: 100 Years from the Department
Store Declaration, 99.
331
Ibid., 27.
Original: 衣類は木綿の着物と木綿の帯よりほかのもの着申すまじく候。
332
Ibid., 37.

190
  

Three decades later, Furuya still remembered some of the early regulations that she had to

follow. Her recollection reads:

And the dress code was also pretty strict. We were told: Do not wear any silk kimono, but
always look neat and tidy. Do not show your big toe in tabi socks. Do not put on oshiroi
face powder, and so on. If I remember correctly, we were also told not to show a red
kimono underskirt when dealing with the hem of the kimono.333

The store management specified not only how to dress, but also how to wear makeup. In addition

to how they looked, their behavior was regulated. In 1908, one of the Mitsukoshi managers,

Kasahara Ken’ichi, detailed how female store staff should dress and behave. In this trade journal

article entitled “Modesty That Female Store Staff Need to Have,” Kasahara commented on the

four kinds of things that female staff should take care of: hair, makeup, clothing, and attitudes.

As for clothing and makeup, his comments were congruent with Furuya’s memory. But

according to Kasahara, the regulations were even more extensive and thorough; they covered not

only the visual but also the olfactory and auditory realms. For example, on saleswomen’s hair,

Kasahara writes,

Even though they keep it clean, women’s hair generates a disgusting odor especially in
the hot season. This is because women use oil for traditional style hairdos, and the oil
ferments on the head because of the body heat. [...] To avoid oil, they can opt for
sokuhatsu hairdos [束髪, a hairstyle similar to Pompadour style]. Because female store
staff need to interact with many customers, I want them all to choose sokuhatsu (original
emphasis).334

                                                                                               
333
Furuya, “The Principle of Remember Male Store Staff Are Your Enemy,” 105.
Original: それから服装なども随分やかましうございまして、絹物は一切着てはいけない常に小奇麗で足
袋の親指が出ていてはいけない。白粉はつけていけない等いはれました確か赤い腰巻などが裾を捌く毎
に人の目に触れるやうではいけない等といふやうな心得へも聞かされたやうに覚えています。
334
Kasahara Ken’ichi 笠原健一, “Joteni’n Wa Ikanaru Tashinami Wo Yōsuru Ka 女店員は如何なる嗜みを要す
るか [The Preferences That Female Store Staff Need to Have],” World of Commerce 10, no. 1 (1908): 53.
Original: 一体婦人の髪は如何に清潔にして居ても、動もすれば一種の悪臭を放つもので、殊に暑期に於
ては甚だしい。是れは油を塗ける為め、頭の熱で其の油が腐敗するからである。[...]油を塗けずに結うに
は束髪のことである。で、多くの顧客に接しなければならぬ女店員は、凡て束髪にして貰いたい。

191
  

In this first section of the article, Kasahara directs readers’ attention to the smells that women’s

bodies generated. His reasoning for demanding sokuhatsu does not seem very logical,

considering the data. As mentioned above, as of 1908 when Kasahara wrote this article, women

accounted for only 8.1 percent of the store staff. Even in the sundry goods division where the

ratio of women was the highest, only 19.4 percent of the total staff was female. Technically,

then, male store staff interacted with more customers than female staff did. Yet, Kasahara did not

demand that men regulate their body odors. As we have seen, since female staff received more

complaints than male ones from customers, Kasahara’s sensitivity to women’s olfactory presence

was understandable to some extent. As a manager, he could have been aware of potential

customer complaints about such a “disgusting odor.” Perhaps to mitigate in-store experiences,

then, the managers intervened in the physiological workings of saleswomen’s bodies.

Kasahara was also sensitive to auditory experiences that female store staff generated. In

the last section, entitled “Do not have personal conversations in front of customers,” he notes:

“When a few women get together, they tend to have useless chatter. Outsiders do not feel

comfortable about those. And if emotional customers encounter such a situation, they will

definitely feel uncomfortable. [Female store staff] should absolutely refrain from doing so.”335

Here again, Kasahara was conscious of the potential gaze of customers. Being afraid of

repercussions, Kasahara went on to discipline the store staff who might have personal

conversations on the selling floor.

Managers regulated other behaviors, especially the ways women dressed, based on their

assumptions about how customers would feel. The specifications that Furuya encountered in the

                                                                                               
335
Ibid., 54. Original emphasis.
Original: 然に動もすれば女と云うものは、二三人寄れば無駄言を言い度がる癖があるもので、他見にも
余りに見つとも好い訳のものではない。それに若し感情強い顧客でも居れば、屹度悪意を抱くものであ
るから、これは大いに慎まなければならぬ。

192
  

early 1900s regarding her attire continued to be refined over the years. The “Dress Code for

Female Store Staff,” which was finally established and announced on July 16, 1917 at

Mitsukoshi, articulates the detailed ways that managers attempted to police the appearance of

female store staff:

•   Do not look showy; limit your kimono to Chichibu meisen [a traditional, high-end
textile from the Chichibu region] and silk-cotton mixed spun fabric. Wear cotton
kimonos whenever possible, and make cleanliness your top priority.
•   Kasuri [a patterned textile] is allowed only if it is non-showy navy or iironomo
[neither white nor black].
•   Do not wear a white kimono with kasuri, vertical stripes, or chūgata [middle-size]
patterns.
•   Inside the store, do not wear haori [hip-length kimono-style jackets].336

The prohibited textiles, as well as the jacket, were generally perceived as luxuries. By restricting

women from wearing these items, the managers attempted to encourage women to “dress tidy

rather than showy.” Like the disdain for body odors and idle chatter, managers seemed to have

paid excessive attention to the possibility that customers would perceive the women as looking

too gaudy. And every time they receive these criticisms and tighter regulations, female stores

staff must have been reminded that their behavior was being surveilled by visitors and managers.

Encouraging Self-discipline

Through such repeated reminders that they were being watched by store managers,

coworkers, and society at large, female staff eventually developed mechanisms for disciplining

themselves. For example, after three decades of working at Mitsukoshi, Furuya internalized the

                                                                                               
336
Mitsukoshi Kabushiki Gaisha, Records of Mitsukoshi Co., Ltd., 1904–2000: 100 Years from the Department
Store Declaration, 91.
Original: 1917 7 月 16 日 女店員服装規定 掲示（秘書課）
１．秩父銘仙，絹綿混織の程度に止め決して華美に流る可らす，可成るは綿服を用い唯清潔を旨とすべ
し
１．絣は派手ならざる紺，又は色物に限りこれを許す
１．白絣，白縞，中形は用う可らず
１．店内にては，羽織は用う可らず

193
  

disciplinary gaze and started casting it at junior saleswomen. Furuya became a female store

supervisor at Mitsukoshi’s flagship store by 1933. In her interview from that time, Furuya

explained how she trained junior saleswomen at the store, stating:

In the first month, we lecture on general matters, such as the store organization, ways of
speaking, and attitudes toward customers. And then we ask them to go onto the selling
floor with seniors’ supervision. After that, each departmental chief is responsible for
supervising the saleswomen. I, too, always walk and look around to monitor how they
work, and correct bad behaviors.337

As of 1933, about 29 percent of 3,474 store staff were female.338 Much like the male managers

who monitored early female staff, Furuya herself came to take on the role of monitoring junior

saleswomen and reminding them that they were always watched or “supervised” by the

management at large.

Furthermore, as more and more employees embodied these disciplinary mechanism, they

no longer depended on the presence of supervisors, male or female. One report of an actual

department store written by two journalists illustrates that female and male workers saw it as

completely normal to segregate themselves at work. In this 1937 magazine article, female and

male journalists reported on what it was like to work at a department store by immersing

themselves in the environment. Disguised as store staff, they worked for a day at Shirokiya, a

leading department store that was located close to Mitsukoshi’s flagship store. Both of the

journalists shared observations of store staff enjoying a lunch break. The male journalist

describes his experience:

                                                                                               
337
Furuya, “On Female Store Staff,” 171.
Original: 入店致しますと最初一ヶ月間は、店の組織、言葉遣い、接客態度という様な一ト通りの事柄を
講習致します、そして古参の人々について売場へ出てもらひます。その後は各売場売場の主任が統督す
る事になって居りますし、私も常に各売場を歩いて執務振りを見、悪い処を正す様致しております。
Like Furuya, a few other old-time female store staff had took the female store supervisor positions at different
branches by this time. On other female store supervisors at Mitsukoshi, see Ibid., 172.
338
Anon., “Mitsukoshi Ten’in Shokuin Shirabe 三越店員職員調べ [Survey on Mitsukoshi Employees],” in
Hyakkaten Sōran: Mitsukoshi 百貨店総覧: 三越 [A Comprehensive Guide of Department Store: Mitsukoshi], ed.
Hyakkaten Shōhō Sha 百貨店商報社 (Tokyo: Hyakkaten Shōhō Sha, 1933), 1970.

194
  

How different it is from the customer dining hall! The ceiling is low. There are clean but
simple tables and chairs. I am surprised that the items on the menu are so inexpensive.
[...] The men and women split up into two areas, and everybody devours food. Here, the
stomachs of the 1,600 employees are filled, one by one.339

In the morning, this male journalist had worked with female employees in the bargain

department and interacted with female customers, which suggests that there was no gendered

separation enforced on the selling floor. But in the lunchtime dining hall, he observes that male

and female colleagues took lunch separately. As this male journalist makes no specific comment

on the separation, it is likely that this practice of segregation was taken for granted and even

understood as voluntary. Subsequently, after lunch, the female journalist reports seeing the male

and female workers spending time separately on the rooftop.

We went up onto the rooftop for an hour break. On the left of the rooftop plaza, there is a
180 tsubo [about 0.14 acre] space where employees can take a walk. There, we can see
some female store staff after lunch. The concrete-paved side enclosed by metal fences is
thick with six to seven male staff who are sunbathing.340

No visual material is available to illustrate the details of Shirokiya’s employee rooftop plaza of

this time. However, the female journalist’s account indicates that the space was separated into a

walkable side and a fenced, concrete-paved side, and female and male employees enjoyed their

lunch breaks separately on either side. The female journalist also reports in the piece that she

                                                                                               
339
Joshi Kisha 女子記者 [Female Reporter] Danshi Kisha 男子記者 [Male Reporter], “Niwakajikomi No Ten’in Ni
Bakete Hyakkaten Ni Hataraku Ki 俄か仕込みの店員に化けて百貨店に働く記 [Notes on Working at a
Department Store, Disguised as Staff],” Fujo Kai 婦女界 [World of Women] 55, no. 5 (1937): 320.
Original: 小さな潜り戸を開けて、薄暗い通路を辿ると、さっと展けている店員食堂。話に聞いた桃源郷
のような、奇怪な感じがいたしました。こんな蔭に、こんなに広い場所が、と思われるやうな食堂で
す。でも客用食堂に較べると、何という違いでせう。
低い天井、清潔ですが、粗末な卓や椅子、お値段の廉いのに、記者はびっくりしました。十五銭の定
食、十銭のハヤシライス、ライスカレーといった調子です。男女二席に分かれていて、みんな盛んに食
料をつめ込んでいます。ここで、従業員千六百人の胃袋が、順ぐりに充たされてゆくのです。(320)
340
Ibid., 325.
Original: 一時間の休憩で屋上に上りました。店員の遊歩場は、屋上広場の左手百八十坪位の小広い場
所、チラホラお昼のすんだ女店員さんが姿を見せています。金網めぐらしたコンクリートの側に、男店
員が六七人目白押しの日向ぼっこ。

195
  

interacted with a male customer while working in the lining-collar [han’eri 半襟] department in

the afternoon, so clearly the life of a female store staff was not completely separate from

encounters with men. But these observational accounts suggest that female and male employees

kept their distance from each other whenever possible, even though they worked in a mixed-sex

environment.

Another account by a female department store employee aligns with the journalists’

report. Murase Hanako, a female staff at an undisclosed, “large department store” in Tokyo,

shared her workplace experiences in a special section entitled “Pleasure or Pain: Authentic

Memoirs by Professional Women” in a women’s magazine. In the subsection entitled “Accused

of Groundless Rumors,” Murase states,

The thing I hate the most is the male-female relationship. If we [female staff] talk with
male employees too intimately, we awkwardly find ourselves being gossiped about while
we are not aware of it. In addition, young male employees sometimes behave awkwardly.
It might be OK if it is a young one, but when older ones, who boast about their higher
ranks, say something creepy to us, that is most troublesome. Because if we reject them
too firmly, other people will make us suffer from every side.341

In addition to her interactions with male colleagues at work, Murase was aware that she needed
to be careful about her behavior outside of business hours. She continues:

The thing I love the most is days off. But on the next day, you might find yourself in a
completely groundless rumor that this person and that person went somewhere together.
That is trouble. Because of such a rumor, an unexpected relationship sometimes emerges
between a man and a woman who had nothing to do with each other until then.342

                                                                                               
341
Murase Hanako 村瀬花子, “Yorokobi Ka Kanashimi Ka: Shokugyō Fujin No Itsuwarazaru Shuki, Dai
Hyakkaten No Jotenin Yori 喜びか苦みか: 職業婦人の偽らざる手記, 大百貨店の女店員より [Pleasure or Pain:
Authentic Memoirs by Professional Women, From a Female Department Store Staff],” Fujin Kurabu 婦人倶楽部
[Women’s Club] 10 (1924): 253.
Original: 一番厭なのは男女の関係です。少し男の方と、仕事の上で親しく話などしてゐると、もう知ら
ぬ間に、変な噂がたってゐるのです。それに若い男の店員が、時々変な素振りをします。まだ若い方な
れば仕方がないとしても、別家格などと威張っているおじいさんから変な事を言われるので一番弱りま
す。だってあまりひどくはねると、他の色々の方面から苦しめられるんですもの。
342
Ibid.

196
  

The prevalence of exaggerated rumors suggest the constant presence of coworkers’ gazes, which

followed a female worker like Murase. Thus, to avoid finding themselves in “trouble,” female

store staff monitored and regulated their own behaviors. In this memoir, Murase only pointed out

the prevalence of these possibilities in general, without discussing her own behavior specifically.

A diary kept by another female department store worker suggests that the repercussions

of getting involved with male coworkers were such that both men and women learned to monitor

their own behavior. In 1930, the diary keeper, Terasawa Aki, started working for the Ōsaka

branch of Takashimaya, another major department store. Terasawa mentions multiple occasions

when she walked home with male employees. For example, in her account from February 23,

1932, she notes: “I walked back with Yoshikawa [a male coworker]. He said that we should not

go back home together this often because the store is very strict about female-male relationships.

Even though we two simply talk to each other on our way back.”343 This diary entry suggests that

Terasawa’s male friend, Yoshikawa, was conscious of the collective gaze of his coworkers and

was attempting to avoid a misinterpretation of their relationship, even though there was nothing

other than friendship between the two. The fear of repercussion that Yoshikawa started bearing

in his own mind was one effect of the systematized discipline. Just like Kasahara internalized the

customers’ gaze, as revealed by the close attention he paid to the bodies of the store staff,

                                                                                               
Original: 一番嬉しいのは休日ですが、其の翌日になると、誰と誰とが仲良く何処其処へ言ったとかなん
かと、根も葉もない事を云われるので困ります。それが為に、今迄なんともなかった男女の間に、思わ
ぬ関係が生まれるというやうなことがあります。
343
Terasawa Aki 寺沢あき, Aru Shokugyo Fujin No Nikki: Taisho 12–Showa 58 ある職業婦人の日記: 大正 12 年
〜昭和 58 年 [A Diary of A Professional Woman: 1923–1983], diary, digital data provided by Terasawa's nephew,
February 23, 1932. Terasawa Aki is a pseudonym that I use for this female diary keeper. Although Terasawa worked
at a different department store in a different city, the regulations were similar and her general everyday life is
relevant to the studies of saleswomen in Tokyo.
Original: ２／２３ 吉川と歩いて帰ったが、女と男の間のやかましいおりから、彼はあまり一緒に帰るま
いと言った。ただ話し相手に帰る二人ではあるが。

197
  

Yoshikawa internalized the coworkers’ gaze. Once the collective gaze of coworkers and

managers was finally inside one’s own mind, it was no longer necessary to patrol and manipulate

the behaviors of the staff. Rather, they voluntarily avoided each other, at least when they thought

they were being watched by others.  

Evading Discipline

If workers at the department store were so embedded in the gendered system of

discipline, what were the moments for potential evasion, if any? It is not easy to paint a full

picture of how female staff might have acted in and against the evolving disciplinary

mechanisms, due to the scarcity of available evidence. As first-hand accounts of female store

staff are fragmentary, it is difficult to understand their subjective thought processes. Nonetheless,

some of the narratives available allude to the agency of female store staff in subverting the

restrictions placed upon them, albeit in small, subtle ways.

Complicit disobedience might be one way of describing how the female staff achieved

some freedom from surveillance. For example, Murase, the woman who shared fears of getting

involved in groundless gossip at work, also discussed how she manipulated her work timesheet.

According to Murase, store staff were required to record the times when they left the store to run

outside errands. In her account, she explains the ways she managed to have her errand timesheet

adjusted:

Another thing that I enjoy more than the days off is visiting other branches during
business hours. We visit other branches by the managers’ requests, or we can request the
visits. When going out for the visits, we write down the time of departure from our store
on an outside errand card and get a signature from the departmental chief. We submit the
card to the reception. Upon our return to the store, we write down the time of return. We

198
  

bring a gift back to the receptionist. If we don’t, we will have trouble next time. But with
gifts, they manipulate the return time, even if we returned later than expected.344

Essentially, Murase bribed the receptionist, who was supposed to guard the system by making

sure that the recorded times were correct, so that managers could keep track of the staff. But

once Murase decided to disobey this system, in order to enjoy some extra time outside of the

managers’ gaze, and the receptionist agreed to take part in the disobedience in exchange for a

gift, the disciplinary mechanism became manipulatable. The errand timesheet became evidence

of bureaucracy, not of the employee’s actual behaviors. Perhaps managers could have avoided

this disobedience by rewarding the receptionist for sticking to the rules. If the receptionist was

sufficiently rewarded, he/she might have remained more loyal to the managers. But at the

department store where Murase worked, receptionists appeared willing to break these rules,

given the right incentive from other staff. Once Murase became aware of this crack in the

mechanism and decided to take advantage of it, she could evade surveillance, at least for a brief

length of time. While these acts of disobedience could have had serious repercussions, the

receptionist co-conspired to find a way of working around the system.

Like Murase, other female staff found that maintaining a critical attitude toward

disciplinary mechanisms allowed opportunities for subversion. By way of another example,

Terasawa, the department store staff in Ōsaka, actually used work as an excuse to gain more

freedom from the strictures placed on her at home. Terasawa’s older sister was a norm-abiding

woman, who repeatedly scolded Terasawa for returning home late at night. In one incident that

                                                                                               
344
Murase, “Pleasure or Pain: Authentic Memoirs by Professional Women, From a Female Department Store Staff,”
254.
Original: もう一つ休日以上嬉しいのは、営業時間中に主任の命令又はお願いして、他の店へ見学に行く
事です。その時は外出伝票に出店時間を書いて、主任の印を戴き、受付へ出して行きます。帰ってくる
と、帰店時間を書入れます。帰りには受付に土産を買って来てやるのです。そうしないとこんど外出す
る時に一寸困るのです。土産次第で帰店時間なんか、少々遅れても、どうとでもしてくれます。

199
  

Terasawa recorded, on January 15, 1932, she departed the store past eleven o’clock at night after

long, unwanted work hours. Once at home, her sister scolded Terasawa, who was already

exhausted. Her account from that day reads, “My sister’s words, ‘That’s enough, don’t work that

late,’ broke my strained heart.” Because Terasawa came back home late frequently, her sister

even started suggesting that her father force Terasawa to leave her job. A month later, on

February, 15, 1932, after another incident where Terasawa returned home late, she writes:

Because of the incident last night, I heard my sister suggest to my father that he make me
leave the store. She must be afraid of me getting a bad reputation [from neighbors]
because of the late returns. But I was on my bed, listening with some ridicule to her
speaking.345

As can be seen from these incidents, Terasawa’s sister had internalized prevalent public moral

standards, which maintained that women should not be out of the home late at night. She cared

about how her sister – and presumably, she herself – was viewed by the society at large, and

continued trying to make Terasawa leave the job. But Terasawa did not have a similar fear of

repercussions as her sister and responded to these attempts to regulate her freedom differently. In

addition to the “ridicule” she felt towards her sister, Terasawa intended to disobey and evade

surveillance. Her entry from the same day continues:

My father was silent. He might be worried about me getting nervous and troubling him, if
I leave the job. I thought of telling them that I would consider leaving the job on a lot of
conditions. It gave me great pleasure to see my father give no response to my sister’s
pseudo-advice. I have another appointment with M [a female friend] tomorrow, but I
thought to myself that I would deceive them perfectly.346

                                                                                               
345
Terasawa, A Diary of A Professional Woman: 1923–1983, February 15. 1932.
Original: 昨晩の事から、姉が父に、店を止めさせては、と言っているのを聞いた。晩の遅いのに悪い評
判でも立ってはとの思いからではあるが、寝床の中の自分は、半分は嘲笑的に聞いていた。
346
Ibid.
Original: 父は黙っていた。店を止めれば、神経的な顔をして困らせられることを思ってか。店を止める
ならいろいろと条件を付けてやろうと考えていた。姉の忠言がましいことに、父が返答の一言も無かっ
たのが痛快に思った。明日又Ｍと約束したが、うまく誤魔化してやろうと思う。・・・

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Thus, Terasawa not only ignored her sister’s scolding, but she also confessed that was

intentionally manipulating how she appeared to her family. As she planned, Terasawa started

lying and omitting facts to account for her late returns. For example, on March 26, 1932, she

wites, “I went to [illegible] in Shinsekai [an entertainment district] from around 7:30 PM. When

my sister said I was late again, I said I was busy and didn’t say that I went [to Shinsekai].”347

Furthermore, on October 21, 1932, Terasawa’s sister appeared in the store and had a quarrel with

Terasawa on the selling floor. Even on that day, she went out with her friend and returned home

late. Writing about this incident, she recounts:

I went to Iroha [a dining hall] in Sen’nichimae district with H [a female colleague] of the
accounting department. It’s a quiet place. It was a great experience for my future. Once I
was at home, how bad my sister’s mood was! I hid that [night-out] under the pretext of
the job… It’s probably not wise to tell the truth.348

Rather than strictly adhering to social expectations, Terasawa took advantage of the fact that her

job sometimes required her to work late hours and used it as an excuse to account for her fun

nights out of the house.

What Murase and Terasawa shared was their ability to externalize themselves as well as

the gazes toward them, in contrast to the people who internalized the gazes of managers,

coworkers, and customers. In other words, they were able to maintain what sociologist Erving

Goffman calls “role distance,” or a sense of distance between their socially expected roles and

their own senses of selves.349 With the ability of role distancing, Murase identified an

                                                                                               
347
Ibid., March 26, 1932.
Original: 夜 7 時半時半頃から新世界の＊に行く。・・・・遅かったね、との姉のことばに忙しさを口に
して、行ったことは隠してしまった。
348
Ibid., October 21, 1932.
Original: 給料計算のＨと千日前の「いろは」に行く。静かなしんみりした所だ。後学の為に好い経験を
やったと考えている。
家に帰った時、案の定機嫌の悪いこと。しかし店用にかこつけて上手に隠しておいたが・・・。本当の
事を言うのも考え物だ。
349
Erving Goffman, Encounters: Two Studies in the Sociology of Interaction (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1961),
85–152. In addition, social psychologist Alex Gillespie has similarly identified the externalization of self from the

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opportunity to form an alternative, complicit relationship with coworkers. Terasawa, meanwhile,

expressed her distance when listening to her norm-conforming sister’s scoldings “with some

ridicule.” Even though they were still embedded in gendered disciplinary mechanisms in most

parts of their life, they found moments when they could reflect on and assess the role that they

were expected to play, especially when they were away from their workplaces and home,

whether they were running errands or out for fun with friends. Thus, no matter how much

managers attempted to discipline their female store staff and normalize moral standards, women

still found ways to partially extricate themselves, at least as long as they were physically able to

move around at their own discretion.

Spending Sensory Capital on Freedom

As I have argued, managers employed women primarily to capitalize on their sensory

capital. Because it was important for women’s bodies to be visually available, female staff

needed to be located at strategic points in the store, where interactions with visitors were

expected. Male colleagues continued to share these space with female workers, despite the moral

risks of working together, because it was the perceived differences between genders that made

the presence of women seem new and exciting to visitors. Because men and women had to

coexist in the same space, the gendered mechanisms of spatial ordering in the department store

were less tangible, compared with the spaces explored in the other case studies. For instance, in

the case of higher educational institutions, women were systematically excluded out of the

systems and existing spaces of higher education. While this exclusion made it difficult to expand

                                                                                               
system as one of the “distinct processes of extrication from the immediate situation.” Gillespie argues that, when one
take a distance from the immediate situation, human agency is formed. See Alex Gillespie, “Position Exchange : The
Social Development of Agency Position Exchange : The Social Development of Agency,” New Ideas in Psychology
30, no. 1 (2012): 34.

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campuses for women’s specialized schools, the spatial segregation of men’s and women’s

institutions also made it possible for them to operate with more freedom. Subsequently, women

explored and identified alternative resources to expand their campus on the city’s periphery in

their own way. This process ultimately empowered women. Unlike the educated women who

were operating outside of the system, however, female department store staff – seniors and

juniors alike – eventually internalized the disciplinary mechanisms controlling their behaviors. In

other words, even if, at first sight, it might appear that female department store employees were

freer than the women excluded from seeking higher education, because of the lack of physical

borders separating them from their male counterparts, this chapter has suggested that women

were indeed being controlled in more subtle ways.

While controlling employees’ thinking and behaviors through regulations and everyday

reminders was a powerful way to maintain standards of public morality, it is also true that jobs in

urban institutions like department stores provided these women with unprecedented opportunities

to leave home and explore the city. Department store staff like Murase and Terasawa were able

to circumvent the increasingly bureaucratic system of discipline and generate some time to

explore their own pleasures in the city, alone or with friends, during the day and after work.

While further study is necessary to understand precisely how these professional women used

work to expand their place in the city, it is clear that their presence was part of what made these

stores seem modern and new. In this way, these department store workers, like the students at

Tsuda College and the women who gathered at Ueno Park to socialize, were part of the broader

reorganization of Tokyo around the turn of the 20th century. Perhaps, businesses and institutions

like Shiseidō Parlor proliferated around the department stores in part to cater to these workers, as

203
  

they went out of the home, saw non-family members on an everyday basis at the workplace, and

formed new relationships with coworkers.

204
  

Conclusion
Reordering City Space as Women’s Place

Ordering and Contesting Space in Modernizing Tokyo

This dissertation has interrogated how women in Tokyo, around the turn of the twentieth century,

invented alternative uses of the spaces outside of home, in order to establish their place in a

society and city that was being radically reordered and rearranged. As other scholarship has

shown, women were systematically placed in a subordinate position in modern Japanese society.

Governmental and corporate authorities, whose leadership and membership were dominated by

men, projected their ideals and expectations onto how women should and should not behave,

manipulating women’s access to resources and behaviors through the control of space. At the

same time, in other ways, Japan’s modernization was understood to include a larger public role

for women. As we have seen, some women took this opportunity to venture out into new

terrains, in order to learn, socialize, and work.

In the first case study, the MESC neglected women’s needs and desires for higher

education, offering no material and financial support for women’s specialized schools, whose

students and staff dreamed of obtaining equal standing with male-dominated, well-funded

universities. Real estate developers also saw no benefit to helping women’s institutions, even as

they actively invested in the growth of men’s institutions in order to increase the value of

particular neighborhoods. In the second case study, national government officials and

intellectuals encouraged women to socialize outside of the home, for reasons that were more

about supporting diplomacy and modernization than about the women themselves. At the same

time, women also felt the need to build and maintain their social relationships more efficiently.

However, there were no designated spaces for women’s social gatherings, while men’s clubs

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were able to establish clubhouses with the funds that they earned and owned. As members of

women’s organizations started meeting in relatively large groups to socialize, securing a

sufficient space for gathering became an issue, so women were forced to carve out venues by

using their homes, familiar places, and emerging urban spaces, such as parks. In the third case

study, corporate managers set up Mitsukoshi Department Store as an institution where urban

visitors from various walks of life consumed female store staff as sensory capital. Managers

needed women workers on the selling floor, in order to keep updating the consumer experience;

however, because women were still expected to primarily serve their families, managers also

strictly monitored and controlled women’s behaviors and bodies, both inside and outside of the

store, in order to preserve expectations surrounding public morality. Using various disciplinary

techniques, they enforced the principle of separation outside of work, in order to maintain

coexistence between the genders at work.

Thus, the gendering of spaces outside of the home shaped the ways that women could

move through the world on multiple levels – from the financial and material resources that they

needed to be able to obtain property, to the ways they could dress, speak, and even smell in their

workplaces. In their control of space, governmental and corporate authorities did not necessarily

need to rely on the physical segregation of women from men – the most explicit, visible way of

articulating gendered difference spatially. Rather, by depriving them of resources – including

their access to funds, land, and dedicated structures – as well as limiting the ways that they could

use certain spaces, these authorities sufficiently hindered the expansion of women’s activities

outside of the home. These less tangible ways of control were distinct from the mechanisms of

spatial ordering that had dominated during the Tokugawa period, which relied primarily on

physical segregation based on status.

206
  

These forms of spatial discrimination and differentiation took place on such high levels

that women had little opportunity to actively choose what kinds of structures they would like to

have as a school, a space for gathering, or a workplace. As we have seen, their contestations with

these mechanisms for gendering spaces did not always involve physical modifications of the

built environment. In the first case study, Tsuda College students and staff could not afford a

purpose-built campus until 1931, more than three decades after the school’s establishment. Until

then, with the prospect of women’s higher education still ambiguous, they reinterpreted

residential buildings and purchased land plots incrementally. In the second case study, TEGSAA

and JWAE gradually expanded their realm of activities. They first repurposed homes and

residences, then began to use other semi-public spaces that were already familiar to them, before

starting to venture out into parks. TEGSAA constructed their own “alumnae room” in 1933, and

JWAE constructed their own clubhouse in 1908. While it took them at least two decades to

acquire access to these purpose-built spaces, their interactions with the non-domestic built

environment started well before the physical construction of these structures. In the third case

study, female department store staff at Mitsukoshi took advantage of opportunities to leave their

homes and workplaces, using spaces in the city for their own pleasure. By finding ways around

the mechanisms of surveillance and control that they faced at home and at work – whether by

abusing the timesheet system or using work as a pretext to spend more leisure time with friends –

female department store employees devised ways of distancing themselves from the gazes of

families and managers. These women did not construct any distinct spaces or structures to

subvert the norms that kept them under men’s surveillance. Yet, they did, at least occasionally,

evade the technologies designed for controlling their use of space, their behaviors, and their ways

of thinking; they were able to enjoy some sense of freedom on the streets of the city, in the

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daytime and at night, alone and with friends. In these ways, women circumvented and disrupted

some of the gendered spatial mechanisms that sought to control them, and they began to make a

place in the city – well before they could execute their own visions for the city at a systematic

level, as in the role of architects, urban planners, policy makers, or politicians.  

Limited Acceptance as a Civilizing Project

Across the three cases, women’s circumventions were possible because society had no

choice but to accept women’s presence outside of the home, at least to some extent; after all,

their participation was considered necessary for the modernization of Japan. This acceptance was

always closely connected to male stakeholders’ sense of urgency to catch up with the West. In

the first case study, while the national government controlled educational resources, it could not

prevent other stakeholders, such as small-scale landowners and international supporters, from

assisting Tsuda College. Moreover, although the MESC generally discriminated against women

in higher education, their attitudes toward women’s education were not always consistent; in

their efforts to bring together different ideals for what modern women should be, at times the

policies they ended up implementing were contradictory or piecemeal. As we saw, the founder,

Tsuda Umeko, had already constructed a support network in the United States through her early

experiences abroad. Ironically, her first study abroad trip, which allowed her to receive a

secondary education, was funded by the very national government that did not approve her

school as a university until after WWII. Upon his return from traveling through Europe and the

United States, the high-ranking government officer Kuroda Kiyotaka had proposed that the state

establish a study abroad program for girls. Kuroda believed that, in order to bring up the next

generation of Japanese people, the future mothers of Japan should be educated like the American

women he saw on the trip. The government approved Kuroda’s proposal and sent Tsuda and

208
  

other girls to the United States in 1871.350 What Tsuda envisioned after her time in the United

States, though, was not to educate women to be future mothers. She was determined to offer

higher education and academic experiences for women at the same level as their male

counterparts. In other words, Tsuda College’s expansion was made possible because the national

government foresaw the need for some form of women’s education, in order to grow and expand

the nation, even as they also sought to limit and control those opportunities.

In the second case study, as we have seen, the expectations for women to participate in

shakō grew first out of diplomatic needs. Again and again, government officials and intellectuals

reminded Japanese women that Western women were more comfortable in front of non-family

members, and that they expected Japanese women to perform like their Western counterparts for

the good of the nation. It was for these reasons that the officials and intellectuals encouraged

women to socialize outside of the home. Parks, which provided women’s groups a space to get

together, were also a product of the national government’s civilizing project. Synthesizing the

expectations for shakō and the availability of parks, TEGSAA and JWAE were able to expand

their spatial network for gathering. By building this network, I suggest that these women also,

perhaps unwittingly, contributed to building the groundwork for the later more openly political

suffrage movement.

In the third case study, the inspiration for the employment of female store staff was again

derived from the experiences of managers and executives who visited department stores in the

                                                                                               
350
Kuroda provided funding to the girls through Hokkaidō Development Commissioner [Hokkaidō Kaitaku Shi 北
海道開拓使], the government agency that were in charge of the development of the north region of Japan called
Hokkaidō. But no students funded by this program went back to Hokkaidō after their studies abroad. Biographer
Iguro Yatarō criticizes Kuroda’s move as an ineffective policy (for Hokkaidō). Kuroda, from his experience of
visiting the United States, seems to have been fascinated by American cultures and civilization in general, and
believed in American education. See Iguro Yatarō 井黒弥太郎, Kuroda Kiyotaka 黒田清隆 (Tokyo: Yoshikawa
Kōbunkan, 1977), 52, 72–73.

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West. Exemplified in the narratives of Mitsukoshi manager Hibi, they modeled the future of

kimono textile stores after department stores in the West, emulating many of their retail

practices. Without much discussion or examination, department store managers also hired

women and began experimenting with the idea of female store staff. Women who had some

education and were searching for paid work responded to the managers’ call and/or actively

sought out the transforming retail institution as a potential employer. These women established a

track record and proved the value of their sensory capital to managers. While managers also

criticized and carefully controlled how female employees appeared to visitors, they needed

women on the selling floor. Ultimately, female department store staff used work to generate time

to seek their own pleasures. In these kinds of ways, elite men, whose mission was to make the

nation comparable to and able to compete with the West, accepted women into non-domestic

spaces of education, socializing, and work, at least to a limited degree.  

Societal Collapse, Reordering, Ambiguity, and Negotiation

As I have discussed in the introduction, to these men, following Western practices or

Westernization was just a technology for modernizing the society.351 But what they perceived as

Western often included women’s increased presence outside home. To the elite men who were

desperate to establish a new social order – one that could replace the hierarchical status system

that had previously grounded every aspect of life – the technology of Westernization must have

been appealing. They had to accept the concept of women outside of the home, even though it

was in conflict with their ideal of who, where, and what Japanese women should be. At the same

time, these ideals were themselves changing, as women negotiated new roles and expectations

for what it meant to be a good wife and a wise mother – or to be a modern girl.

                                                                                               
351
Suzuki, “What Is Modern Period?,” 5.

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To what extent and how they accepted or even welcomed women to these spaces varied.

In the case of higher education, the system was based on the idea of physical separation between

men and women in distinct schools. In the case of gathering spaces, the national and municipal

governments designed regulations to encourage women to use public parks, where people from

different backgrounds could interact with each other. In the case of department stores, it was

acceptable that women work with men, but unacceptable that women interact with male

colleagues outside work. When we look at the three cases altogether, we see variety and

inconsistencies across the mechanisms for gendering the spaces that women had started to

frequent in the city.

These inconsistencies suggest that, in the aftermath of the political upheaval, men at the

top were still confused, or in disagreement; they did not really have a long-term agenda on how

to treat women in modern Japanese society. As much as they hoped to outperform Western

powers, those elite men, who mostly came from the former samurai and wealthy merchant clans,

must have had a desire to keep their powerful place in the society, well above women. After all,

it was not only women who were gauging their place in the society; elite men were also trying to

determine what their place in modern society would be, despite their relatively high social and

economic status. The uneven and ever-evolving spatial mechanisms for gendering that they

established reflected a sense of ambiguity shared by, and negotiations between Japanese people,

who had lost the basis of their identities upon the collapse of the Tokugawa social order.

Demonstrating this sense of ambiguity, which was shared by men and women in modern

Japan, is one of the contributions of this dissertation. This marks a departure from existing

studies on modern Japanese women and space, which, as I have noted, have tended to focus

exclusively on home as the place for women to display their creativity and power, while often

211
  

taking for granted that women were uniformly restricted from moving in non-domestic spaces.

As we have seen, male stakeholders in power did not enforce a single ideological principle

across all spaces outside of the home. Rather, they selected and created spatial strategies for

gendering on a case-by-case basis, in an effort to strike a balance between Westernization and

the ideal of women as wives and mothers whose primary function in society was to serve their

families and maintain their homes. The ad hoc nature of these spatial restrictions also resonates

with recent work by Japanese historians, who argue that the Meiji period was a time of collapse

rather than that of construction. The collapse of the self-contained, micro-social orders of

Tokugawa Japan threw everyone into a state of identity crisis and confusion.352 By contributing

to the rebuilding of space, in top-down and bottom-up ways, the disoriented citizens, male and

female alike, made, unmade, and remade the new order of society.

These kinds of insights, however, have yet to permeate histories of Japanese architecture.

But, following the kinds of arguments I have presented in the preceding chapters, these histories

might look considerably different if we were to take these insights seriously. What happens, for

instance, if we rethink elements of Japanese cities that are considered quintessentially modern,

such as transit infrastructure, suburban neighborhoods, new types of houses and home

ownership, multi-tenant office buildings, and places for leisure, and reinterpret them from the

perspective of societal collapse, rather than that of “development” and “progress”? How varied

were the mechanisms for reordering these spaces? What were the overarching strategies to

overcome this shared sense of societal disorder and instability, if any? And how did women and

other marginalized populations in the city contribute to these changes?  

                                                                                               
352
Yokoyama, Meiji Restoration in Edo-Tokyo, esp.172.

212
  

Toward the Democratization of Architectural Studies:

Grappling with Evidence, Power, and Knowledge

Across the three case studies, this dissertation has shown women’s active roles in

contesting gendered spatial mechanisms, by using diverse and different kinds of evidence. I have

shifted between interpretative axes, moving from the campus sites and buildings, to park

regulations, to job assignments inside the department store. As I addressed in the introduction, I

made the decision to move across different spaces, in part, because an ideal mix of spatial and

ethnographic evidence pertaining to women’s interactions with any particular type of space in

modern Tokyo is difficult to come by. Women’s first-hand accounts are not always available,

especially in the second case study. Detailed architectural drawings of the built environment

were also often missing. These methodological challenges limited the kinds of arguments I could

make in the second case study, in particular, and in the third case study to a lesser extent. In part

for these reasons, I have taken what could be called a heuristic approach; I do not claim, in other

words, to offer a comprehensive understanding of women’s uses of non-domestic spaces.

However, through my analyses and interpretations of women’s actions and their relationships to

these non-domestic spaces, I have developed methodological and interpretive methods that I

hope other scholars will find useful, particularly those whose work is focused on excavating the

spatial interactions of under-documented, underrepresented populations.

One of my approaches was to pay close attention to location. I have used this approach in

the first and third case studies, at different scales. In the first case study, we saw that Tsuda

College located its campus in four different places in the city, while they constantly pursued

larger campuses. In the third case study, I looked into the locations of saleswomen inside

Mistukoshi, which expanded over time, but continued to be concentrated in the higher traffic

places within the store. The other main strategy I employed was to focus on specific rules and

213
  

regulations for spatial uses, particularly in the second and third case studies. Again, the scales of

analyses that I used in each case were different. In the second case study, the park regulations

defined what kind of activities park users could or could not engage in. They also included

regulations on physical buildings, defining what kind of businesses were allowed in the parks.

By looking at the broader context of women’s spatial uses for socializing, including repurposed

homes and other familiar and accessible spaces across the city, the scale of analysis was more

macroscopic. In the third case study, the rules for female employees were more microscopic.

They defined women’s bodily behaviors, focusing on smells, noises, and appearances.

These two approaches do not necessarily allow us to identify what direct contributions a

marginalized population made to the transformation of the city as a whole, or to specific spaces

and places within the city. However, they are useful categories of interpretation, which help us to

ask questions about the systems, structures, and mechanisms that those people might have had to

work alongside or against. For historical studies, in particular, first-hand narratives of the

underrepresented are often left unrecorded. Moreover, the spaces that they inhabited are often

ephemeral and no longer physically available. Detailed architectural drawings are scarce. Even

with these difficulties, there are still ways of finding useful evidence. For instance, data on

locations is still traceable because addresses are one piece of basic personal identifiable

information that tends to be recorded in public records. Furthermore, regulations are usually

generated and recorded by authorities, which leaves a trail of documentary evidence. Asking

questions like “Why were they here?” and “Why were they needing to be regulated?” could be a

useful starting point for other scholars, as well. These approaches allow us to begin to see clues

about the roles of the socially underrepresented in any kind of spatial transformation, regardless

of social category, geographical scale and region, or temporal scope.

214
  

By emphasizing these methodological contributions, I am not arguing that we can fully

interrogate the spatial interactions of social minorities without additional first-hand accounts,

detailed maps and architectural drawings of the spaces, and archaeological fieldwork. In order to

understand all of the dimensions of women’s uses of spaces in modern Japan, there are still a

number of questions that need to be explored. For example, how much did these women intend

to resist and contest the systems that restricted their spatial uses? Were they only responding to

each situation as it emerged, or did they have broader goals for the future? What were their

spatial practices in other kinds of spaces, such as city streets and train cars? How were these uses

of different kinds of spaces related or unrelated? How did women from different classes use and

experience space differently?

In particular, it is important to note that the types of material that I have been able to

collect shaped the kinds of women’s stories that I have been able to highlight in this dissertation.

Namely, I have focused primarily on women from the higher social strata of modern Japan. In

the first chapter, Tsuda Umeko was a daughter of a former samurai, who had opportunities to

study abroad multiple times. She was unsatisfied with teaching aristocrat daughters at Peeresses’

School and committed to expanding rigorous education to women in other social strata. Yet

because all these women’s specialized schools were not subsidized by the government,

opportunities for women’s higher education depended largely on the financial situations of the

students’ households. After all, most students at women’s specialized schools came from the

emerging middle class, whose fathers and husbands held professional positions, like government

officials, lawyers, doctors, and teachers. For this reason, the expansion of the middle class itself

drove the increased demand for women’s higher education between the mid-1915s and mid-

215
  

1920s.353 As I have discussed in the second chapter, the female socializing crowds were women

from aristocratic or other high status families. Although these women (or at least the fathers of

these women) were not necessarily committed to women’s education that was as rigorous as that

provided at Tsuda College, they were still educated women. Moreover, they were from elite

backgrounds, which means that they did not have to prioritize wage-work over homemaking,

childbearing, and socializing to be good wives and/or mothers. Their socializing was possible

because they could rely on the income of their husbands or fathers. In the third chapter, I focused

on female workers. While some of these staff might have sought out employment for their own

financial independence and professional career fulfillment, like Furuya, three quarters of female

department stores staff who responded to a survey conducted in the early 1930s declared their

class as “middle class.” As the middle class itself expanded from the mid 1915s onward, women

in the expanding middle class felt the need to complement the household income and started

working at department stores.354 Nevertheless, all of the women I have discussed in the case

studies were in or above the middle class. While some of the experiences might have been shared

across different social strata, then, the class-specific aspects of women’s interactions with the

city call for another set of in-depth case studies, whose sources I would expect to be even more

limited due to the lack of archival evidence.

                                                                                               
353
New Middle-Class Women Evaded Traditional Norms: Mechanisms of Expanding Women's Higher Education
in Prewar Japan,” 210–20. Sasaki contends that, by acquiring higher-level education and securing professional jobs
like teachers, graduates from women’s specialized schools also secured marriage with men in the similar social
situations, and that the class was reproduced through this process.
354
For the survey, see Matsuda Shinzo 松田慎三, Shintei Depatomento Sutoa 新訂デパートメント・ストーア
[Department Stores, Revised Edition], revised ed (Tokyo: Nihon Hyoronsha, 1939), 298–99. Matsuda stated, “It is
generally known that lower-class women work at factories, while middle-class women work at retail shops. This is
true for Japan [尚下層階級の婦人は工場へ、中流階級の婦人は商業経営へと云はれてゐるが、日本も亦其
の例に洩れない] (298).” In addition, sociologist Yoshimi indicated that most of department store female staff
came from the “lower middle class.” See Yoshimi, Geopolitics of Visual City: Modern Era as a Perspective, 85.

216
  

To address the above questions in future case studies, we certainly need to develop other

potential sources of evidence. To reiterate, one major challenge in uncovering women’s

subjective spatial experiences in modern Japan is the scarcity of relevant first-hand accounts.

When we interrogate ordinary women – that is, women who were not themselves professional

writers – in modern Japan, scholars have tended to use articles in magazines (especially women’s

magazines) and newspapers as primary sources of evidence. These sources are relatively easy to

obtain because they were published widely and tend to be systematically archived. However, as

media forms that were geared toward the expanding middle class in the early twentieth century,

magazine and newspaper articles tend to represent perspectives particular to people who were

relatively affluent. Relying solely on these sources thus leaves out the voices of people from a

lower social status. In this dissertation, I have purposefully used sources that have not previously

received serious attention from scholars, including the Alumnae Reports of Tsuda College, as

well as the bulletins of TEGSAA and JWAE. While these are useful sources for uncovering less

investigated aspects of women’s interactions with spaces in their everyday lives, even these

sources are limited to expressing particular class perspectives. Internal bulletins, especially, were

intended for the relatively well-to-do because they were usually funded by membership dues.

Additionally, internal bulletins tend not to carry extensive first-hand accounts, as they focus

more on concise reporting of organizational activities.

Scholars interested in focusing their attention on less affluent women, as well as on the

more intimate, subjective realm of women’s experiences, could potentially pursue two kinds of

sources. First, we could delve into court records to reveal the historical experiences of people

from a lower social strata – a method developed by the Annales school, among French historians.

The historian Fujino Yūko uses this method in her recent investigation of manual laborers in

217
  

modern Japan. While Fujino focuses on Japanese men from a lower social class, we could also

use court records to trace women and their relationships with space.355 In addition, we should

continue with our efforts to obtain and systematically archive women’s unedited personal

records, such as diaries and oral histories. As I discussed in the introduction, ordinary women’s

personal accounts have rarely been systematically archived in Japan. In part, it is this scarcity of

available unedited accounts have brought scholars to magazine and newspaper articles. In her

recent review essay, historian Rui Kohiyama points out, “We do not have many local historical

societies, nor do we have local libraries willing to accept artifacts left by ordinary women in

Japan.”356 My experience of conducting this dissertation research resonates perfectly with

Kohiyama’s statement. For example, the diary of Terasawa, the female saleswoman, has helped

me understand how she and her contemporaries might have conceptualized the experiences of

the surveilling gazes at home and workplace. When I came across her diary, it was published

online by Terasawa’s nephew, using a free web space called Page ON. I was able to contact her

nephew through the website, and he kindly shared the diary data with me. However, the website

no longer exists, as the Page ON service was discontinued as of February 28, 2015.357 Who

could take care of such valuable materials like Terasawa’s diary? Is there any other diaries like

Terasawa’s left, and are the owners willing to share them with scholars for research purposes?

How and where could we possibly find those materials? Aside from interpretations of existing

                                                                                               
355
For the methodological discussions on the use of court records, see , Fujino, History of the Ordinary, the City and
Riots: Tokyo, 1905–23, 3, 11–12. While the method of using court records to excavate the voices of the socially
underrepresented originated from the French Annales school, Fujino focuses more on events than the long durée,
sympathizing with the method proposed by cultural historian Peter Burke. See Peter Burke, “History of Events and
the Revival of Narrative,” in New Perspectives on Historical Writing, ed. Peter Burke (University Park: Penn State
University Press, 2001), 234–37.
356
Kohiyama, “Women’s History at the Cutting Edge in Japan,” 67.
357
NTT Communications NTT コミュニケーションズ, “Hōmupēji Sakusei Sābisu Page ON No Sābisu Shūryō Ni
Tsuite ホームページ作成サービス「Page ON」のサービス終了について [On the Discontinuation of Website
Service Page ON],” 2014, https://www.ntt.com/about-us/press-releases/news/article/2014/20140728.html.

218
  

materials from different angles, then, I would argue that the future job of historians includes

developing and maintaining these kinds of archives.

While such systematic efforts for material excavation and archiving are important, in the

meantime, it is crucial that we, historians of the socially underrepresented, acknowledge and pay

closer attention to the relationships between power, evidence, and knowledge. On the most

fundamental level, this lack of traditional sources detailing women’s interactions with the city in

transformation reveals the already uneven landscape of historical evidence, and, hence, the

contingency of historical narratives that we reconstruct from them. Particularly in the twenty-

first century, archivists are highly aware of the sticky dynamics involved in selecting what and

how to preserve and catalogue any kind of materials.358 In other words, what is formally

available and deemed legitimate as evidence is often a product of social politics and power

relations. By using materials that could be less interesting to traditional architectural historians,

such as wrapping paper of the department store, bodily regulations on female staff, and internal

bulletins of women’s organizations, I have pushed the boundary of architectural evidence in this

dissertation. Along the way, I have also offered a few interpretative models for studies on the

built environment, for other scholars interested in understanding how marginalized and under-

documented populations use and create spaces of their own.

By reiterating the importance of seemingly un-architectural evidence, I complicate the

notion of what is traditionally considered architectural. Some scholars have made continuous

efforts to reconceptualize buildings and structures that had been traditionally deemed less

                                                                                               
358
For the discussions on the relationships between archived materials and social power, see, for example, Joan M.
Schwartz and Terry Cook, “Archives, Records, and Power: The Making of Modern Memory,” Archival Science 2,
no. 1–2 (2002): 1–19; Randall Jimerson, “Archives for All: Professional Responsibility and Social Justice,” The
American Archivist 70, no. 2 (2007): 252–81; Terry Cook, “Evidence, Memory, Identity, and Community: Four
Shifting Archival Paradigms,” Archival Science 13, no. 2–3 (2013): 95–120.

219
  

significant, by reframing them as “vernacular architecture.”359 In doing so, they have challenged

the all-too-famous distinction between “building” and “architecture,” made by prominent

architectural historian Nikolaus Pevsner: “A bicycle shed is a building; Lincoln Cathedral is a

piece of architecture.”360 While scholars of vernacular architecture have democratized the

definition of architecture to some extent, they have continued to focus more on the tangible

aspects of buildings, or what has been physically constructed. What I suggest here, through my

interpretations of women’s interactions with urban environments, is that people can make

architectural contributions without physically building spaces. Architectural contributions can be

intangible, as we’ve seen in the ways that TEGSAA used parks and how department store staff

evaded managers’ surveillance. I hope that other scholars find my methods helpful and join me

in democratizing the history of architecture and cities, along with the definition of what counts as

architecture, even further.

                                                                                               
359
On the definition of architecture in vernacular architecture studies, see, for example, Dell Upton and John
Michael Vlach, “Introduction,” in Common Places: Readings in American Vernacular Architecture, ed. Dell Upton
and John Michael Vlach (Athens, 1986), xv–xvii; Barbara Burlison Mooney, “General Introduction,” in Vernacular
America: Architectural Studies from Winterthur Portfolio, ed. Barbara Burlison Mooney (Chicago: University of
Chicago Press, 2014), 4.
360
Nikolaus Pevsner, An Outline of European Architecture, Reprint (London: John Murray, 1948), xix.

220
 FIGURES AND TABLES

Age
25
Grad
24
School
23

22
Research Course Research Course
21
University
20

Women’s 19
Specialized School
Specialized School
Higher 18
School
(University Prep) 17
Prep Course
16

15
Middle School (Boys’) Higher Girls’ School 14

13

12

Elementary School 11

Figure 1.1. A diagram showing the position of specialized schools in Japan’s educational system,
after is revision by the 1918 University Order. A supplemental illustration from Monbushō, ed., A
Hundred-Year History of Japan’s Educational System, unpaged, simplified by the author.

221
 1st Site
1900–01

Candidate Areas
for the 4th Site

2nd Site 4th Site

1901–02

Impe
1931–present

rial P
3rd Site city center

alac

British Embassy
e
1902–31
3rd Site
1902–31

222
Figure 1.2. Maps showing the locations of Tsuda College’s first to fourth sites as well as candidates for the fourth site. Annotated by
the author on Sanbō Honbu Rikuchi Sokuryōbu, “Topographic Map, 1:25000” (Tokyo: Sanbō Honbu Rikuchi Sokuryōbu, 1896–1909,
1917–24).
 British Embassy

Imperial Palace

legend
1st site
2nd site

223
3rd site
railway
streetcar
moat
embankment
schools

Figure 1.3. A map showing the first, second, and third sites of Tsuda College as well as transportation. “Railway” was Shōsen 省線 ,
a railway developed by Ministry of Railways. Annotated on a map reproduced from Joshi Eigaku Juku, Forty-year History of Tsuda
College, 49.
Figure 1.4. Tsuda College’s first building in Ichiban Chō, Kōjimachi, Tokyo, 1900. Reproduced
from Tsudajuku Daigaku Kyūjūsshunen Kinen Jigyou Shuppan Īnkai 津田塾大学九十周年記
念事業出版委員会 , ed., Tsudajuku Daigaku: Tsuda Umeko to Juku No Kyūjūnen 津田塾大学 ：
津田梅子と塾の九十年 [Tsuda Umeko and Tsuda College, 1900–1990] (Kodaira: Tsudajuku
Daigaku, 1990), 26.

224
Figure 1.5. Tsuda College’s second site in Motozono Chō, Kōjimachi, Tokyo, 1901. Reproduced
from “Motozono Chō Kōsha Nite 元園町校舎にて [At the Motozono Chō School Building],”
PH0148, Tsuda College Digital Archive, accessed April 15, 2017, http://da.tsuda.ac.jp/open/detail.
do?oid=UK5AmeKjWC&item=57530.

225
Figure 1.6. School of Science building in TIU Hongō Campus, Tokyo, c.1885. Reproduced from
Nihon Kenchiku Gakkai, Architectural Photograph Collection, Meiji and Taisho Periods, 52.

226
Figure 1.7. School of Engineering building in TIU Hongō Campus, Tokyo, c.1888. Reproduced
from Nihon Kenchiku Gakkai, Architectural Photograph Collection, Meiji and Taisho Periods,
34.

227
Figure 1.8. Brick building at Keiō Gijuku in Mita, Tokyo, c.1887. Reproduced from Keiō Gijuku
Sōritsu Hyakugojūnen Shashinshū Hensan Īnkai 慶應義塾創立百五十年写真集編纂委員会 ,
ed., Fukkokuban Zusetsu Keiō Gijuku Hyakunen Shōshi 復刻版図説 ・ 慶應義塾百年小史 [A
Pictorial History of Keio University, 1858–1958, Reprint] (Tokyo: Keiō Gijuku, 2008), 44.

lecture hall

Figure 1.9. Tokyo Specialized School in Waseda, Tokyo, c.1890. Annotated by the author on
Waseda Daigaku Daigakushi Henshūjo, A Hundred Year History of Waseda University, Vol.1,
image number 21.

228
 toko

7
garden

229
8
4
5
2

1. Entrance 6 3
1
2. Auditorium
3. Waiting room for commuter students
4, 5. Dining hall, living & bed room for Professor Bacon, classroom
6. Kitchen
7. Living & bed room for on-campus students (former reception room)
8. Living & bed room for Professor Tsuda

Figure 1.10. A schematic plan of the first building in Ichiban Chō, 1900, not to scale. Annotated by the author on a plan reproduced
from Tusda, “Report of Tsuda College’s Relocation from the Founder Tsuda Umeko.”
230
Figure 1.11. A site plan of Tsuda College campus at the third Figure 1.12. A site plan of Tsuda College campus at the third
location, July 1902. Created by the author, synthesizing the location, March 1903. Created by the author, synthesizing the
drawings and descriptions from: Tsuda Eigaku Juku, Forty-year drawings and descriptions from: Tsuda Eigaku Juku, Forty-year
History of Tsuda College, 146; Tsuda, “Request for Approval to History of Tsuda College, 146; Tsuda, “Report of Constructing
Establish a Branch School for the Private School.” New Buildings for the Branch School.”
 *April 1905

231
*September 1903

*September 1903

Figure 1.13. A site plan of Tsuda College campus at the third Figure 1.14. A site plan of Tsuda College campus at the third
location, February 1904. Created by the author, synthesizing the location, August 1908. Created by the author, synthesizing the
drawings and descriptions from: Tsuda Eigaku Juku, Forty-year drawings and descriptions from: Tsuda Eigaku Juku, Forty-year
History of Tsuda College, 146; Tsuda, “Request for Obtaining History of Tsuda College, 146; Tsuda, “Request for Approval to
Teacher’s License without Examinations.” Add Buildings.”
 *May 1910

athletic field athletic field

*Site C paid off in July 1912

232
*February 1911

*October 1913

Figure 1.15. A site plan of Tsuda College campus at the third Figure 1.16. A site plan of Tsuda College campus at the third
location, February 1917. Created by the author, synthesizing the location, August 1922. Created by the author, based on the drawing
drawings and descriptions from: Tsuda Eigaku Juku, Forty-year and descriptions on Tsuda Eigaku Juku, Forty-year History of
History of Tsuda College, 146; Tsuda, “Request for Approval to Tsuda College, 146.
Add School Buildings.”
 (JPY)
13k
12k Legend
Other
11k
By Fundraising Campaigns
10k
Endowment
9k Debt
8k
Rural Site
Payment

7k
6k
5k
4k
3k
2k
Site C Debt in P3
1k
Site A Debt in P1
0
Site B
-1k Site D
Debt

-2k
-3k
Purchase Phase 1 Purchase Phase 2 Purchase Phase 3 Purchase Phase 4
1901–03 1903–12 1912–17 1917–28

Figure 1.17. A graph showing how Tsuda College financed the site purchases, 1901–28. Created
by the author from the fiscal data on Tsuda Eigaku Juku, Forty-year History of Tsuda College,
82, 96–99, 129, 140–41.

233
 Expansion in the 3rd Site
400

350

300

250

200

150

100

50

0
1900 1905 1910 1915 1920 1925 1930 1935 1939
Figure 1.18. A graph showing Tsuda College’s enrollment, 1900–39. Created by the author from
the enrollment data on Tsuda Eigaku Juku, Forty-year History of Tsuda College, 72–73, 108–9,
136, 194–95, 233–34.

234
 classroom

student *[illegible]
sink athletic room

classroom

235
laundry

Lower level floor plan of the new school building

for Tsuda College, a private school in Tokyo
scale: 1/100

Figure 1.19. Lower level floor plan of Henry Woods’ Hall. Annotated by the author on a drawing in Tsuda, “Joshi Eigaku Juku
Setsuritsusha Tsuda Umeko Yori Kōsha Zōchiku no Gi Monbushō e Shintatsu Negai 女子英学塾設立者津田梅子より校舎増築の儀
文部省へ申達願 [Request for Reporting to MESC: Adding School Buildings, from Tsuda Umeko, the Founder of Tsuda College],”
request to the MESC, October 30, 1909, 629.A5.14.-23, TMA.
 classroom classroom classroom

waiting room
for auditorium
auditrium

236
classroom classroom

Upper level floor plan of the new school building

for Tsuda College, a private school in Tokyo
scale: 1/100

Figure 1.20. Upper level floor plan of Henry Woods’ Hall. Annotated by the author on a drawing in Tsuda, “Request for Reporting to
MESC: Adding School Buildings, from Tsuda Umeko, the Founder of Tsuda College.”
 Additional dormitory lower level floor plan (scale:1:100)

storage alcove

8 tatami* 4.5 tatami*

courtyard courtyard 4.5 tatami*

6 tatami*

storages
existing dorm bathroom
6 tatami*

4.5 tatami*

237
sink

shelf
dining hall

storages
shelves

kitchen

dirt floor
dirt floor
storage

Figure 1.21. Lower level floor plan of the additional dormitory (north dormitory). Annotated by the author on a drawing in Tsuda,
“Request for Approval to Add Buildings.” * indicates bedrooms with the size. Tatami is a Japanese unit for area. One tatami equals to
17.79 square feet. In the drawing, the bedrooms are indicated only with the room size.
 Additional dormitory upper level floor plan (scale:1:100)

existing dorm 6 tatami*

4.5 tatami*

6 tatami*
4.5 tatami*

4.5 tatami*

storages
6 tatami*

storages

238
4.5 tatami* 4.5 tatami*
storage

shelf
storages
4.5 tatami* backup room
storages
storage

4.5 tatami* 4.5 tatami* 4.5 tatami*

storages
storages

storages storages
4.5 tatami* 4.5 tatami* 4.5 tatami*

Figure 1.22. Lower level floor plan of the additional dormitory (north dormitory). Annotated by the author on a drawing in Tsuda,
“Request for Approval to Add Buildings.” * indicates bedrooms with the size.
Figure 1.23. Henry Woods Hall, c. 1910. Reproduced from “Gobanchō Joshi Eigaku Juku Kōsha,
Shinsai Mae 五番町女子英学塾校舎震災前 [School Building, Tsuda College in Gobanchoō,
Before the Disaster],” PH0135-5, Tsuda College Digital Archive, accessed May 13, 2018, http://
da.tsuda.ac.jp/open/image.do?oid=UK5AmeKjWC&item=57520_5.

Figure 1.24. Maps showing how shigaichi 市街地 (densely inhabited urban districts) expanded
between 1880 and 1932 in Tokyo. Reproduced from Tokyo To Shuto Seibikyoku 東京都首
都整備局 , “Shuto Ken Seibi Keikaku, Toshikeikaku 首都圏整備計画 ・ 都市計画 [Plan for
Metropolitan Area Development, Urban Planning]” (Tokyo: Tokyo To Shuto Seibikyoku, 1964),
unpaged.

239
 Pre-earthquake, –1923

240
Post-earthquake, 1924–45

Figure 1.25. Maps showing the locations of higher education campuses built before and after the 1923 Great Kanto Earthquake until
the end of WWII. Annotated by the author using the location data compiled from published histories of the institutions, on Sanbō
Honbu Rikuchi Sokuryōbu, “Topographic Map, 1:25000” (Tokyo: Sanbō Honbu Rikuchi Sokuryōbu, 1896–1909, 1917–24). Not that
the darker it is on the maps, the more densely populated the area is.
 1930 1935

Tsuda College

TUC
Shōdai Yoka Mae
Sakuradutsumi

Sakuradutsumi

241
Figure 1.26. Map comparison of the pre- and post-relocation of TUC. A literal translation of “Shōdai Yoka Mae” is “In Front of TUC’s
Preparatory Course.” Annotated by the author on Sanbō Honbu Rikuchi Sokuryōbu, “Topographic Map, 1:25000” (Tokyo: Sanbō
Honbu Rikuchi Sokuryōbu, 1930, 1935).
 windbreaks

part marked as
future extention
on plan

242
Figure 1.27. An aerial view of the campus, 1931. Annotated by the author on “Kodaira Chōkanzu 1 小平鳥瞰図 1 [A Bird-
Eye View of Kodaira, 1],” PH0097, Tsuda College Digital Archive, accessed August 31, 2016, http://da.tsuda.ac.jp/open/detail.
do?oid=UK5AmeKjWC&item=57442, using the information of Sato Kōichi 佐藤功一 , “Joshi Eigaku Juku Kōsha Shinchiku Kōji
Sekkeizu Ikkai Heimen Zu 女子英学塾校舎新築工事設計図 ・ 一階平面図 [First Floor Plan, Tsuda College Lecture Hall Construction
Project],” February 1930, plan (1:100), Tsuda Umeko Material Room (TUMR).
Figure 1.28. Getting on the school bus at Kokubunji Station, c.1931. Reproduced from Tsudajuku
Daigaku Kyūjūsshunen Kinen Jigyou Shuppan Īnkai, Tsuda Umeko and Tsuda College, 1900–
1990, 75.

243
Table 1.1. Rural site acquisition methods and prices. Created by the author based on the
information on: Keiō Gijuku, [A Hundred Year History of Keio Gijuku, Vol.2-II, 297–306; Hōsei
Daigaku Hyakunenshi Hensan Īnkai, A Hundred Year History of Hosei University, 642–43;
Tōkyū Fudōsan Kabushiki Gaisha Sōmubu Shashi Hensan Chīmu, Fifty Years of Real Estate
Development, 58–60; Joshi Eigaku Juku, “Joshi Eigaku Juku Kōchi Henkō Narabini Kōsha
Kenchiku no Ken 女子英学塾校地変更並校舎建築ノ件 [Request for Changing the School Sites
and Constructing New Buildings],” request to the Mayor of Tokyo Prefecture, May 12, 1930, 313.
F1.01.-4., TMA; Tokyo Joshi Daigaku 東京女子大学 , “Tokyo Joshi Daigaku Shikichi Ninka
Negai 東京女子大学敷地認可願 [Request for Approval of the New School Site],” request to the
Mayor of Tokyo Prefecture, May 18, 1920, 303.G1.01.-12, TMA; Inoue, “Request for Proof of the
School Site.”
Method
Governmental Men’s or Year of Total Amount
School Search Assisted Exchanged with Searched and
or Private Women’s Acquisition Donated by the Area Spent
by the the Developer's Purchased by
Developer
Developer Property the School
Tokyo Institute of
G M 1924 - - 74.3 ac. - 74.3 ac. ¥0
Technology

TUC G M 1925 - - 43.5 ac. - 43.5 ac. ¥0

TUC (Prep Course) G M 1927 - - 24.4 ac. - 24.4 ac. ¥0

Keio University
P M 1930 59.5 ac. 26.1 ac. - - 85.6 ac. ¥223,706
(Prep Course)
Hosei University
P M 1934 24.6 ac. - - - 24.6 ac. ¥0
(Prep Course)

TWCU P W 1919 - - - 21.9 ac. 21.9 ac. ¥143,451

Tsuda College P W 1922 - - - 20.6 ac. 20.6 ac. ¥100,840

JWU P W 1934 - - - 73.6 ac. 73.6 ac. ¥260,396

244
Figure 1.29. Street between the station and the new site of JWU. c.1930. Reproduced from Nihon
Joshi Daigakkō Bokin Īnkai, “Toward the Establishment of Women’s Comprehensive University,
Relocation, and Construction: The Purpose of Fundraising at Japan Women’s University.”

245
Figure 1.30. The condition of new site of TWCU. Annotated on Iogi Chō Tochi Kukaku Seiri
Kumiai, “Record of the Project,” unpaged.

246
247
Figure 1.31. A site plan of the fourth campus in Kodaira, Tokyo. Sato, “Joshi Eigaku Juku Shinchiku Kōji Sekkeizu Haichi Zu 女子
英学塾新築工事設計図 ・ 配置図 [Site Plan, Tsuda College Construction Project],” February 1930, plan (1:600), TUMR. Planned but
incomplete buildings were highlighted by the author with dashed lines.
248
Figure 1.32. A site plan of the fourth site with the buildings that were completed upon relocation. Reproduced from the memorial
photobook: Joshi Eiagku Juku 女子英学塾 , “TSUDA COLLEGE” (Tokyo: Ezaki Shashin Kan, 1931), unpaged, TUMR.
249
Figure 1.33. First floor plan of the new lecture hall in the fourth site, Kodaira, Tokyo. Sato, “First Floor Plan, Tsuda College Lecture
Hall Construction Project.”
Figure 1.34. The lecture hall at the fourth campus of Tsuda College, c.1931. Reproduced from
Tsudajuku Daigaku Kyūjūsshunen Kinen Jigyou Shuppan Īnkai, Umeko Tsuda and Tsuda
College, 1900–1990, 71.

Figure 1.35. A double-occupancy room in the dormitory, 1931. Joshi Eiagku Juku, “TSUDA
COLLEGE,” unpaged (illustration entitled “Kishukusha Shinshitsu Futari Shitsu 寄宿舎寝室二
人室 [Double-Occupancy Room, Dormitory]”).

250
Figure 1.36. TUC lecture hall, c.1933. Reproduced from Kodaira Shi Hensan Īnkai, History of
Kodaira City: Modern and Contemporary Periods, 227.

251
 1st site

N
E
W
S
2nd site
3rd site Edo
Castle

Figure 1.37. An Edo map of the area where the first, second, and third sites of Tsuda College.
The white areas were all samurai residences. Annotated by the author on Kageyama, “An
Illustrated Map of Oedo Banchō.”

252
 1881 1909
Meguro Station Meguro Station

Figure 2.1. Comparison of 1881 and 1909 maps around Meguro Station, showing the expansion of residential areas. Red indicates
gardens attached to residences. Yellow indicates paddy field; green indicates agricultural field. Annotated on Tokyo To Shinagawa Ku,
History of Shinagawa Ward: Maps and Statistics Appendices, 6–9.

253
Table 2.1. TEGSAA gathering dates, venues, and attendees. For data details, see the footnote
196.
Year Month Day Event Venue Venue type Number of
attendees
1896 Apr 07 3rd spring reunion Inside TEGS Familiar (school- 70+
gathering related) place
1896 Nov 07 4th fall reunion In front of Meguro Member home 77
gathering Station, Mrs.
Watanabe's vacation
home [bessō ]
1897 May 01 5th spring reunion Inside TEGS Familiar (school- 70-80
gathering related) place
1897 Oct 13 6th fall reunion Inside TEGS Familiar (school- NS
gathering related) place
1898 Jun 11 7th spring reunion TEGS's Western- Familiar (school- 57
gathering style guest room related) place
1898 Nov 12 8th fall reunion The girls' school Familiar (school- 65
gathering related) place
1899 Apr 15 9th spring reunion TEGS Familiar (school- NS
gathering related) place
1899 Nov 11 10th fall reunion Shimizudani Park, Park / in-park NS
gathering Akasaka Kioi Chō establishment
1900 Nov 01 11th fall reunion Inside TEGS's new Familiar (school- NS
gathering school building related) place
1901 Mar 29 12th spring reunion TEGS Familiar (school- 40+
gathering related) place
1901 Oct 26 13th fall reunion Ōmori Station Park / in-park 60+
Hakkeien Garden establishment
1902 Mar 29 14th spring reunion TEGS's Western- Familiar (school- 40+
style guest room related) place
1902 Oct 11 15th fall reunion Sangitei, in Ueno Park / in-park 50+
Park establishment
1903 Mar 30 16th spring reunion TEGS's Western- Familiar (school- 60+
style guest room related) place
1903 Nov 24 17th fall reunion Sangitei, in Ueno Park / in-park NS
Park establishment
1904 Mar 25 18th spring reunion TEGS's guest room Familiar (school- 70+
related) place
1905 Apr 01 19th spring reunion TEGS's guest room Familiar (school- 60+
related) place
1905 Oct NS 20th fall reunion Ms. Coats' (a former Member home NS
teacher) house, in
Koishikawa
1906 Mar 30 21st spring reunion TEGS's guest room Familiar (school- 75
related) place
1906 Oct 27 22nd fall reunion Mukōjima Kagetsu Park / in-park ~60
Garden establishment
1907 Mar 30 23rd spring reunion TEGS's guest room Familiar (school- NS
related) place
1907 Oct 26 24th fall reunion Ōmori Hakkeien Park / in-park NS
Garden establishment

!254
Year Month Day Event Venue Venue type Number of
attendees
1908 Mar 18 14th spring reunion TEGS's guest room Familiar (school- 75
related) place
1908 Oct 10 14th fall reunion Sangitei, in Ueno Park / in-park 33
Park establishment
1910 Apr 01 16th spring reunion TEGS Familiar (school- NS
related) place
1910 Sep 26 Reunion planning The girls' school Familiar (school- 6
committee meeting related) place
1910 Nov 12 Fall reunion TEGS Familiar (school- About 60
related) place
1910 Jun 04 Send-off party for TEGS's Western- Familiar (school- NS
Ms. Okuno Mineko style guest room related) place
(a long-time board
member of TEGSAA)
1910 summer Grave visit Aoyama Cemetery Other 5

!255
Table 2.2. JWAE gathering dates, venues, and attendees. For data details, see the footnote 196.

Number of
Year Month Day Event Venue Venue type attendees
1886 NS NS Started as Tokyo Established an office Office / 5
Women's Colloquium at 17, Nakachō, clubhouse
Ushigome
1887 Jan 15 1st gathering Private kindergarten Educational NS
in Suidōbatachō, facility
Koishikawa
1887 Dec NS 11th gathering NS Not specified NS
1888 Jan 21 Inaugural gathering Lecture hall, Tokyo Educational NS
(as JWAE) Imperial University facility
(TIU)
1888 Feb 17 1st regular gathering NS Not specified NS
1888 Mar 3 Special gathering NS Not specified NS
1888 Mar 27 Special gathering NS Not specified NS
1888 May 6 Special gathering NS Not specified NS
1888 Nov 17 8th regular gathering NS Not specified NS
1889 Jan 19 Annual inauguration University lecture Educational NS
& 1st general hall, 1st Higher facility
assembly Middle School (prep
school for TIU),
Hitotsubashi
1889 Feb 16 10th regular University lecture Educational 67
gathering hall, Hitotsubashi facility
1889 Mar 16 11th regular University lecture Educational 50+
gathering hall, Hitotsubashi facility
1889 Apr 20 12th regular University lecture Educational 39
gathering hall, Hitotsubashi facility
1889 May 18 13th regular Auditorium, Familiar 160+
gathering Peeresses' School, (kazoku-related)
Yotsuya place
1889 Jun 15 14th regular Auditorium, Familiar 70+
gathering Peeresses' School, (kazoku-related)
Yotsuya place
1889 Sep 21 15th regular Statistics Association Restaurant / NS
gathering Meeting Hall in the rental hall
precinct of Yasukuni
Shrine
1889 Oct 19 16th regular Peeresses' School, Familiar 30+
gathering Nagatachō (kazoku-related)
place
1889 Nov 16 17th regular Peeresses' School, Familiar 60+
gathering Nagatachō (kazoku-related)
place
1890 Jan 26 University lecture Educational 250+
hall, Hitotsubashi facility
1890 Feb 15 18th regular Peeresses' School, Familiar 60+
gathering Nagatachō (kazoku-related)
place

!256
 Number of
Year Month Day Event Venue Venue type attendees
1890 Mar 15 19th regular Peeresses' School, Familiar 50+
gathering Nagatachō (kazoku-related)
place
1890 May 11 Regular gathering Vacation home of Member home 80+
Baron Ōkura
Kihachirō
1890 Jun 21 21st regular Peeresses' School Familiar 60+
gathering (kazoku-related)
place
1890 Sep 20 Regular gathering University lecture Educational 35+
hall, Hitotsubashi facility
1890 Nov 16 24th regular Peeresses' School, Familiar 60+
gathering Nagatachō (kazoku-related)
place
1891 Jan 25 3rd general University lecture Educational 110+
assembly hall, Hitotsubashi facility
1891 Feb NS Regular gathering Dōjinsha, Educational 50+
Edogawachō, facility
Koishikawa
1891 Mar 21 Regular gathering Peeresses' School, Familiar 90+
Nagatachō (kazoku-related)
place
1891 Apr 26 Regular gathering Rokumeikan Familiar 40+
(kazoku-related)
place
1891 May 30 Regular gathering Rokumeikan Familiar 50
(kazoku-related)
place
1891 May - Board meeting NS Not specified NS
1891 Sep 26 Regular gathering Peeresses' School, Familiar 50+
Nagatachō (kazoku-related)
place
1891 Oct 28 Board meeting NS Not specified NS
1891 Nov 7 Charity music Former auditorium of Educational 1200
gathering Engineering College. facility
Toranomon
1892 Jan NS Office relocation Moved to 4-13 Office / -
Hirakawachō, clubhouse
Kōjimachi
1892 Feb 20 29th regular Rokumeikan Familiar 40+
gathering (kazoku-related)
place
1892 Mar 19 General assembly Rokumeikan Familiar 60+
(kazoku-related)
place
1892 Apr 16 Regular gathering Rokumeikan Familiar 30+
(kazoku-related)
place
1892 May 21 Regular gathering Rokumeikan Familiar 100+
(kazoku-related)
place

!257
 Number of
Year Month Day Event Venue Venue type attendees
1892 Jun 18 Regular gathering Rokumeikan Familiar 40+
(kazoku-related)
place
1892 Sep 24 Regular gathering Rokumeikan Familiar 40+
(kazoku-related)
place
1892 Oct 22 Regular gathering Rokumeikan Familiar 50+
(kazoku-related)
place
1892 Nov 26 Regular gathering Rokumeikan Familiar NS
(kazoku-related)
place
1892 Nov or NS Charity event for NS Not specified NS
Dec Jikei Hospital
1893 Jan 28 Regular gathering Rokumeikan Familiar 100+
(kazoku-related)
place
1893 Mar 25 5th general Shiba Detached Member home 200+
assembly Palace
1893 Apr 22 Regular gathering Rokumeikan Familiar 40+
(kazoku-related)
place
1893 May 20 Regular gathering Rokumeikan Familiar 40+
(kazoku-related)
place
1893 May 29 Sports day for the Kōrakuen, Park / in-park NS
school Koishikawa Arsenal establishment
1893 Jun 17 Regular gathering Rokumeikan Familiar 250+
(kazoku-related)
place
1893 Sep 23 Regular gathering Rokumeikan Familiar 50+
(kazoku-related)
place
1893 Nov 11 2nd charity music Kōrakuen, Park / in-park 1300
gathering Koishikawa Arsenal establishment
1894 Jan 27 Annual inauguration Rokumeikan Familiar 100+
(regular gathering) (kazoku-related)
place
1894 Feb 17 Regular gathering Rokumeikan Familiar 100
(kazoku-related)
place
1894 Mar 17 General assembly Rokumeikan Familiar 90+
(kazoku-related)
place
1894 Apr 11 Regular gathering Rokumeikan Familiar 100
(kazoku-related)
place
1894 May 19 Regular gathering Rokumeikan Familiar 80+
(kazoku-related)
place

!258
 Number of
Year Month Day Event Venue Venue type attendees
1894 Jun 16 Regular gathering Rokumeikan Familiar 80+
(kazoku-related)
place
1894 Sep 22 Regular gathering Rokumeikan Familiar 60+
(kazoku-related)
place
1894 Oct 20 Regular gathering Rokumeikan Familiar 40+
(kazoku-related)
place
1894 Nov 11 Regular gathering Rokumeikan Familiar 50
(kazoku-related)
place
1895 Jan 19 Annual inauguration Rokumeikan Familiar 120+
(kazoku-related)
place
1895 Feb 16 Regular gathering Kazoku Hall Familiar 40+
(kazoku-related)
place
1895 Mar 16 General assembly Kazoku Hall Familiar 100+
(kazoku-related)
place
1895 Apr 20 Regular gathering Kazoku Hall Familiar 50+
(kazoku-related)
place
1895 May 18 Regular gathering Kazoku Hall Familiar 40+
(kazoku-related)
place
1895 Jun 15 Regular gathering Kazoku Hall Familiar 40+
(kazoku-related)
place
1895 Sep 28 Regular gathering Kazoku Hall Familiar 50+
(kazoku-related)
place
1895 Oct 19 Regular gathering Kazoku Hall Familiar 50-60
(kazoku-related)
place
1895 Nov 16 Regular gathering Kazoku Hall Familiar 50+
(kazoku-related)
place
1896 Jan 25 Regular gathering Kazoku Hall Familiar 150+
(kazoku-related)
place
1896 Feb 15 Regular gathering Kazoku Hall Familiar NS
(kazoku-related)
place
1896 Mar 18 Regular gathering Kazoku Hall Familiar 30+
(kazoku-related)
place
1896 Jun 20 Regular gathering Kazoku Hall Familiar 30+
(kazoku-related)
place

!259
 Number of
Year Month Day Event Venue Venue type attendees
1896 Oct 18 Regular gathering Kazoku Hall Familiar 60
(kazoku-related)
place
1896 Nov 21 Regular gathering Kazoku Hall Familiar 24-5
(kazoku-related)
place
1897 Feb 20 Regular gathering Kazoku Hall Familiar NS
(kazoku-related)
place
1897 Mar 20 Regular gathering Kazoku Hall Familiar NS
(kazoku-related)
place
1897 May 17 Regular gathering Kazoku Hall Familiar 20+
(kazoku-related)
place
1897 Jun 18 Regular gathering Kazoku Hall Familiar 20+
(kazoku-related)
place
1897 Oct 16 Regular gathering Kazoku Hall Familiar 50+
(kazoku-related)
place
1897 Nov 20 Regular gathering Kazoku Hall Familiar 60+
(kazoku-related)
place
1898 Jan 27 Annual inauguration NS Not specified 200+
& regular gathering
1898 Mar 26 General assembly Kazoku Hall Familiar 60+
(kazoku-related)
place
1898 Oct 5 Regular gathering Kazoku Hall Familiar 50+
(kazoku-related)
place
1898 Nov 19 Regular gathering Kazoku Hall Familiar 80+
(kazoku-related)
place
1899 Jan 28 Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 200+
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1899 Feb 28 Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 260+
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1899 Apr 6 Cherry blossom Palace of Kan'in-no- Member home 200+
viewing get-together miya Imperial Family
1899 Apr 29 Charity music Kinki Hall Restaurant / 1000+
gathering rental hall
1899 Sep 30 Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 300+
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1899 Nov 18 Charity garden party Residence of Earl Member home Several
Ōkuma, Waseda hundred

!260
 Number of
Year Month Day Event Venue Venue type attendees
1900 Jan 20 Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 80+
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1900 Feb 16 Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 60+
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1900 Mar 11 Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 20–100
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1900 Apr 21 Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 20–100
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1900 Apr 25 Office relocation 6-25, Hiwakawachō, Office / -
Kōjimachi clubhouse
1900 May 19 Get-together Residence of Prince Member home 200+
Mōri, Takanawa,
Shiba
1900 Jun 16 Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar NS
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1900 Jul 16 Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 20–100
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1900 Sep 29 Regular gathering NS Not specified NS
1900 Oct 18 Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar Many
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1900 Nov 24 Garden party & Residence of Prince Member home 100+
general assembly Mōri, Takanawa,
Shiba
1900 Dec 13 Office relocation 2-13, Omotechō, Office /
Akasaka clubhouse
1900 Dec 13 Board meeting Office Office / NS
clubhouse
1901 Jan 13 Business meeting & NS Not specified NS
new year gathering
1901 Jan 27 Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 400+
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1901 Feb 23 Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 60+
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1901 Mar 16 Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 20–100
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1901 Apr 14 Spring general Koishikawa Botanical Park / in-park 100+
assembly Garden establishment
1901 May 18 Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 100+
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place

!261
 Number of
Year Month Day Event Venue Venue type attendees
1901 Jun 15 Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 130
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1901 Sep 28 Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 80+
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1901 Oct 19 Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 100+
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1901 Oct 28 Council gathering Office Office / NS
clubhouse
1901 Nov 24 Fall general Residence of Prince Member home 400+
assembly Mōri, Takanawa,
Shiba
1902 Jan 18 New year regular Peeresses' School Familiar 300+
gathering Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1902 Jan 11 Meet and greet of Shinbashi Station Other Board
Hatoyama Haruko members &
(member) voluntarily
participatin
g regular
members
1902 Jan 20 Welcome-back party Fujimiken, Kidanue Restaurant / NS
for Hatoyama rental hall
Haruko
1902 Feb 15 Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 100+
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1902 Mar 15 Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 80+
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1902 Mar- - History class Office Office / NS
clubhouse
1902 Mar- - Home economics Office Office / NS
class clubhouse
1902 Mar 21 Cooking class Office Office / NS
clubhouse
1902 Mar 28 Cooking class Office Office / NS
clubhouse
1902 Apr 4 Cooking class Office Office / NS
clubhouse
1902 Apr 26 Spring general Residence of Vice Member home Close to
assembly President 500
Nabeshima
1902 May 15 Home economics & Office Office / 21
literature class clubhouse
1902 May 31 Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 60+
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place

!262
 Number of
Year Month Day Event Venue Venue type attendees
1902 - Wednesdays Cooking class NS Office / NS
clubhouse
1902 Jun 21 Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 80+
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1902 - Wednesdays Western cuisine Office Office / NS
class clubhouse
1902 - Fridays Japanese cuisine Office Office / NS
class clubhouse
1902 - 1st & 3rd Home economics & Office Office / 38
Thursdays literature class clubhouse
monthly
1902 Sep 4th Saturday Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 100+
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1902 Oct 14 Board meeting & Office Familiar Many
welcome party for (kazoku-related) board
Takeda Mitsuko place members
1902 Oct 26 Fall general Kōrakuen, Park / in-park close to
assembly Koishikawa Arsenal establishment 800
(former Garden of
Mito Lord)
1902 Nov 15 Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 80+
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1903 Jan 12 Board new year Restaurant / Board
meeting rental hall members &
guests
1903 Jan 17 New year gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 300+
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1903 Jan 22 New year gathering Office Office / 20
for cooking class clubhouse
1903 Mar 21 Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 90+
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1903 Apr 3rd & 4th Home economics & Office Office / NS
Thursdays literature class clubhouse
monthly
1903 Apr 18 Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 50+
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1903 May 6 Special member get- Residence of Baron Member home 50+
together Mōri (son of
President Mōri)
1903 May Fridays Japanese cuisine Office Office / NS
class clubhouse
1903 May Thursdays Western cuisine Office Office / NS
class clubhouse

!263
 Number of
Year Month Day Event Venue Venue type attendees
1903 May 26 Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar NS
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1903 Jun 20 Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 50+
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1903 Jul 2 Board meeting Office Office / Board
clubhouse members
1903 Sep 19 Regular gathering Kindergarten Familiar 20–100
attached to (kazoku-related)
Peeresses' School place
1903 Oct 24 Regular gathering Kindergarten Familiar 60+
attached to (kazoku-related)
Peeresses' School place
1903 Nov 2 Office relocation 1-19 Nagatachō, Office / -
Kōjimachi clubhouse
1903 Nov 21 General assembly Garden in the Member home 700+
Residence of Earl
Ōkuma
1903 Dec 9 Appreciation tea Office Office / 40+
party (for members clubhouse
who planned and
served the general
assembly)
1904 Jan 13 Special member get- Office Office / 20–100
together clubhouse
1904 Jan 16 New year gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 80+
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1904 Jan 18 Send-off gathering Seiyoken, Ueno Park Park / in-park 40+
for Ms. Yasui Tetsu establishment
1904 Feb 10 Chat-over-dinner Office Office / NS
gathering (after clubhouse
Western cuisine
class)
1904 Feb 2nd & 4th Literature class Office Office / NS
Thursdays clubhouse
1904 Feb Wednesdays Western cuisine Office Office / NS
class clubhouse
1904 Feb NS Regular gathering Office Office / 120–200
clubhouse
1904 Apr 30 Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 60+
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1904 Jun 18 Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 90+
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1904 Jul 7 War-affected family Office Office / NS
consolation clubhouse
1904 Aug 4 War-affected family Hospital in Other 11
consolation Hayatochō

!264
 Number of
Year Month Day Event Venue Venue type attendees
1904 Aug 5 War-affected family Shibuya Branch Other 9
consolation Hospital
1904 Aug 6 War-affected family Toyama Branch Other 6
consolation Hospital
1904 Sep 17 Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 80+
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1904 Oct 17 Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 80+
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1904 Nov 19 Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 50+
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1905 Jan 21 New year gathering Office Office / 90+
clubhouse
1905 Feb 28 Regular gathering Office Office / 80+
clubhouse
1905 Mar 18 Regular gathering Office Office / 60+
clubhouse
1905 Apr 13 Send-off gathering Kōrakuen, Park / in-park 700+
for Mrs. Odo Koishikawa Arsenal establishment
1905 Apr 20 Board meeting Office Office / 11
clubhouse
1905 May 20 Regular gathering Office Office / 100+
clubhouse
1905 Jun 3rd Saturday Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 20–100
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1905 Jun 21 Women's vitory Kazoku Hall Familiar 500+
celebration (kazoku-related)
place
1905 Oct Wednesdays Office Office / NS
Western cuisine class clubhouse
1905 Oct 21 Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 90+
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1905 Nov 2 Board meeting Office Office / 10+
clubhouse
1905 Nov 18 General assembly Member home 400+
1906 Jan 20 New year gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 100+
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1906 Feb NS Board meeting Office Office / NS
clubhouse
1906 Apr 20 Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar NS
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place

!265
 Number of
Year Month Day Event Venue Venue type attendees
1906 May 10 Appreciation Residence of Prince Member home 150+
gathering for the Mōri, Takanawa,
participants of war- Shiba
affected family
consolation
1906 Jun 16 Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 80+
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1906 Sep 22 Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 60+
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1906 Oct 20 Regular gathering Peeresses' School Familiar 100+
Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
place
1906 Nov 6 Board meeting Office Office / 9+
clubhouse
1906 Nov 17 Fall general Residence of Prince Member home 600+
assembly Mōri, Takanawa,
Shiba
1907 Jan 19 New year gathering Kazoku Hall Familiar 130+
(kazoku-related)
place
1907 Feb 5 Board meeting Sanentei, Shiba Park Park / in-park 13
establishment
1907 Feb 17 Office relocation Address not Office / -
specified clubhouse
1907 Mar 16 Regular gathering Gakushūin Girls' Familiar 70+
School Kindergarten (kazoku-related)
(former Peeresses' place
School Kindergarten)
1907 Apr 15 Regular gathering Kazoku Hall Familiar 160+
(invited women from (kazoku-related)
overseas) place
1907 May 11 20th anniversary Residence of Prince Member home Close to
memorial gathering Mōri, Takanawa, 200
& general assembly Shiba
1907 Jun 15 Regular gathering Office Office / 60+
clubhouse
1907 Jun Not specified First meal gethering Office Office / 10+
clubhouse
1907 Jun Wednesdays Western cuisine Office Office / NS
class clubhouse
1907 Jun Thursdays Artificial flower Office Office / NS
making class clubhouse
1907 Sep Tuesdays & Music class Office Office / -
Fridays clubhouse
1907 Sep 21 Regular gathering Office Office / Close to 50
clubhouse
1907 Oct 19 Regular gathering Sankaidō, Akasaka Restaurant / 100+
Tameike rental hall

!266
 Number of
Year Month Day Event Venue Venue type attendees
1907 Nov 30 Regular gathering Sankaidō, Akasaka Restaurant / NS
Tameike rental hall
1907 Dec 13 Board meeting Office Office / 5
clubhouse
1908 Jan 18 New year gathering Sankaidō, Akasaka Restaurant / 100+
Tameike rental hall
1908 Jan Weekly Music class Office Office / NS
clubhouse
1908 Jan NS Western cuisine Office Office / NS
class clubhouse
1908 Jan NS Artificial flower Office Office / NS
making class clubhouse
1908 Feb 14 Board member new Tsunashima Mitsui Restaurant / 15
year gathering Club rental hall
1908 Mar 15 Regular gathering Sankaidō, Akasaka Restaurant / 60+
Tameike rental hall
1908 Apr 18 Regular gathering Sankaidō, Akasaka Restaurant / 50
Tameike rental hall
1908 Apr 28 Clubhouse Member home 5
construction
committee meeting
1908 May 16 Regular gathering Sankaidō, Akasaka Restaurant / 60
Tameike rental hall
1908 Jun 27 Regular gathering Sankaidō, Akasaka Restaurant / 70+
Tameike rental hall
1908 Sep NS Relocation to a 5-15 Hirakawachō, Office / -
temporary office Kōjimachi clubhouse
1908 Oct 29 Board meeting Office Office / 18
clubhouse
1908 Nov 26 General assembly Residence of Prince Member home 200+
Mōri, Takanawa,
Shiba
1908 Dec 18 Clubhouse Temporary office Office / 8
construction clubhouse
committee meeting
1908 Dec 19 Office relocation New clubhouse, Office / -
Japanese-style wing clubhouse
1909 Jan 26 Board meeting Office in the new Office / 9
clubhouse, clubhouse
Japanese-style wing
1909 Jan 31 New year gathering New clubhouse Office / 150+
& Clubhouse clubhouse
construction
completion
celebration
1909 Feb 13 Dinner gathering New clubhouse Office / 24
clubhouse
1909 Feb Wednesdays Piano & solo vocal New clubhouse Office / NS
class clubhouse
1909 Feb Wednesdays Violin class New clubhouse Office / NS
clubhouse

!267
 Number of
Year Month Day Event Venue Venue type attendees
1909 Feb 2nd & 3rd Japanese poetry & New clubhouse Office / NS
Thursdays or literature class clubhouse
1st & 4th
Saturdays
1909 Feb Wednesdays Pressed flower New clubhouse Office / NS
making class clubhouse
1909 Feb Saturdays Western cuisine New clubhouse Office / NS
class clubhouse
1909 Mar 20 Regular gathering New clubhouse Office / 50+
clubhouse
1909 Apr 17 Regular gathering New clubhouse Office / 70+
clubhouse
1909 Apr NS 3 member initiated Clubhouse Office / NS
gatherings clubhouse
May NS 3 member initiated Clubhouse Office /
gatherings clubhouse
1909 May 22 Regular gathering Clubhouse Office / 54
clubhouse
1909 May Wednesdays Piano & solo vocal New clubhouse Office / NS
class clubhouse
1909 May Tuesdays or Violin class New clubhouse Office / NS
Fridays clubhouse
1909 May 2nd & 3rd Japanese poetry & New clubhouse Office / NS
Thursdays or literature class clubhouse
1st & 4th
Saturdays
1909 May Wednesdays Pressed flower New clubhouse Office / NS
making class clubhouse
1909 May Saturdays Western cuisine New clubhouse Office / NS
class clubhouse
1909 Jun 19 Board meeting & Pine room in the Office / 24+
lunch clubhouse clubhouse
1909 Jun 19 Regular gathering Clubhouse Office / 70+
clubhouse
1909 Oct 7 Board meeting Pine room in the Office / 13
clubhouse clubhouse
1909 Oct 16 Regular gathering NS Not specified 80+
1909 Oct 29 Special board Clubhouse Office / 13
meeting clubhouse
1909 Nov 20 General assembly Residence of Prince Member home 300+
Mōri, Takanawa,
Shiba
1909 Nov Wednesdays Piano & solo vocal Clubhouse Office / NS
class clubhouse
1909 Nov Tuesdays or Violin class Clubhouse Office / NS
Fridays clubhouse
1909 Nov 2nd & 3rd Japanese poetry & Clubhouse Office / NS
Thursdays or literature class clubhouse
1st & 4th
Saturdays

!268
 Number of
Year Month Day Event Venue Venue type attendees
1909 Nov Wednesdays Pressed flower Clubhouse Office / NS
making class clubhouse
1909 Nov Saturdays Western cuisine Clubhouse Office / NS
class clubhouse
1909 Nov Japanese cuisine Clubhouse Office / NS
Tuesdays class clubhouse
1910 Jan 15 Clubhouse Office / 80+
clubhouse
1910 Jan 2nd & 3rd Japanese poetry & Clubhouse Office / NS
Thursdays or literature class clubhouse
1st & 4th
Saturdays
1910 Jan Wednesdays Pressed flower Clubhouse Office / NS
making class clubhouse
1910 Jan Wednesdays Piano & solo vocal Clubhouse Office / NS
class clubhouse
1910 Jan Tuesdays Violin class Clubhouse Office / NS
clubhouse
1910 Feb Saturdays Western cuisine Clubhouse Office / NS
class clubhouse
1910 Feb Japanese cuisine Clubhouse Office / NS
Tuesdays class clubhouse
1910 Feb 15 Board meeting Pine room Office / 8
clubhouse
1910 Feb 19 Regular gathering Clubhouse Office / 60+
clubhouse
1910 Mar 19 Regular gathering Clubhouse Office / 60+
clubhouse
1910 Apr 16 Regular gathering Clubhouse Office / 50+
clubhouse
1910 May 2 Board meeting Pine room Office / 7
clubhouse
1910 May 4 Board meeting NS Not specified 10
1910 May 29 Special general Residence of Prince Member home 20–100
assembly Mōri, Takanawa,
Shiba
1910 Jun 18 Regular gathering Clubhouse Office / 100+
clubhouse
1910 Jun 21 Executive meeting Pine room Office / 6
clubhouse
1910 Sep 24 Regular gathering Upper-level large Office / 70+
room clubhouse
1910 Sep 24 Council meeting Pine room Office / 13
clubhouse
1910 Oct 15 Regular gathering Clubhouse Office / 70+
clubhouse
1910 Oct 30 Music class student Clubhouse Office / 70+
practice concert clubhouse

!269
 Number of
Year Month Day Event Venue Venue type attendees
1910 Nov 26, 27 Charity Japanese Kudan Noh Theater Other NS
theater performance
(Noh) gathering
1910 Dec 9 Executive report Residence of Baron Member home 9
meeting (for the Mōri
charity gethering)
1911 Jan 16 New year gathering Seiyoken in Tsukiji Restaurant / 18
for board members rental hall
1911 Jan 16 Board meeting Chat room, Office / 18
socializing room clubhouse
1911 Jan 21 New year gathering Clubhouse Office / 100+
clubhouse
1911 Mar 24 Regular gathering NS Not specified 50+
1911 Mar Saturdays Knitting class Clubhouse Office / 5-6
clubhouse
1911 Mar 24 Small gethering by Clubhouse Office / NS
Baron and Baronnes clubhouse
Mōri
1911 Apr 15 Regular gathering NS Not specified 60+
1911 Apr 2 Small gatherings Clubhouse Office / NS
hosted by Ms Inoue clubhouse
and Mrs. Kadono
(member-initiated
gatherings)
1911 Apr 12 Executive meeting Pine room Office / 6
clubhouse
1911 May 20 Regular gathering NS Not specified NS
1911 Jun 10, 11 Charity Japanese Kudan Noh Theater Other NS
theater performance
(Noh) gathering
1911 Jun 17 Regular gathering NS Not specified 80+
1911 Jul 4 Board member Dining hall at the Office / 19
appreciation office clubhouse
gathering (for the
service at the charity
gathering)
1911 Jul NS Gathering Clubhouse Office / NS
clubhouse
1911 Oct 21 Regular gathering Clubhouse Office / 80+
clubhouse
1911 Nov 11, 12 Exhibition of knit Clubhouse Office / NS
works by knitting clubhouse
class students
1911 Nov 13 Gathering hosted by Clubhouse Office / NS
Ms. Shiraishi clubhouse
(member-initiated
gathering)
1911 Nov 14 Board meeting Pine room in the Office / 14
clubhouse clubhouse

!270
 Number of
Year Month Day Event Venue Venue type attendees
1911 Nov 14 Orient Women's Clubhouse Office / NS
Association board clubhouse
meeting
1911 NS NS Fall general Residence of Baron Member home 250+
assembly Mōri
1912 Jan 16 Board meeting Pine room in the Office / 7
clubhouse clubhouse
1912 Jan 16 New year gathering Clubhouse Office / 100+
clubhouse
1912 Mar 16 Regular gathering Clubhouse Office / 50+
clubhouse
1912 Mar 16 Board meeting Clubhouse Office / 9
clubhouse
1912 Apr 9 Celebration party for Clubhouse Office / 17
Miwata and clubhouse
Tanahashi's receipt
of 6th class national
honor
1912 Apr 13 Party hosted by Residence of Prince Member home Close to
President Mōri Mōri, Takanawa, 1000
Shiba
1912 Apr 21 Board member Residence of Earl Member home NS
celebration party for Ōkuma
Miwata and
Tanahashi's receipt
of 6th class national
honor
1912 May 18 Regular gathering Clubhouse Office / 80+
clubhouse
1912 Jun 15 Regular gathering Clubhouse Office / "Venue
clubhouse filled with
members"

!271
 Sangitei

272
Figure 2.2. Suribachi Hill, c.1890s. Sangitei is drawn the left edge. The caption in the illustration reads, “an illustration of elementary
school students’ field day.” Annotated by the author on Matsutani 松谷 , “Suribachi Kofun no Zu 擂鉢古墳之図 [Illustration of
Suribachi Hill],” Culture Graphic 123 (1896): unpaged.
 Great Buddha Statue

Seiyoken

273
Figure 2.3. Seiyōken, c.1890s. Annotated by the author on Matsutani, “Daibutsu oyobi Seiyōken no Zu 大仏及精養軒之図 [Illustration
of Great Buddha Statue and Seiyōken]” Culture Graphic 123 (1896): unpaged.
274
Figure 2.4. Seiyōken c.1870s. Utagawa Hiroshige 歌川広重 , “Tokyo Meisho no uchi Ueno Kōenchi Shinobazu Ike Miharashi Zu 東
亰名所内上野公園地不忍見晴図 [Panoramic View of Shinobazu Pond in Ueno Park, A Place to Go in Tokyo],” woodblock print =
nishiki-e, 1876, 528, Adachi Museum, accessed November 19, 2018, https://jmapps.ne.jp/adachitokyo/det.html?data_id=528.
 Zoo

275
Sangitei Cyclorama

Seiyoken Ueno
Station

Figure 2.5. A partial bird-eye view of Ueno Park, c.1890s. Annotated by the author on Sorahan 空半 , “Ueno Koen no Zu 上野公園之
図 [Illustration of Ueno Park],” Culture Graphic 123 (1896): unpaged.
Figure 3.1. An exterior view of Mitsui Kimono Store, c.1901. Reproduced from Dai Mitsukoshi
Rekishi Shashinchō Kankō Īnkai 大三越歴史写真帳刊行委員会 , ed., Dai Mitsukoshi
Shashinchō 大三越写真帳 [Photobook of Great Mitsukoshi] (Tokyo: Dai Mitsukoshi Rekishi
Shashinchō Kankō Kai, 1932), 17.

276
Figure 3.2. The sit-and-sell space on the lower floor, c.1900. Photo taken in 1887. Reproduced
from Dai Mitsukoshi Rekishi Shashinchō Kankō Īnkai, Photobook of Great Mitsukoshi, 16.

277
Figures 3.3 (top) and 3.4 (bottom). The upper-floor selling space, c.1900. Photo taken in
1895. Reproduced from Dai Mitsukoshi Rekishi Shashinchō Kankō Īnkai, Photobook of Great
Mitsukoshi, 21.

278
279
Figure 3.5. A schematic floor plan of Mitsui Kimono Store, c.1900. Created by the author based on Dai Mitsukoshi Rekishi Shashinchō
Kankō Īnkai, Photobook of Great Mitsukoshi, 24.
280
Figure 3.6. A schematic floor plan of Mitsui Kimono Store, c.1901. Created by the author based on Dai Mitsukoshi Rekishi Shashinchō
Kankō Īnkai, Photobook of Great Mitsukoshi, 24.
Figure 3.7. The central hall of the 1908 building. Reproduced from Yokokawa Kenchiku Sekkei
Jimusho Kikakushitsu 横河建築設計事務所企画室 , ed., Yokokawa Kenchiku Sekkei Jimusho:
Hachijūnen No Nagare 横河建築設計事務所 ： 80 年の流れ [Eighty Years of Yokokawa
Architects] (Tokyo: Yokokawa Kenchiku Sekkei Jimusho, 1983), 44.

281
Figure 3.8. A complimentary lounge in the 1908 building. Reproduced from “Dōsho Nikai
Kyūkeishitsu 同所二階休憩室 [Complementary Lounge on the Second Floor]," Architecture
Magazine 257 (1908): unpaged.

282
 entrance
employee
offices taken over
for selling scrap fabric

283
display floor
offices that the architect
planned to be temporalily used
for selling scrap fabric

entrance

Figure 3.9. A first floor plan of the 1908 building by Yokokawa Architects. Annotated on a drawing reproduced from Yokokawa
Kenchiku Sekkei Jimusho Kikakushitsu, Eighty Years of Yokokawa Architects, 113.
Figure 3.10. A view of the first floor taken from the third floor on a scrap fabric sale day, April
1, 1909. Reproduced from Dai Mitsukoshi Rekishi Shashinchō Kankō Īnkai, Photobook of Great
Mitsukoshi, 41.

284
 women: more than 50%
women: more than average=15.3%

285
IN IN

Figure 3.11. A section drawing showing the locations of the departments served better by female staff. Annotated by the author on
Mitsukoshi Gofuku Ten, “A Floor Guide of Mistukoshi Department Store” using the data of Kabushiki Gaisha Mitsukoshi Hyakkaten,
“Employee Directory of Mitsukoshi Co., Ltd.”
Figure 3.12. Mitsukoshi female staff in the uniform, September 15, 1921. The caption reads, “We
decided to make female store staff wear the same uniform.” Reproduced from Dai Mitsukoshi
Rekishi Shashinchō Kankō Īinkai, Photobook of Great Mitsukoshi, 72.

286
  

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Bibliographic note: I give Japanese type in bibliographic entries, as well as in the footnotes when
the literature appears for the first time. When the literature appears in the footnotes multiple
times, I use translated titles for English-speaking readers for the second appearance onward.
Personal and corporate names in Japanese type in the normal Japanese order are preceded by
their romanizations. Titles in Japanese type are preceded by their romanizations. Parallel titles in
square brackets are my translations.

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287
  

———. “Kanshi Zuiō Ginsha Shichizetsu Renku Jūgonichi Ueno Sangitei Ni Oite 漢詩 随鴎吟
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———. “Konzan Hengyoku Zuiō Ginsha Dai Nijūisshū Renku Ueno Sangitei Ni Oite 崑山片玉
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———. “Mitsukoshi Gofuku Ten Tokyo Honten Nishikan Kenchiku Gaiyō 三越呉服店東京本
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288
  

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CURRICULUM VITAE
Yuko Nakamura

EDUCATION

Doctor of Philosophy in Architecture, University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, 2018.

Master of Architecture in Urban Design, University College London, UK, 2009.
Bachelor of Engineering with Urban Engineering Concentration, University of Tokyo, 2008.

PUBLICATIONS

Yuko Nakamura, “Cultural Landscape Conservation (Japan),” in the Encyclopedia of Vernacular

Architecture of the World, 2nd edition, edited by Marcel Vellinga (London: Bloomsbury,
forthcoming).
Yuko Nakamura, “Japanese Lexicon,” in the Encyclopedia of Vernacular Architecture of the
World, 2nd edition, edited by Marcel Vellinga (London: Bloomsbury, forthcoming).

PRESENTATIONS

“Modern Tokyo as Women’s City,” Behavior in Networks Research Seminar, University of

Tokyo, Japan, December 28, 2018 (invited), in Japanese.
“Women-only Gatherings in Meiji Tokyo,” 7th Tokyo Humanities Café, Good Heavens
Shimokitazawa, Tokyo, Japan, December 20, 2018 (invited).
“Engaging Stakeholders in Explorative Research Process,” 3rd Research Ops Town Hall, online,
December 18, 2018 (invited).
“Socializing Ladies and the Making of Counterpublics: Gender, Class, and Public Space in
Modern Tokyo,” Global History Collaborative Young Researchers’ Workshop, Institute
of Advanced Studies on Asia, University of Tokyo, Japan, July 11, 2018.
“Stratified Space for All: Public Space, Gender, and Class in Modern Tokyo,” 23rd Annual
Student Research Forum in Urban Studies, University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, April
27, 2018.
“Space, Women, and Modernization: Changes in Mitsukoshi Department Store and its Female
Staff, 1874–1937,” Gender, Space, and the City in Global History Conference, Institute
of Advanced Studies on Asia, University of Tokyo, Japan, October 28–29, 2017.
“Spaces for Socializing: Emergence and Development of Women-only Gatherings in pre-World-
War-II Tokyo, Japan,” 2017 Asian Studies Conference Japan, Rikkyo University, Tokyo,
Japan, July 8–9, 2017.

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“Modern, Urban, and Ephemeral: Vernacular Architecture in Japan,” with Kosei Hatsuda, 2017
Society of Architectural Historians International Conference, Technology & Innovation
Centre, University of Strathclyde, Glasgow, Scotland, June 7–11, 2017.
“Socializing and Placemaking of Middle-Class Women in Tokyo, Japan, 1868–1937,” 2016
American Folklore Society/International Society for Folk Narrative Research Joint
Annual Meeting, Hyatt Regency Miami, FL, October 19–22, 2016.
“Gendered Politics of Space: Interpreting the Campuses for Women’s Higher Education in Pre-
WWII Tokyo as a Record of Negotiation,” 2016 Midwest Conference on Asian Affairs,
University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, IL, October 14–16, 2016.
“The Gendered Spatial Politics in Modern Japan: A Case Study of the Women's Specialized
School Campuses in Pre-WWII Tokyo,” The 8th Biennial Urban History Association
Conference, Corboy Law Center, Loyola University Chicago, IL, October 13–16, 2016.
“The Gendered Landscapes of Higher Education: Interpreting the Campuses of Women’s
Specialized Schools in Pre-WWII Tokyo, Japan as 'Negotiated Space,'” 2016 Vernacular
Architecture Forum Conference, Durham Convention Center, Durham, NC, June 1–4,
2016.
“Climate, Culture, and Vernacular Architecture,” 1st Hermeneutics of Landscapes Seminar,
Kanazawa Institute of Technology, Kanazawa, Japan, March 11, 2016, in Japanese.
“'Context' in Vernacular Architecture Studies and Its Connections to Landscapes and
Infrastructure Studies,” 2015 Conference for Architecture and Infrastructure
Environment, Japan Society of Civil Engineers, Kogakuin University, Tokyo, Japan,
December 11–13, 2015, in Japanese.
“Vector Ecologies, Spatial Encounters, and Gender Enactments: A Historical Ethnography of
Women’s Placemaking in Tokyo, Japan, after the 1923 Great Kanto Earthquake,” 2015
American Folklore Society Annual Meeting, Westin Long Beach, CA, October 14–17,
2015.
“Placemaking as Performance: Boulevard Inn in Milwaukee, Wisconsin as a Case Study,” 2015
Vernacular Architecture Forum Conference, Roosevelt University, Chicago, IL, June 3–
7, 2015.
“Methodology of Vernacular Architectural History and Its Recent Development: Architectural
History as Part of Urban History,” 19th Behavior in Networks Seminar: Examining the
Potential of Urban Morphology in the History of Architecture and Infrastructure,
University of Tokyo, Japan, January 31, 2015, in Japanese.
“In the Backstage: Occupational Affects in Making a Place for Holiday Eating at Boulevard Inn,
Milwaukee, Wisconsin,” 2014 American Folklore Society Annual Meeting, Santa Fe
Convention Center, NM, November 5–8, 2014.
“Reconstructing Place from Olfactory Narratives: North Downer Avenue in the Historic Water
Tower Neighborhood, Milwaukee, Wisconsin,” 2014 Oral History Association Annual
Meeting, Madison Concourse Hotel, WI, October 8–12, 2014.

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“Identifying “Common” Places as Cultural Resources: An Experimental Study on the

Transmission of People’s Systems to Evaluate Vernacular Places,” 2013 American
Folklore Society Annual Meeting, Omni Hotel Providence, RI, October 16–19, 2013.
“Methodology of Vernacular Architectural History: A Case Study of the 2013 Buildings-
Landscapes-Cultures Field School at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee,” 17th
Behavior in Networks Seminar: Understanding and Applying The History of Urban
Disasters and the Process of Landscape Formation, University of Tokyo, Japan, October
16–19, 2013, in Japanese.
“A Study on the Values and Meanings of Place in Networks,” with Eiji Hato, 17th Behavior in
Networks Seminar: 45th Conference for Infrastructure Planning and Management, Kyoto
University, Japan, October 16–19, 2013, in Japanese.

AWARDS & FELLOWSHIPS

Eugene Cook Memorial Scholarship, Department of Architecture, University of Wisconsin-

Milwaukee, WI, 2018.
Distinguished Dissertation Fellowship, Graduate School, University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee,
WI, 2017–18.
Andrew W. Mellon Foundation/Humanities Without Walls National Pre-doctoral Fellowship,
Humanities Without Walls Consortium, Urbana-Champaign, IL, 2017.
Scott Opler Graduate Student Fellowship, Society of Architectural Historians, Chicago, IL, 2017.
Travel Subsidiary for Workshop "Reading Place in Edo & Tokyo," UCLA/Waseda University
Yanai Tadashi Initiative for Globalizing Japanese Humanities, Los Angeles, CA, 2016.
Gerald L. Davis Travel Award, American Folklore Society, Bloomington, IN, 2015, 16.
Bob Greenstreet Honorary Scholarship, Department of Architecture, University of Wisconsin-
Milwaukee, WI, 2015.
Pamela H. Simpson Presenter’s Fellowship, Vernacular Architecture Forum, Harrisonburg, VA,
2015.
Distinguished Graduate Student Fellowship, Graduate School, University of Wisconsin-
Milwaukee, WI, 2014–15.
Scholarship for Long-Term Graduate Study Abroad, Japan Student Services Organization,
Tokyo, Japan, 2014–17 (Declined 2014–15).
Presenter Registration and Membership Waiver, Oral History Association, Atlanta, GA, 2014.
Sponsored Student Scholarship, Humanities Intensive Learning and Teaching, College Park,
MD, 2014.
Digital Humanities Lab Training Award, Digital Humanities Lab, University of Wisconsin-
Milwaukee, WI, 2014.
Graduate School Travel Grant, University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, WI, 2013, 14, 15, 16.
PhD in Architecture Program Travel Grant, University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, WI, 2013, 14,
15.

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Japan-United States Fulbright Graduate Scholarship, Japan-United States Educational

Commission, Tokyo, Japan, 2012–14.
21st Century Study Abroad Fellowship, 21st Century Cultural and Academic Foundation, Tokyo,
Japan, 2012–13 (Declined).

TEACHING

“Roof in Traditional Japanese Architecture,” guest lecture, CMP2331: Japanese Arts A, History
of Japanese Art (Fall 2016), Rikkyo University, Tokyo, Japan, December 7, 2016.
“Space and Gender,” guest lecture, ARCH 302: Architecture and Human Behavior (Spring
2015), University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, WI, April 14, 2015
“Folklore and Ethnography of Vernacular Places,” course design, in GRAD 803: Teaching and
Learning in College: Reflections on Theory and Practice (Spring 2015), University of
Wisconsin-Milwaukee, WI, 2015.
“Method Workshop in Humanities Programming,” workshop with Trevor Berman, Digital
Humanities Lab, University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, WI, September 29, 2014.
Graduate Teaching Assistant in Architecture, ARCH 301: Architectural Structures and
Construction (Spring 2014) & ARCH 303: Architecture and Environmental Response
(Fall 2013), University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, WI, 2013–14.

PROFESSIONAL EXPERIENCE

User Experience Researcher for Google Maps, Google (via Robert Walters), Tokyo, Japan,
2018–present.
Freelance Design Researcher, AQ, Tokyo, Japan, 2018.
Researcher/Project Coordinator, Airline Design, Tokyo, Japan, 2017–18.
Service Design Researcher, Pocket Change, Tokyo, Japan, 2016–17.
Graduate Teaching Assistant in Architecture, University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, Milwaukee,
WI, 2013–14.
Designer, Upsetters Architects, Tokyo, Japan, 2009–11.

As of December 2018.

317