For decades, humble signs hand-cut from industrial tape have guided millions of commuters through the labyrinth of Tokyo’s Shinjuku Station.
With plump, rounded characters saying, for example, “East Exit this way” or “Keep to the left here,” the guideposts have been a charming old-style feature in a world of flickering digital screens.
Now, that same font, born from a utility knife and a roll of tape, is splashed over a new store for a global sportswear titan.
The digital signs on the exteriors of four floors of the “Nike Shinjuku” store blaze just outside the station’s East Exit. They feature rounded kanji for “Shinjuku,” with the iconic Nike swoosh embedded as a stroke in “juku.”
The artist behind the design isn’t a trendy graphic designer from a high-powered agency. He’s Shuetsu Sato, a 72-year-old who has worked as a security guard for 28 years.
Sato is also the one who hand-crafted the tape signs inside the station.
His shift runs in the quiet hours between the last train at night and the first in the morning. In that time, he guides heavy machinery that loads steel frames and keeps watch for passing trains to prevent accidents at the station’s construction sites.
On April 10, when the Nike Shinjuku store opened, he gazed up at his own font glowing on a screen 2 meters high and over 3 meters wide.
“It’s 200 out of 100,” Sato said, having just arrived for his overnight shift. “They did such a great job finishing it. I’m surprised it’s being featured this prominently.”
AN EXTRA TOUCH
The font’s journey from station walls to global brand began out of necessity.
Around 2004, construction had turned Shinjuku Station into a maze. Sato, then working security, was constantly asked for directions by overwhelmed passengers. Answering each person verbally felt inadequate.
“I’ll make some signs,” he decided.
He started by tearing up protective tape from the construction site and sticking pieces to scrap panels. His mentality, he recalled, was, “If the station officials get angry, I can just peel it off.”
One day, a frustrated commuter grabbed him by the collar, yelling, “I want to get through here!”
Sato, who had worked in a bank and a coffee shop, had always prided himself on putting himself in the customer’s shoes. So, the encounter with the angry commuter struck a chord.
He realized the signs needed more than just information; they needed empathy.
He added an “extra touch” by rounding the corners of the tape letters with his utility knife, hoping to “relieve even a little bit of the commuters’ frustration and irritation.”
A native of Hanamaki, Iwate Prefecture, Sato has never studied design and was, by his own admission, bad at calligraphy.
But a high school art class had left him fascinated by the clean, straight lines of the Gothic font. The aesthetic stuck with him and later influenced the style of his handmade letters.
These carefully crafted signs—plump, rounded and mysteriously charming—began to resonate with commuters at Shinjuku Station.
Sato said he can’t forget the joy he felt one day when an elderly woman with a bent back stood in front of a sign and told him, “This is the kind of sign I wanted.”
Before long, fans had nicknamed his work the “Shuetsu font,” and orders for signs and shop logos from outside the station began to pour in.
His work was formally recognized last year with an award from the Japan Sign Design Association.
For years, a growing circle of admirers knew the secret of the station’s signs.
One of those fans was graphic designer Shun Sasaki.
THE DESIGNER’S EYE
Sixteen years ago, Sasaki, a recent graduate of Tama Art University, discovered the tape signs all over JR Nippori Station, where Sato was then working.
“These letters are interesting,” Sasaki thought.
He investigated and learned they were all the work of a security guard.
“In an age where anything can be made with a computer, the letters made with unrefined gum tape have a uniqueness and a playfulness that is appealing,” Sasaki said. “I thought it was a form that could absolutely never be created by a computer.”
He became an instant fan.
So when Nike brought Sasaki on as art director for the new store’s logo, he knew exactly who to call. Working alongside the Nike creative team, Sasaki championed Sato’s font as the project’s centerpiece.
“When I think of Shinjuku, Shuetsu Sato immediately comes to mind,” he explained.
Sato’s font, he said, was already “familiar to users of Shinjuku Station and fitting for Shinjuku.”
AN UNLIKELY PARTNERSHIP
Sato, however, was hesitant.
“Is someone like me really OK for this?” he recalled asking. “Is the ‘global Nike’ really going to use letters made from gum tape?”
The collaboration that followed was a blend of old-world craft and modern design. After finishing his night shift, Sato created several tape versions of the “Shinjuku” characters and show them to Sasaki.
Sasaki then suggested digital modifications, such as, “How about we make this line diagonal?”
And Sato would reproduce the design by hand with his tape and knife.
Sato works freehand and never uses a draft. He first applies the tape in a grid pattern, then carves out the letters with a utility knife.
This gives his work an organic quality where “the shape changes depending on Sato’s groove,” Sasaki said, noting the interesting variations that emerged.
“His desire to create is incredible. And his playfulness is just too much. My respect for him grew even more,” Sasaki added.
LOVE OF THE CRAFT
Today, as digital signs replace older ones, opportunities to see the original “Shuetsu font” inside Shinjuku Station are dwindling. But it remains on a “No littering!” sign that blends into the city.
While Sato’s font had already gained a loyal following, the Nike project placed it on its most visible stage yet.
“I won’t change,” Sato said with a laugh. “I’ll just make letters when I’m asked--while making sure it doesn’t interfere with my security work, of course.”
The driving force, he said, is simply love for the craft.
“I get excited when I’m making them,” he explained. “Since I’m the first one to see it, I’m moved every time, thinking, ‘So this is how the character turned out.’ Because I make them carefully and with my whole heart, I’ve never made a mistake. That’s my only boast.”
He offered a piece of advice for young designers: “Stick with what you love. Don’t listen too much to the demands of others.”
A MAN OF SHINJUKU
As Sato stood looking at the glowing digital sign that now illuminates the Shinjuku nightscape, his eyes widened.
“So this will become a new landmark of Shinjuku,” he said. “I love Shinjuku. It’s fun to watch the cityscape change day by day. There’s sadness when long-established shops disappear, but I prefer the new Shinjuku.”
He smiled brightly. “Even if I were to disappear tomorrow, these letters would remain, wouldn’t they?”
With that, he said, “Well then,” and disappeared into the Shinjuku crowd to begin his night shift.