2010: The Future Is Now!

Unfortunately, as Yggy points out, it's the bad, grimy, cyberpunk parts of the future.  William Gibson's seminal novel Neuromancer has its protagonist Case living out of a capsule hotel in Chiba City, Japan.  In 1984, when Gibson's novel was published, Japanese salarymen used the hotels to grab a night's sleep when they missed the last train home.

And now in 2010, unemployed Japanese are now living out of them.

For Atsushi Nakanishi, jobless since Christmas, home is a cubicle barely bigger than a coffin — one of dozens of berths stacked two units high in one of central Tokyo’s decrepit “capsule” hotels.

“It’s just a place to crawl into and sleep,” he said, rolling his neck and stroking his black suit — one of just two he owns after discarding the rest of his wardrobe for lack of space. “You get used to it.”

When Capsule Hotel Shinjuku 510 opened nearly two decades ago, Japan was just beginning to pull back from its bubble economy, and the hotel’s tiny plastic cubicles offered a night’s refuge to salarymen who had missed the last train home.

Now, Hotel Shinjuku 510’s capsules, no larger than 6 1/2 feet long by 5 feet wide, and not tall enough to stand up in, have become an affordable option for some people with nowhere else to go as Japan endures its worst recession since World War II.

(More after the jump...)

And the great part is one of these still costs more than my rent.

The rent is surprisingly high for such a small space: 59,000 yen a month, or about $640, for an upper bunk.

But with no upfront deposit or extra utility charges, and basic amenities like fresh linens and free use of a communal bath and sauna, the cost is far less than renting an apartment in Tokyo, Mr. Nakanishi says.

Still, it is a bleak world where deep sleep is rare. The capsules do not have doors, only screens that pull down. Every bump of the shoulder on the plastic walls, every muffled cough, echoes loudly through the rows.


Each capsule is furnished only with a light, a small TV with earphones, coat hooks, a thin blanket and a hard pillow of rice husks.

Most possessions, from shirts to shaving cream, must be kept in lockers. There is a common room with old couches, a dining area and rows of sinks. Cigarette smoke is everywhere, as are security cameras. But the hotel staff does its best to put guests at ease: “Welcome home,” employees say at the entrance.

Welcome home, indeed.  And given Japan's economic policies, more and more folks will end up in places like this.  Japan is coming apart at the seams.

And here in America, we're following in their economic footsteps.