The Hokkaido brand: Blessed but “boring”?
“I’m from Hokkaido.” Whenever I say these words outside my home prefecture, it’s like casting a magic spell. People’s eyes light up. “I want to go there!” “The seafood is amazing!” “The nature is so beautiful!”
In Japan, being from Hokkaido means you never have to struggle with an “icebreaker” in conversation. It’s the ultimate geographical advantage. To be honest, I feel a bit sorry for people from the Northern Kanto region—Gunma, Ibaraki, or Tochigi. When they reveal their hometown, there is often a split-second of awkward silence. The best anyone can muster is, “Oh… I see. That’s pretty close to Tokyo, right?” Being born in Hokkaido is like starting a race with a head start, and I can’t help but sympathize with the handicap our friends in Northern Kanto have to carry. (Half-kidding, of course! Please don’t be angry, Northern Kanto readers!)
However, despite our natural abundance, there is a dark secret we locals whisper among ourselves: Our package design often lacks “urbanity.” We have the best ingredients, but we wrap them in packages featuring cartoon cows that haven’t been updated since the 80s. In the world of branding, Hokkaido has the “soul,” but Tokyo has the “suit.”
The business gift battlefield
In Japan, the Omiyage (souvenir) culture is a high-stakes battlefield. When visiting a business partner, your gift reflects your company’s taste. Some corporations even keep databases on the gifts they’ve received.
In such a setting, can you really walk into a Tokyo skyscraper carrying a box of sweets with a winking cartoon bear on it? No matter how delicious the contents, Tokyo gifts—with their sleek, minimalist packaging—often win the psychological war. For a long time, Hokkaido was winning the “taste test” but losing the “design war.” in an urbane package design. Gifts are judged by their package design especially in business settings.
The architect and the “reverse import” of design
However, the winds are shifting. Last month, a historic local confectionary company called Tsuboya (established over 90 years ago) opened a new shop designed by world-renowned architect Sou Fujimoto.
Fujimoto, born right here in our small town, is a global superstar. By bringing a global architect back to his roots, Tsuboya has created a space that feels both “Hokkaido” and “International.”
Now, I must make a small, tragic confession: For some mysterious reason, CondeHouse furniture was NOT chosen for this specific shop. A missed opportunity? Perhaps. But I am an optimist. I’ve decided that if Tsuboya becomes even more successful, they will surely open another shop, and next time, our furniture will be there. So, I beg of you: please go and buy as many Tsuboya sweets as possible! Help them grow so they can afford our chairs for their next location!
A design destination
They’ve even launched a “Cake Drink” called POTEA—a playful, modern way to consume traditional sweets. The shop is located near Asahikawa Station. It’s no longer just a “souvenir stand”; it’s a design destination.
Hokkaido is finally stepping out of its “cute cow” era and into a world where our aesthetics match the quality of our soil. Next time you visit, don’t just come for the seafood—come to see how we’ve finally learned to dress our “soul” in a world-class suit.
True beauty is a balance of inner soul and outer presentation. Why settle for one without the other? Our furniture aims for that perfect Hokkaido harmony: natural materials refined by world-class design. (And unlike Tsuboya’s latest shop, you can actually have these in your own home right now!)


Shungo Ijima
Global Connector | Reformed Bureaucrat | Professional Over-Thinker
After years of navigating the rigid hallways of Japan’s Ministry of Finance and surviving an MBA, he made a life-changing realization: spreadsheets are soulless, and wood has much better stories to tell.
Currently an Executive at CondeHouse, he travels the world decoding the “hidden DNA” of Japanese culture—though, in his travels, he’s becoming increasingly more skilled at decoding how to find the cheapest hotels than actual cultural mysteries.
He has a peculiar talent for finding deep philosophical meaning in things most people ignore as meaningless (and to be fair, they are often actually meaningless). He doesn’t just sell furniture; he’s on a mission to explain Japan to the world, one intellectually over-analyzed observation at a time. He writes for the curious, the skeptical, and anyone who suspects that a chair might actually be a manifesto in disguise.
Follow his journey as he bridges the gap between high-finance logic and the chaotic art of living!

