Capsule Hotels

The nine hours chain reduced the capsule hotel to a stated schedule — an hour to wash, seven to sleep, an hour to get ready — and then designed everything backwards from that. The Shinjuku-North branch is all white moulded shells, black pictograms and indirect light, with sleeping floors separated by gender and kept in near silence. Luggage goes into lockers on arrival, shower rooms are stocked so nothing needs unpacking, and the whole stay is engineered to need no decisions. It is less budget lodging than a piece of very disciplined industrial design.

Rather than a shell you crawl into, The Millennials gives each guest a wider berth with a powered bed that tilts up into a sofa, a projector aimed at the wall opposite and a screen curtain instead of a door. The upper berths are reached by short ladders. Downstairs there is a long co-working floor with free desks and a communal kitchen, which makes the place function as much like a residence as a hotel for guests staying several nights in central Shibuya.

First Cabin borrowed the vocabulary of aircraft cabins: guests book a Business Class or First Class cabin, the larger of which is tall enough to stand in and closer to a small room than a pod. Partitions stop short of the ceiling, so the cabins are locked only by a soft door — valuables go in a safe. The Karasuma branch sits centrally for the Kyoto grid, with a large shared bath of the kind Japanese travellers expect, open late for guests coming back from the eastern temples.

Anshin Oyado is the comfort-first end of the format: a men-only house that leans on the bathhouse tradition, with a dry sauna, a carbonated bath and relaxation floors where guests can stay put all evening. Capsules are fitted with air purifiers and mattresses chosen rather than accepted, and the house throws in late-night noodles and unlimited drinks. The building is tall and narrow, as Shinjuku buildings are, so the facilities are stacked one to a floor and reached by lift.