Come "Behind the Shot" with five photographers from Trope Tokyo (Revised + Expanded) as they share stories behind some of their favorite shots in this revised edition.
Trope Tokyo, the fourth volume in the Trope City Editions series, celebrates the architecture and urban landscapes of Japan's capital city, a dynamic metropolis fusing the ancient and the ultramodern. Following its original publication in 2020, the Tokyo Edition was revised and updated in 2026 to present a current view of the city.
Featured photographers include: Jessamine Barnieh, Oliver Bunica, Yoshito Hasaka, Yoshiro Ishii, Tetsuo Ishikawa, Keita Kikkawa, Yusuke Komatsu, Sanmi Krueger, Neal Kumar, Chanipol Kusolcharttum, Sam Landers, Vivien Liu, Antonio Lopez, Ken Lum Lee, Mine Manap Turel, Thomas Milton, Shōgo Misawa, Eren Sarigul, Wataru Sato, Andy Shigekawa, Mitsuru Wakabayashi, Yuto Yamada, Stella Yan.
Shōgo Misawa
The story behind this photo is that I was casually taking pictures in Asakusa to test out a new lens. After taking a few shots, I bought a coffee from a vending machine and took a break. That’s when these two women suddenly appeared. Captivated by their stylish and beautiful kimonos, I asked for their permission and took a few shots. This scene happened in between those shots. Specifically, it was a moment where they weren’t posing but were naturally fixing their hair and makeup. I feel this natural scene is wonderful and truly captures their relationship. It’s a moment of friends enjoying Japanese culture together. This memorable shot is one of my favorites because it conveys so many things.
Actually, this photo was taken in a location that, in a sense, can only be photographed under very specific conditions. This view is from the hospital room where my mother was staying. This might sound negative, but it isn’t meant that way. As is true of any country, this metropolis of Tokyo is home to all kinds of people living their lives for all sorts of reasons. In other words, some people in this scene are battling illness [at the hospital], while those living in the skyscrapers in the photo are going about their lives for different reasons. It goes without saying that the same view can be perceived in many different ways. For me, this single photograph evoked a small yet fleeting sense of my own existence, my mother’s, and our place as part of the lives of so many people.
Mine Manap Turel
In July 2018, on a typical hot and humid summer evening in Tokyo, I was walking through the electric glow of Akihabara, a place known for its neon lights, gaming culture, and constant movement. It’s a district that rarely feels quiet.
After photographing there for a couple of hours, I was already feeling exhausted from the constant noise and movement, and I was getting ready to go back to my hotel and call it a day. But the camera never goes in the bag until I enter my room, as something might appear, and it did.
As I approached a crosswalk just a couple of feet away from the energetic Akihabara streets, I noticed something that immediately slowed me down. A man wearing a traditional yukata was standing at the edge of the zebra crossing. He looked like a fragment of another time, and he held a small briefcase in one hand, wearing colors almost identical to the crossing, and standing quietly while the city moved around him. The contrast was striking.
Tokyo is one of the most technologically advanced cities in the world, yet tradition is never far away. I always look for beauty and moments of peace in my photos rather than the chaos of the streets.
I positioned myself slightly behind him so the crosswalk lines would lead the viewer into the scene. The bold white stripes created a strong visual path across the frame, guiding the eye toward the subject while emphasizing the rhythm of the street.
For a moment, everything aligned: the geometry, the soft evening light, the quiet posture of the man, and the subtle tension between tradition and modern city life. Then he stepped forward. I pressed the shutter, and the moment lasted only a second.
He walked across the street, blending back into the city, and the scene returned to the ordinary rhythm of Tokyo nights.
This image reminds me one more time why I love street photography, where the most powerful photographs are never planned. They appear unexpectedly, in between the noise of the city, if you’re patient enough to notice them. And in a place like Akihabara, even a single step across a crosswalk can tell a story about the balance between tradition and modern life in Japan.
After spending the whole summer under the hot and humid Japanese weather, I was waiting desperately for a rainy night. When September arrived, walking in Ginza, one of the most elegant and vibrant districts of Tokyo, reminded me how beautiful a city can become in the rain.
Even in the rain, the city never really slows down. Cars continue to pass, people move quickly between buildings, and umbrellas bloom across the streets like moving shapes in the night.
Rain has always fascinated me as a street photographer. It changes the entire atmosphere of a city. The pavement becomes a mirror, lights stretch across the ground, and every reflection adds another layer to the scene.
That evening, the rain had just intensified, and people were rushing across the crosswalk, trying to reach the other side as quickly as possible. The flow of movement in big cities has always felt to me like a good symphony. You have to be patient to enjoy it. It takes time, but it’s worth it. Here was another brief moment in that symphony.
Two figures approached from opposite directions. One woman carried a dark umbrella, moving quickly across the zebra crossing. Another person passed close to the camera with a transparent umbrella, something very common in Japan, catching the glow of the city lights above. A third figure was already leaving the frame behind them. The scene immediately caught my attention.
The umbrellas, the reflections on the wet asphalt, and the rhythm of the crosswalk lines created a composition that felt both dynamic and balanced. The rain softened the atmosphere, while the streetlights painted the pavement with streaks of color.
I waited for the moment when the two subjects would briefly align within the frame. For a split second, everything came together, and I raised the camera and pressed the shutter. The moment disappeared as quickly as it arrived.
The pedestrians continued on their way, disappearing into the lights of Ginza, and the intersection returned to its endless rhythm of traffic and umbrellas.
Life constantly offers small, unrepeatable moments. Sometimes all it takes is rain, a crosswalk, and two strangers passing each other to create a photograph that captures the quiet poetry of a city in motion. And sometimes the rain reveals a city in ways sunlight never could.
Tony Lopez
I was always inspired to take photos of the Shibuya Crossing. Your typical photos of it are usually at night and not always during the day, and I felt like it was important to capture organized chaos/movement through people and the street. I did some research and decided to go up top to the Mag8 rooftop, and from there, I noticed people crossing and how it formed a consistent pattern, which was intriguing to me. It just screamed Tokyo with the billboards and signs all around, and that’s when I knew the shot was perfect for me.
I noticed these small shops all around us when we arrived in Tokyo. Every single small shop had its own unique look and cinematic feel to it. I came across this simple sake shop that drew me in from its curtain sign. The curtain created this glow and stood out to me while walking past. From there, I took the shot and was happy with it.
Thomas Milton
On a sunny spring morning in Tokyo, I spent time in the Asakusa neighborhood, searching for a specific type of photograph: a back alley or narrow street with small restaurants, tangled cables everywhere, and the Tokyo Skytree in the background. That was my goal.
But Asakusa is a vast neighborhood. I found narrow streets, back alleys, and even hidden underground passages with vintage-style shops and restaurants, as well as small side streets with the ever-present Skytree in the background. Still, I struggled to find a single spot that brought all these elements together.
That was until I stumbled upon a side street not far from Senso-ji Temple. This alley had everything I had been looking for. To my surprise and delight, a couple wearing traditional kimonos walked into my frame just as I photographed the scene.
This photo is the result of both luck and perseverance.
I wanted to photograph the famous cinematic Uonami Fish Bar. It was at the top of my Tokyo shooting list, however, the location is a little outside central Tokyo. No problem, I thought, I had a map and could easily get there from Shibuya.
But at the first stop where I had to change trains, I got completely lost. I didn’t know where to go, which train to take, or which platform to use. After forty-five minutes of confusion, I decided to walk for another forty-five minutes to the Fish Bar, but by then, I had already missed the blue hour.
The walk itself turned out to be surprisingly enjoyable. I passed through typical Japanese neighborhoods on the outskirts of Tokyo. I didn’t see a single foreigner the entire time, and for a brief moment, I experienced everyday life in these quieter areas. It was enlightening.
My photography journey came to an end when I reached the bridge overlooking the Uonami Fish Bar at night. The bar lights were already on, and all I had to do was set up my tripod and camera and enjoy the rest of this unexpected but rewarding photography experience.
Yoshito Hasaka
This was taken at Takeshita Street, Harajuku, on some cloudy afternoon in June 2023. It was a month after Japan officially moved COVID-19 to the same category as seasonal influenza and the street filled with people, school boys and girls, and tourists. It looks like there are a lot of people in the street, but I think it still has a kind of the restart mood to it. Now you can see more and more people with energy packed in this street.
