Apologies for the radio silence! I’ve been on holiday in Tokyo and have only just returned. My goodness, Japan is amaze-balls [If you ever write “amaze-balls” again, you’re fired – Ed.]. If you haven’t been, I very, very much recommend a trip.
I last visited Japan in 2005 and it feels like a lot has changed in those 14 years. Tokyo feels like a much more international city than it was when I first wandered its neon-washed streets over a decade ago.
I spoke with several Japanese friends during my most recent visit and they all agree that Tokyo has become more “globalised”. Some of the things I noticed:
– English is much more common (both spoken and on signs);
– unique touches, such as plastic plates of food in the windows of restaurants, are no longer ubiquitous;
– foreigners (including Westerners, but even more so tourists from other Asian countries such as China) are more common;
– some of the more outlandish fashion subcultures have declined and been replaced with a more generic “Instagram” culture.
Of course, I’m exaggerating somewhat. Tokyo is still uniquely, astonishingly, wonderfully Japanese. Yet there’s some truth to the idea that globalisation is starting to smooth away a few of the rough edges that make Tokyo so singular.
I should perhaps also make it clear that I’m personally, on balance, supportive of globalisation. I accept that it comes with challenges. Yet I don’t wear rose-tinted glasses for the “good old days” of rampant protectionism, racism, and nationalism (not that any of those things are in short supply in 2019).
Bear with me, because this is all relevant to my exploration of the “British old-school”. While in Tokyo, I went to the 8bit cafe in Shinjuku. They have a copy of The Black Onyx, one of the earliest Japanese computer RPGs. Leafing through the yellowed instruction manual, seeing D&D interpreted through another cultural lens (with the proviso that development had been led by a Western programmer) something struck me.
I’m struggling to articulate this…
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Before globalisation the globe was less globalised [You’re fired – Ed.].
No, that’s wrong. Let me try again.
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In the 1970s and ’80s, culture did not flow across borders effortlessly. Instead, its spread was facilitated by gatekeepers, who imported, interpreted, and re-imagined foreign cultural artefacts for consumption by their national audiences. In the British old-school, that role was most obviously played by Games Workshop.
More than that, national audiences engaging with these cultural artefacts had, more often than not, completely different cultural points of reference from the original authors. Each national culture was its own Galapagos island, evolving in different and unique ways. Again, I’m exaggerating. But there’s also some truth in what I’m saying.
To put it bluntly, I wonder if the British old-school is not just a specific set of games, or even an aesthetic. Maybe it was also an experience, in the “You had to be there” sense. Contemporary audiences engaging with old-school British games perhaps don’t have the same cultural touchstones.
On the other hand, perhaps I’m talking gubbins [You most certainly are – Ed.]. Nevertheless, I’m excited to get stuck into exploring the British old-school.
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