JUNE 9, 2025
Tokyo, Japan
January 2023
Don Draper’s (Jon Hamm) poignant ad pitch to Kodak in Mad Men hits like a truck. Of course, the acting adds to the scene, but I think it’s the universality that makes this moment so compelling.
Who hasn’t felt this twinge about something? Some moment in time? Some place or someone?
On the list of unexpected places to get hit with a wave of nostalgia for Japan, mine arrived while watching TV in a London hotel. Flipping through channels, my thumb froze above the remote as I recognized the ring and backdrop.
It was the Kokugikan Arena.
Twelve months after attending in person—and a few thousand miles away—I found myself glued to the screen, watching highlights of the year's first Grand Sumo Tournament (honbasho). I didn’t view this as any type of premonition or sign from the universe. But it was one of those moments that leaves you with such a strong desire to be back in a place you love. Seeing the same seats I'd been squeezed into and recognizing the same wrestlers I photographed just a year prior poured fuel over this feeling.
There’s an art to simplicity, and sumo is about as simple as a sport can get.
To win a match, a fighter (rikishi) must shove his opponent out of the ring or force any part of the opponent’s body to touch the ground. There are a few prohibited moves—eye gouging, hitting with closed fists, hair pulling, choking, and grabbing a little too far inside on the opponent’s mawashi (belt)—but just about anything else goes.
The initial collision sends a shockwave from the ring, while the grappling and regular slaps resonate throughout the stadium. The referee, or gyoji, adds to the cacophony of sounds, screaming “Hakkiyoi” repeatedly to encourage the wrestlers to “fight with courage.” These bouts are often over in a few seconds, but the energy in the arena holds steady throughout the evening.
Sumo is steeped in tradition, with a history dating back to the 8th century.
It’s likely that it originated as a form of ritual dance, but over the course of centuries it shifted from fights to the death as court entertainment to tournaments sponsored by feudal lords in the Middle Ages to a sport that was so popular that it took place in the streets during the Edo period. In the 1600s, the sport became more organized with fighters showcasing their strength in formal competitions.
Today, there are six official tournaments held annually across Tokyo, Osaka, Nagoya, and Fukuoka, each lasting 15 days. These events are where the top wrestlers compete, hoping to ascend the ranks.
While this national sport has evolved since its origination, it's maintained the pomp and circumstance that pays homage to its early beginnings. Rikishi throw salt to purify the ring before a match, clap their hands to signal to the gods, and stomp their legs from side to side to ward off any bad spirits. Each ceremonial element adds to an already impressive spectacle.
I’m often asked why I’ve chosen to visit Japan so many times. The mind first jumps to images of cherry blossoms, a cold morning seeing Mt. Fuji across Lake Kawaguchi, the clean cities, the sleek trains that manage to run on-time to the second, or the renowned food.
But the real answer is its people.
I purchased tickets for the first event of the annual Grant Tournament at Kokugikan Stadium in 2023, and made my way to my small “box” in the lower bowl that claimed to fit four. As if I didn’t stand out from the crowd enough just on appearance, I went to step up into my little partitioned section only to be reminded by someone in the crowd that I need to remove my shoes. As I tried to contort my legs to sit in my area, the couples to my left and right surely noticed that the American had arrived.
Rather than glaring or ignoring me, the couple to my right tapped me on the shoulder and asked if I liked yakitori. It took just a quick nod before they were handing over an unopened box of chicken skewers that they had just purchased from a vendor. Next came a sandwich and two bottles of water. They spoke in the little English that they knew, but the smiles that accompanied their offerings conveyed all that needed to be said.
Soon after, I found myself receiving an event program from the couple to my left. They took the time to walk me through the pages to ensure I was following along with the fights taking place. They shared backstories about the wrestlers and showed off their small cloth banners they made in support of their favorites. At the end of the event, both couples were eager to know what I thought of the wrestling and whether I enjoyed my time.
I no longer felt like the lost foreigner.
I was their guest.
I left the stadium feeling extremely grateful. For getting to witness the traditions and ceremonies enveloping the fights, for the incredible show of strength and skill, for the respect and politeness demonstrated within the ring and throughout the stadium, and especially for the two couples who went out of their way to make me feel welcome in a place so foreign.
Those few hours in the arena were all I needed to see that sumo goes well beyond sport—it is a nation embodied in sport.
I sat up in my hotel bed in London and opened my laptop to flip through the images from that evening. It all resurfaced at once.
The jubilant crowd, the gyoji's commands in the ring, the smiling faces to my left and right, the taste of the yakitori, the cool January night that greeted me as I left the arena.
I was quickly pulled back into a moment I wasn't ready to let go of.
Don’s pitch was for the Kodak Carousel, a circular projector for slide photographs:
“This device isn’t a spaceship—it’s a time machine. It takes us to a place where we ache to go again.”
That overlap with the art form I've long been drawn to wasn't lost on me. Photography has an uncanny ability to stir those visceral feelings.
-EK
6/9/25
