Mission, pedagogy, and technical resources for the Showa Digital Asset Archive.
We are building a library of 3D digitized objects used in everyday life during the Showa Era (1926-1989).
We think 3D digitization offers an ideal means to create an interactive virtual record of the material artifacts that distinguished everyday life in modern Japan. We invite specialists of all kinds involved in preserving cultural patrimony to join us in ensuring that Japan's twentieth-century cultural heritage does not disappear.
This project treats three interlocking claims as practical imperatives:
1. Social Indexing: First, ordinary objects (kitchenware, furniture, signage, industrial tools, and industrial artifacts) register social practices and index broad shifts in daily life over time.
2. Countering Nostalgia: Second, immersive technologies and 3D modeling, by excavating subtle textures and material states, counterpose nuanced records of cultural pasts against generalized national nostalgia.
3. Credible Narratives: Third, as virtual reconstructions become ubiquitous in contemporary pedagogy and historical world-building, their affective and narrative force depends on credible assets.
Material culture is not “background” to history. It is a primary archive of practice: how bodies moved, what infrastructures demanded, what kinds of labor were assumed, and how designs stabilized (or disrupted) social expectations in everyday life.
In a digital archive, 3D surrogates function as primary sources that can be handled without damage. The point is not only realism. It is method. Students can isolate components, compare variants, measure proportion, and argue from wear, assembly, and ergonomics in ways that a still photograph rarely permits.
Concept: Domestic space is a technology of the body. Floor-sitting, storage patterns, thresholds, and circulation routes index lived constraints and social norms.
Application: Start from a spatial component rather than an “iconic object.” Use a tatami-room interior as a measuring device for postwar domestic life: students can infer circulation paths, storage logics, and the relationship between furniture height and posture by working inside a modeled room rather than looking at it from outside. Pair a room model with a standardized tatami unit to make the argument legible as proportion and habit, not atmosphere.
Concept: Showa design history is not a simple story of “traditional to modern.” It is an uneven overlay of craft, mass production, corporate branding, and export logics that reorganized domestic life and taste.
Application: Ask students to compare a storage cabinet associated with long-lived carpentry practices to an industrially standardized, globally circulating consumer object. Treat the comparison as an argument about materials, production, and social circulation: what kinds of labor become visible or invisible, what kinds of maintenance are expected, what kind of space each object presumes, and how branding changes the object’s social life.
Concept: “Everyday life” includes industrial time, workplace risk, and the designed management of safety. Objects of work are often the clearest index of how institutions governed bodies and extracted labor.
Application: Use a safety artifact as a gateway to discuss labor regimes rather than treating it as a prop. Students can write object biographies that include manufacture, institutional adoption, maintenance, and the politics of risk. The point is to connect form to governance: what the object assumes about accidents, accountability, and worker visibility.
We recommend adapting Jules Prown’s descriptive sequence, with an added design-and-ethics step appropriate to 3D assets:
For more examples, encourage students to browse the Catalog, then propose additions or variants (the archive grows through comparative sets, not single “representative” objects).
From virtual museums to video games, the Showa period (1926–1989) lives on vibrantly in digital form across heritage preservation and entertainment platforms worldwide.
Digital technology has enabled museums and archives to recreate and preserve the Showa period in immersive ways. Japanese institutions have been at the forefront of digitizing Showa-era artifacts and environments:
A Tokyo museum dedicated to the everyday life and hardships of Japanese civilians during and after WWII (the early Showa years). The Showa-kan offers a "Virtual Showa-kan" tour with 360° panoramic imagery of its 6th and 7th floor exhibits exploring daily life in this tragic period. The emphasis is on preserving memories of wartime suffering and survival rather than on military history, aligning with the museum's mission of conveying civilian experiences.
In Chiba, the Matsudo City Museum has created a virtual tour called "Birth of the Tokiwadaira Housing Complex." This VR experience reconstructs a 1962 middle-class apartment (danchi) unit, fully furnished with period-appropriate appliances and décor. It portrays the life of a family headed by a Tokyo commuter in the early 1960s, complete with the "latest conveniences" of the time. Through photogrammetry and 3D modeling, visitors can immerse themselves in the layout and objects of a typical Showa-era household, illustrating how Japan's postwar modernity entered everyday domestic life.
A crowdsourced initiative (launched in 2018 via Makuake crowdfunding) aimed to virtually reconstruct Tokyo as it was around the time of the 1964 Olympics. Developers are using thousands of found photographs from the 1954–1974 period to build a 3D cityscape of 1964 Tokyo. Participants (including major partners like NHK and Sony) contribute images and memories, which are then stitched into a VR urban diorama. The goal is to create a "time machine" experience where users can walk through Tokyo's Showa-era streets, recognizing landmarks like newly built highways and Olympic venues.
At Ritsumeikan University, researchers have developed Virtual Kyoto, a digital museum that recreates Kyoto's cityscape across time. The project adds a time dimension to the 3D model: aerial photographs from the Showa period (mid-20th century) and old maps are integrated to rebuild Kyoto's past landscapes in a "4D" GIS environment. By overlaying 1940s aerial images with modern topography, Virtual Kyoto can simulate how neighborhoods looked in different eras, allowing viewers to toggle between present-day and mid-1900s views.
The Mori Memorial Foundation's urban lab created this project as an immersive VR tour through time. Its first installment recreates Tokyo's iconic Ginza 4-chome intersection in three eras – the Edo period (1850), Meiji period (1910), and Showa period (circa 1940) – as a seamless virtual environment. Based on detailed historical research using maps, photographs, and documents, the Ginza VR lets users "time-travel" to a bustling Ginza street corner in 1940, seeing period-accurate buildings, transportation (streetcars, early automobiles), signage, and even fashions on virtual pedestrians. The online experience launched in 2021, allowing global audiences to explore Ginza's transformation.
In the context of war memorialization, Hiroshima has adopted VR to preserve memory. A collaborative project by Fujita Co. and the University of Tokyo developed an 80-minute VR tour that recreates Hiroshima's city center on August 6, 1945, before and after the atomic bombing. Users wearing a headset can stand on a lively Hiroshima street on the clear morning of August 6, 1945, and then witness the flash of the bomb and the utter devastation that followed. The simulation is informed by survivor testimonies and historical photographs. This VR content is offered as "Peace Park VR" tours in Hiroshima and provided to schools and museums for peace education, using digital reconstruction to vividly convey the trauma of war.
An international academic effort spearheaded by historian Christopher Gerteis, this project focuses on 3D digitization of everyday objects from the Showa era. The team is building a library of high-fidelity 3D models of material culture used in Japanese daily life between 1925 and 1989. Using techniques like laser scanning and photogrammetry (including Apple's LiDAR “RealityScan” for quick captures), they have begun preserving artifacts ranging from household appliances and electronics to toys and personal items of the era. By scanning these objects and hosting them on platforms like Sketchfab, the project not only safeguards their form and appearance but also makes them accessible globally for study and virtual exhibition. This is especially relevant for sites like Hashima Island (Gunkanjima) – a famous abandoned mining town from the Showa industrial boom – where researchers can preserve artifacts and architecture from an otherwise decaying environment.
Together, these examples illustrate a range of heritage approaches: from virtual museums and city "time machines" to photogrammetric archives. Both Japanese and international projects converge on key goals: preserving the memory of the Showa era's events, architecture, and daily life through immersive technology. Crucially, many are supported by public institutions or universities, indicating a broad recognition of the value of digitally safeguarding Showa history.
Beyond the museum sphere, the Showa era has become a rich backdrop for commercial games and user-generated virtual environments. Developers and creators often tap into Showa-period settings to provide players with worlds that feel authentic or nostalgically familiar:
A critically acclaimed action-adventure game set in 1988, during the late Showa years at the height of Japan's "bubble economy." Yakuza 0 painstakingly recreates fictionalized Tokyo and Osaka districts based on real locations as they looked in the 80s. Neon-lit streets are filled with period-accurate shop signs, arcades, VHS rental stores, and fashion, immersing the player in the hustle of the boom era. The narrative uses this setting not just as window dressing but as plot fuel: the story centers on a real estate scramble, with criminal factions fighting over property during the Showa-era real estate bubble.
Often regarded as a pioneer of open-world design, Shenmue is set in 1986 Yokosuka, a port city in Japan. Players explore a faithfully modeled Japanese town in the Showa 60 era, complete with a neighborhood candy shop, gacha toy machines, vintage Sega arcade games, and neighbors who follow daily routines. Shenmue's attention to mundane details (drinking soda from a vending machine, feeding a stray cat, waiting for the bus) effectively captures late-Showa everyday life.
More information: Shenmue Wiki; The Guardian (2014); SeSeSega hatenablog (Japanese).
"My Summer Vacation" is a series of Japanese games that drop the player into the role of a young boy visiting relatives in the Japanese countryside in August 1975 (Showa 50). These games have no combat or grand conflict; instead, they simulate the nostalgic pleasures of a Showa-era childhood summer – catching cicadas, playing with water rockets, listening to evening cicada cries and distant wind chimes.
In the social VR platform VRChat, creators (both Japanese and international) have built numerous explorable worlds that pay homage to Showa-era settings. During Virtual Market 2021, the Japanese clothing brand BEAMS collaborated on a "Virtual Showa Asakusa" environment (promoting Netflix's Asakusa Kid) featuring a virtual izakaya bar and theater where avatars could perform Showa-style tap dance routines. The same retro-urban imaginary circulates through adjacent streaming nostalgia, including Netflix’s Midnight Diner: Tokyo Stories.
An upcoming first-person action title framed as an alternate history in which late-Showa Japanese popular culture “overruns” an imagined 1980s America. We note it here primarily as a market-facing example of how Showa visual culture and material signs can be lifted as an aesthetic kit for violent spectacle, rather than handled as historically accountable heritage. In that sense, it helps clarify what this Archive is not trying to do, even as it shows one commercial path that developers may pursue when Showa-era assets become widely available.
Content note: Not appropriate for all ages, and may be unsuitable for workplace viewing (Blood, Intense Violence, Partial Nudity, Sexual Themes, Strong Language, Use of Alcohol).
From big-budget console games to fan-made VR chatrooms, the Showa era provides a rich palette of settings. The careful construction of Showa-era environments (whether realistic or fantastical) can enrich the user experience, allowing entertainment products to double as cultural time capsules.
Across both heritage and entertainment platforms, the Showa era is brought to life through two main digital strategies: the creation of detailed 3D environments (macro-scale recreations of places) and the preservation of authentic objects or artifacts (micro-scale details). These digital assets serve as stages and props for narratives that reflect the complex history of the Showa period.
Many projects put special focus on digital objects from the Showa era. Once digitized, these objects can be examined in virtual galleries or inserted into larger simulations. By preserving such objects, creators ensure that the textures of Showa life can be experienced by those who never lived through it.
Whether it's an entire city district like 1940s Ginza or a humble 1960s apartment, reconstructing environments is key to situating users in Showa contexts. These environments are often created through archival research plus modern 3D modeling.
From virtual museums preserving fading memories to video games resurrecting the sights and sounds of mid-20th-century Japan, the Showa era lives on vibrantly in digital form. Heritage projects lend factual depth and gravitas, ensuring virtual Showa worlds are credible and historically responsible, while entertainment projects contribute creative breadth and reach.
Together they form a multifaceted digital remembrance of Showa. In an age when the last generation with direct Showa memories is aging, these digital reconstructions and narratives will play an ever more important role in how the world recalls Japan's dramatic twentieth century.
Our archive relies on external hosting to maintain lightweight, accessible metadata. We prioritize the following standards for "Credible Assets":
Most assets in this catalog are hosted on platforms like Sketchfab or museum repositories. We utilize WebGL for browser-based inspection, allowing users to rotate, zoom, and pan without specialized software.
These modular lesson plans treat digital 3D assets as primary sources. The point is not simply to “decorate” a scene, but to practice historically grounded interpretation through material culture: students make explicit, testable claims about time, place, labor, and everyday life by attending to scale, wear, repair, interfaces, packaging, and spatial arrangement.
Each module below includes a core question, direct asset links, and a sequence that can be run in 50–90 minutes. Encourage students to use the Catalog to find additional assets that strengthen or complicate their argument.
This module uses consumer durables and domestic props to reconstruct the lived logic of high-growth household life: not only “what was owned,” but how ownership reorganized routines (food storage, family gathering, media consumption, heating).
Core question: What kinds of domestic time, labor, and aspiration are being built into this room?
Assets (direct links):
Learning objectives:
In-class sequence (50–75 minutes):
Assessment prompt (short writing): Choose one object and write 250–350 words explaining how it reorganizes domestic labor or sociability. Cite at least two visible features as evidence.
This module treats architecture and interior components as historical arguments. Students build a small, plausible domestic space and explain how “traditional” and “modern” forms coexist in Showa-era interiors.
Core question: What does this layout imply about household size, privacy, and daily routines?
Assets (direct links):
Learning objectives:
In-class sequence (60–90 minutes):
This module links everyday prosperity to industrial work and extraction. Students use mining-related assets to think about what is made visible or invisible in “modernization” narratives, and how labor, safety, and environment are represented.
Core question: What must be true about labor and risk for this vision of “growth” to function?
Assets (direct links):
Learning objectives:
In-class sequence (50–75 minutes):
These short primers are designed to be assignable in advance (5–10 minutes each) or used as in-class framing. They anchor object work in Showa time, without turning the exercise into a survey lecture. Instructors can treat them as “working hypotheses” that students test against object evidence.
“High growth” is often narrated as macroeconomics, but for students working with 3D assets it is more productive to treat it as a reorganization of everyday infrastructures and routines. Domestic electrification, mass distribution, and the normalization of repair and replacement created new expectations about comfort, hygiene, storage, and media time. A television console or refrigerator, read closely, is an argument about space and household management: where cords can run, where heat can vent, how cleaning is imagined, and which tasks are assumed to be repetitive rather than exceptional. The point is not to claim that any one object “represents” the period. Rather, students should learn to link observable features to a bounded claim about when and where such an object becomes plausible, and what it presumes about household budgets, service networks, and the social organization of labor in the home.
Teaching tip: Require students to name what the object cannot tell them on its own (purchase price, brand status, region), then assign a “minimal corroboration” task (an advertisement, a household budget table, a housing plan) as follow-up evidence.
Postwar housing is a crucial hinge for material-culture work because it sets the constraints that make objects “fit” or “misfit.” The spread of apartment living (including danchi) and the persistence of mixed interiors complicate simplistic narratives of tradition versus modernity. Students should treat room components (tatami modules, thresholds, storage walls, circulation) as technologies that discipline bodies and organize privacy. Even small placement decisions can be turned into arguments: a kotatsu implies a winter social geography, a phone implies a household boundary and an institutional network, a wall clock implies a regime of scheduled time. The analytical payoff comes when students connect these spatial logics to family structure, gendered labor, and neighborhood governance, rather than stopping at “nostalgic atmosphere.”
Teaching tip: Assign a “one-room proof” exercise. Students must justify every placement in writing and identify one non-negotiable constraint (cords, cleaning, sleep storage, guest etiquette) that forces trade-offs.
Telephony, school goods, and routine institutional artifacts are not neutral. They materialize access, enforce schedules, and rehearse hierarchies through placement and use. Instructors can frame a phone not as “retro tech,” but as an object that implies subscription systems, repair infrastructures, household authority, and the spatial politics of privacy (who answers, where it rings, what can be overheard). In the classroom, the strongest student work connects institutional time to domestic time: the bell schedule, shift work, commuting, children’s homework, and the shared spaces where these regimes collide.
Teaching tip: Have students stage a threshold scene (genkan, corridor, office entry) and write a short “day in the life” that cites object placement as evidence for discipline, access, and conflict.
A digital archive of Showa objects risks reproducing a familiar split: the warm domestic interior versus the distant industrial exterior. This module refuses that split by treating energy and labor as everyday conditions. Mining assets, safety equipment, and industrial scenes should be used to make representation itself a question. What becomes visible (machines, tunnels, buildings) and what remains absent (bodies, dust, sound, injury, governance) is not an accident. Students should learn to name what the model cannot show, and to write historically responsible captions that resist turning extraction into “scenery.” The goal is not to moralize, but to connect consumption to systems, and to identify the narrative shortcuts that entertainment media often takes.
Teaching tip: Ask students to write two captions for the same scene: one in “game marketing” voice, one in “museum label” voice. Then require a third caption that is historically accountable and explicit about limits.
These are intentionally few and teachable. Instructors can expand regionally or thematically (labor, gender, environmental history, media history, design history) as needed.
When using assets found through this archive in academic papers or presentations, please cite the original creator of the 3D model, not just this archive.
To cite this Archive:
Gerteis, Christopher. (2025). Showa Digital Asset Archive. SOAS University of London. Retrieved from https://ckgerteis.github.io/showa-digital-asset-archive/