Industry insiders believed that the MUJI era had ended along with the 20th century. As the new millennium began, the Japanese household and consumer goods retailer was experiencing a period of marked financial strain. Mujirushi Ryōhin (無印良品), which translates to no-brand quality goods, later shortened simply to MUJI, started as an in-house product line for the supermarket Seiyu in the late 1970s. While other supermarkets focused their own brands solely on affordability, Seiyu sought differentiation by launching Mujirushi Ryōhin to offer high-quality products at reasonable prices under the slogan cheap for a reason. To reduce costs, Mujirushi Ryōhin used minimal packaging, consisting of clear cellophane and plain brown paper labels, and employed various waste-reduction strategies. Ikko Tanaka, the influential graphic designer brought in as art director, introduced the design concept of the beauty of simplicity. This philosophy led to the unadorned style that MUJI is now known for, marking the start of its transformation from a brandless product line into a veritable super brand.

In 1983, the first Mujirushi Ryōhin shop was established in Aoyama, Tokyo. By 1989, Ryohin Keikaku Co., Ltd was incorporated, taking ownership of the brand and separating it from Seiyu. The 1990s proved to be a decade of success—the collapse of the Japanese asset price bubble meant that cheap for a reason resonated with the public who now had cause to shop rationally after the excesses of the 1980s. However, competitors with similar business models, such as Uniqlo, the fashion retailer; Nitori, the homeware retailer; and Daiso, the largest ¥100 shop, steadily eroded MUJI's market share. Management complacency allowed the situation to worsen, resulting in a sudden downturn; from profitability in 2000, the company experienced a deficit of 3.8 billion yen in 2001, and its stock price on the Tokyo Stock Exchange plummeted to one-seventh of its former value.

Returning to 1976, Tadamitsu Matsui, a recent university graduate, was starting work in the household goods section of Seiyu's Fujimigaoka branch having been rejected by every other company he applied to. Matsui's career trajectory was a corporate fairytale, advancing from the shop floor through seniority levels and departments until becoming President and Representative Director of Ryohin Keikaku in 2001, at a crucial stage in MUJI's history. Matsui proved up to the task, and under his leadership, the company rebounded, achieving a consecutive three-year record profit run from 2005 to 2008. His approach centred on systematisation, a subject in which he is now considered something of a savant. The most prominent example is his creation of the MUJIGRAM manual, a comprehensive guide for MUJI store operations. This manual, divided into 13 A4-sized binders totalling around 2,000 pages, contains highly detailed, repeatable standards to ensure flawless consistency.

Simultaneously, MUJI adopted a modular approach to its product line. Each item was reevaluated to fit into a unified system of over 7,000 products. This approach led to the MUJI HOUSE initiative—in Japan, you can purchase anything from a pen to a prefabricated home from MUJI. To see this systematisation at its finest, MUJI Ginza, the brand's global flagship store, is the destination. Every brand offering is on display, meticulously organised through point-of-sale signage, labelling, and wayfinding graphics. At MUJI Ginza, you can procure the all-time best-selling aroma diffuser, pick up a curry bread from the bakery, enjoy a cappuccino at the coffee bar, and browse brand annuals in the library. When night falls, you can relax on MUJI pillows in a MUJI bed in a MUJI hotel room on the top floor. There are inherent contradictions in MUJI's approach—how does a brand that trades on the concept of minimalism justify producing 7,000 products? Nonetheless, it is a sight to behold.

Before reaching MUJI Ginza, we have a brief stop at a location with a quieter demeanour—a discreet shrine situated in an alleyway en route. Indeed, this is part two of our walking tour of Ginza, navigating via the Hatchō Shrines, a collection of urban micro shrines dispersed throughout the district. If you're joining us anew, I recommend starting with part one, where we learned a concise history of Ginza, reflected on the phenomenon of small shrines in Tokyo, and familiarised ourselves with Ginza's Hatchō Shrines. With a customised Google Map in hand, we roamed the 5-, 6-, 7-, and 8-chōme blocks south of the Harumi-dōri thoroughfare. This contemplative mode of exploration offers a slower way to experience one of the most outwardly commercial and tourist-heavy parts of Tokyo, allowing for reflections on history, design, and the finer details.

Starting from the B4 exit of Ginza Metro station and walking back towards the 4-chōme intersection, we find Ginza Renga-dōri, a narrow street stretching from 4- to 1-chōme, eventually meeting the perimeter of Ginza. Renga-dōri, which translates to Brick Avenue, is a remnant of Ginza Bricktown. Bricktown was developed in the early Meiji period (1868-1912) to restore the area after the Great Ginza Fire of 1872, as we learned in part one. In its heyday, all the buildings along Renga-dōri were constructed from red brick, inspired by English Georgian architecture. Although paved in brick, not a single brick structure remains today. The street now largely features polished metal and glass facades, with Gucci’s Ginza outlet marking its entrance.