Roppongi, in some ways, is a rather special entertainment district, even for a Tokyo that is inundated with many special entertainment districts. With many embassies nearby, it became a preferred hang-out of moneyed expats. Many clubs and bars that cater to foreign clientele and many Japanese who are keen on a more "international" lifestyle make the neighborhood both high-end in terms of prices but also rather shady in terms of the people that frequent its many crowded back alleys and underground haunts. There are plenty of options for those seeking to be entertained in however ways.
But interesting, Roppongi is simultaneously a growing center of business in a Tokyo that is filled with many business districts. Skyscrapers like the Hills and the Midtown host everything from successful Internet firms to investment bankers, making it one of the reasons why Minato Ward, of which Roppongi is a part, the richest district in an already wealthy Tokyo. With so much money splashing around, Roppongi has come to host venues for the elegant, whether it be haute cuisines or avant-garde art exhibitions that few in the general populace can really understand. The contrast of the rich's playground often doesn't mix with its seedy side.
One can easily argue that the confluence of foreign influence, lots of money, and an uncharacteristically diverse population that defies Japan's ethnic and sociocultural homogeneity is what makes Roppongi a paradox: both so shady and stylish, entertainment- yet business-focused. Such a paradox can certainly be a cause for celebration of a dynamic neighborhood but can also be a source of headaches for all who has to be there. Having to work in the neighborhood can be evident for office workers, who are often not in the mood for rubbing shoulders with party-revelers and pulsing nightclubs as they tiredly rush to and from their offices.
The anxiety may even be rather trivial in the beginning, but it adds up over time when one spend years working in the same firm in the same building. Compared to many other, "lower-end" office districts in Tokyo, restaurants in the neighborhood tend to gravitate toward the two extremes, with cheap fast-food joints satiating the hunger pangs of the rushing businessmen and party-goers on one side, and expensive sit-down options for the wealthy and well-heeled on the other. For the office workers that are not too keen on satiating themselves with McDonald's and convenience store fare day in and day out, lunch could get expensive.
For people whose office just happened to be in Roppongi, but their nature of work has nothing to do with the neighborhood's rather diverse and dynamic nature, been in Roppongi has none of the benefits while all of the costs. Without being able to really take advantage of the international-ness of the place for their careers, such office workers are nonetheless saddled with the high costs of even eating lunch there, essentially reducing their disposable income for no good reason. For them, it would be better off if the neighborhood is separated between distinct business and entertainment zones, neither affecting the other in terms of functionality or price.
Such idea of zoning is precisely what urban planners think about when they design the laws that regulate what buildings can different parts of the city build, in order to keep the whole thing functional while orderly. American cities, in particular, speak of "residential," "commercial," and "entertainment" zones, all of which theoretically distinct and connected by highways that are not easily crossed without the use of the personal car. Such zoning regulations do in reality keep the neighborhoods quite distinct, at the expense of the inconveniences of people having to drive quite far to access their offices and shopping options.
Most Asian cities tend to be on the polar-opposite end when it comes to the idea of subdividing urban areas by functionality. In fact, most do not even bother. Convenience is an idea that is fully embraced, as individual urban-swellers are happy that restaurants and even the workplace are within walking distance of where one lives. Sure, there might be noise pollution and reduced greenspace in the congested urban jungles, but many Asian city-dwellers see such sacrifices to be justifiable for the conveniences. The continued high prices of urban residential towers and comparatively less urban sprawl attests to such mentality.
The question is: when the city-dwellers complain about the high prices that must come with shopping, food, residences, and workplaces all packed into the limited downtown areas, how much convenience are they willing to sacrifice in order to achieve lower costs. But even as more neighborhoods outside the city center develops to cater to both people and companies seeking lower costs, they will eventually be bogged down in the same problem of congestion, high costs, and a sometimes undesirable overmixing of work and play in the same geography. Without changes in the zoning laws and the tradeoff of convenience that underpins them become more mainstream, it is hard to imagine a neighborhood like Roppongi not being replicated across Asian cities.
But interesting, Roppongi is simultaneously a growing center of business in a Tokyo that is filled with many business districts. Skyscrapers like the Hills and the Midtown host everything from successful Internet firms to investment bankers, making it one of the reasons why Minato Ward, of which Roppongi is a part, the richest district in an already wealthy Tokyo. With so much money splashing around, Roppongi has come to host venues for the elegant, whether it be haute cuisines or avant-garde art exhibitions that few in the general populace can really understand. The contrast of the rich's playground often doesn't mix with its seedy side.
One can easily argue that the confluence of foreign influence, lots of money, and an uncharacteristically diverse population that defies Japan's ethnic and sociocultural homogeneity is what makes Roppongi a paradox: both so shady and stylish, entertainment- yet business-focused. Such a paradox can certainly be a cause for celebration of a dynamic neighborhood but can also be a source of headaches for all who has to be there. Having to work in the neighborhood can be evident for office workers, who are often not in the mood for rubbing shoulders with party-revelers and pulsing nightclubs as they tiredly rush to and from their offices.
The anxiety may even be rather trivial in the beginning, but it adds up over time when one spend years working in the same firm in the same building. Compared to many other, "lower-end" office districts in Tokyo, restaurants in the neighborhood tend to gravitate toward the two extremes, with cheap fast-food joints satiating the hunger pangs of the rushing businessmen and party-goers on one side, and expensive sit-down options for the wealthy and well-heeled on the other. For the office workers that are not too keen on satiating themselves with McDonald's and convenience store fare day in and day out, lunch could get expensive.
For people whose office just happened to be in Roppongi, but their nature of work has nothing to do with the neighborhood's rather diverse and dynamic nature, been in Roppongi has none of the benefits while all of the costs. Without being able to really take advantage of the international-ness of the place for their careers, such office workers are nonetheless saddled with the high costs of even eating lunch there, essentially reducing their disposable income for no good reason. For them, it would be better off if the neighborhood is separated between distinct business and entertainment zones, neither affecting the other in terms of functionality or price.
Such idea of zoning is precisely what urban planners think about when they design the laws that regulate what buildings can different parts of the city build, in order to keep the whole thing functional while orderly. American cities, in particular, speak of "residential," "commercial," and "entertainment" zones, all of which theoretically distinct and connected by highways that are not easily crossed without the use of the personal car. Such zoning regulations do in reality keep the neighborhoods quite distinct, at the expense of the inconveniences of people having to drive quite far to access their offices and shopping options.
Most Asian cities tend to be on the polar-opposite end when it comes to the idea of subdividing urban areas by functionality. In fact, most do not even bother. Convenience is an idea that is fully embraced, as individual urban-swellers are happy that restaurants and even the workplace are within walking distance of where one lives. Sure, there might be noise pollution and reduced greenspace in the congested urban jungles, but many Asian city-dwellers see such sacrifices to be justifiable for the conveniences. The continued high prices of urban residential towers and comparatively less urban sprawl attests to such mentality.
The question is: when the city-dwellers complain about the high prices that must come with shopping, food, residences, and workplaces all packed into the limited downtown areas, how much convenience are they willing to sacrifice in order to achieve lower costs. But even as more neighborhoods outside the city center develops to cater to both people and companies seeking lower costs, they will eventually be bogged down in the same problem of congestion, high costs, and a sometimes undesirable overmixing of work and play in the same geography. Without changes in the zoning laws and the tradeoff of convenience that underpins them become more mainstream, it is hard to imagine a neighborhood like Roppongi not being replicated across Asian cities.
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