Does “Bigger” really mean “Better”?
In the US, as the Fed battles inflation, home prices continue to soar. Even with rising interest rates, housing supply remains tight. From a Japanese perspective, I often wonder: Are American homes perhaps a bit too large? If the goal is to increase supply, wouldn’t building more compact, efficient homes be a simpler solution?
It’s a well-known fact that Japanese homes are small. Our floor space per capita is about 36 sqm—roughly half of the US average (65 sqm). In a famous 1979 EU memorandum, Japanese houses were dismissively described as “little more than rabbit hutches.” Instead of being offended, many Japanese people adopted the term with a bit of self-deprecating humor. Even now, living in Hokkaido—where the population density is low and houses are generally larger—I find myself drawn to compact living. Let me share why a “small” house can actually lead to a “bigger” life.
Fear not! No room for the boogieman!
The most obvious advantage of a small home is economic and environmental. It’s not just about lower rent, taxes, or construction costs. A small space acts as a natural filter for your lifestyle. Without excess storage, you stop wasting money on things you don’t need.
Back when I was a government official, moving almost every year, I had to be ruthless about what I bought. I never knew the size of my next government-provided housing. Ironically, though I now sell furniture, back then, it was the last thing I wanted to buy!
And here’s a psychological bonus: Small houses make you braver. If you enjoy horror movies, a compact apartment is perfect—simply because there are no dark, empty corners for a monster to hide in. You never have to worry about what’s behind the next door, because once you open it, you’ve basically seen the whole house. Perhaps that’s why even Sadako (the ghost from The Ring) had no choice but to crawl out of the TV; there simply wasn’t any other place for her to hide.
The genius of Japanese efficiency
Japanese homes are masterclasses in ingenuity. Take the modular bathroom (unit bath), for example. It’s a marvel of industrial design, integrating the tub, sink, and walls into one seamless, waterproof pod to save space.
Even today, the pursuit of efficiency continues with a poignant, almost heroic dedication. For instance, many modern shower curtain rails are now designed to curve outward, away from the tub. This tiny adjustment expands the upper space just enough to give your shoulders more room to move. It’s a relentless struggle to reclaim every possible millimeter of comfort.
Sliding doors are another secret weapon. Unlike hinged doors that require a “swing radius,” they eliminate dead space entirely. And for those who have mastered the art of temporary living, tension rods (tsuppari-bou) are essential. They transform any gap into a wardrobe or a shelf. It becomes a fun, creative puzzle: How can I maximize this cubic meter of air?
Quality over quantity: The CondeHouse philosophy
Owning a massive house is often just paying a mortgage for space occupied by things you’ve forgotten you own. Why pay for a graveyard for clutter?
At CondeHouse, we’ve survived and thrived in the “rabbit hutch” market. This environment has forced us to obsess over space efficiency and multifunctional beauty. In an era where the world is rethinking consumption, our furniture is designed for those who choose quality of life over quantity of square footage.
I confess that I’m a fan of the ‘Rabbit Hutch’—because in a world obsessed with mindless expansion, only a compact space forces you to choose what truly matters. At CondeHouse, we’ve spent decades fighting for every millimeter of comfort, perfecting furniture that proves quality will always trump quantity. Our Hatsune Miku Art Chair is the ultimate prize for the discerning ‘Rabbit.’ It is a masterpiece that doesn’t demand a mansion; it demands a soul. Designed with the precision of a unit bath and the vibrancy of a digital icon, it turns even the smallest corner into a world-class sanctuary of art and wood. It’s not about how much space you have, but how you fill it. Now, here is a portal to a masterpiece that makes ‘small’ feel ‘infinite’: the image below is your link to the special site. If you prefer to pay a mortgage for a graveyard of clutter, do NOT click it. But if you’re ready to reclaim your life with a single, perfect choice, go ahead. Elevate your space. —— The Hatsune Miku Art Chair.
Photo credit: https://archive.curbed.com/2019/6/7/18655838/tiny-house-japan-modern-architecture
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!