The Swede bringing ‘Japandi’ style to Tokyo’s abandoned homes (2024)

Anton Wormann, a Swedish fashion model turned architectural innovator and building antiquarian, has embarked on a transformative journey that bridges Swedish and Japanese design principles: the revitalization of akiya (abandoned homes). This integration is evident in his projects across Tokyo, where he combines the minimalist elegance of Scandinavian design with the traditional beauty of Japanese architecture.

Known by his social media handle, “Anton in Japan,” Wormann’s approach to renovation is deeply influenced by his upbringing in Sweden, where preserving and restoring historical structures is a valued practice. Growing up in a 120-year-old house in suburban Stockholm, his parents undertook most renovations themselves, while Anton and his sisters played around in the garden amid the mess of building materials — ultimately spurring the siblings to build their own “forts,” as Wormann calls them, out of leftover wood.

Speaking from his most recently acquired akiya in Tokyo’s Shin-Nakano neighborhood, Wormann explains how the approach he grew up with can be at odds with the way things work in Japan.

“Carpenters hired by Japanese property developers would remove everything in this house and rebuild from scratch,” says Wormann, 31. “They are used to quick fixes and want properties to be rented out as soon as possible, whereas I want to create a really nice house that will last a long time.”

These are particularly busy times for the Swede. When we meet, Wormann has family visiting for the first time since he moved to Japan as a fashion model in 2019 — they are staying in the downstairs rental unit in one of Wormann’s other renovated akiya in the Sangenjaya neighborhood, where he himself lives with his girlfriend in the upstairs unit. Wormann’s modeling and renovation duties aside, last year also saw the release of “Free Houses in Japan,” Wormann’s written account of his akiya renovation activities.

Wormann speaks fluent Japanese; as he energetically directs a Japanese carpenter through the in-progress renovation, he simultaneously answers my questions in Swedish (this writer is a fellow Swede), all while walking through the myriad tools, building materials and wood parts in the stripped house.

“I have to be 100% clear with those I work with,” Wormann says. “But even then, it hasn’t always clicked because of personal chemistry. Now I’ve found my team, though, and it's great.”

One of Wormann's most significant projects is Sangenjaya House, well-known to the several hundred thousand who follow him on YouTube, Instagram and TikTok. It’s an 86-year-old building that had been vacant for over a decade before Wormann acquired not only the degraded structure but also the termite damage along with it.

“Termites are a nightmare,” Wormann says, only half-joking.

Reviving tradition with a Scandi-twist

An akiya revitalized by Wormann showcases his ability to blend traditional Japanese elements such as tatami mats, sliding fusuma doors and tokonoma alcoves with Scandinavian design principles, creating a harmonious “Japandi” style — a combination of Japanese and Scandinavian design elements that he embodies.

“It’s very trendy now, but it happens to be exactly what I'm doing,” Wormann says. “Scandinavian inspiration, coming from a Scandinavian upbringing and executed by a Scandinavian guy renovating Japanese houses.”

When the Japanese try to re-create the Japandi style, it usually becomes a different kind of design, he says — “not bad, but something else.”

However, the boundaries between the two disciplines can be fuzzy, as both classic Japanese and Scandinavian designs share similar values.

“In Sweden, we are very good at lighting, given our long winters,” Wormann says. “And like in old Japanese buildings, we use a lot of natural materials — raw wood, as little plastic as possible. It’s simple but beautiful. It doesn't have to be marble and gold.”

This philosophy aligns with Wormann’s broader mission of sustainability and environmental consciousness.

“I think the Japanese concept of mottainai, reusing and avoiding waste, is something very Swedish and also something very traditionally Japanese.”

Akiya transformation amid an aging crisis

Beyond the inspired part of redesigning a home’s interior, even as a social media celebrity, renovating akiya involves dealing with numerous mundane challenges.

“To level floors is very time consuming and not visible in the end,” Wormann says. “And, of course, throwing (out) trash is incredibly boring.”

The regulatory landscape in Japan also poses significant hurdles for renovators, Wormann admits: “It's been tough, but I’ve learned most of it — although it will never be a walk in the park with building codes, electricity, gas and many other structural aspects. I leave all that to the professionals. I’m more afraid of water leaks than of earthquakes, so I don't even touch that.”

Wormann acknowledges his role in a wave of non-Japanese akiya renovators — many of whom also share their journeys online, although most don’t become as famous. But why is this trend emerging now? Wormann’s popularity likely hasn’t been impeded by his modeling qualifications and comedic chops, but the fact that people flock to videos of — and purchase — old homes must be symptomatic of something.

"First, it's obviously about a love for Japan,” Wormann explains. “A soaring housing market in the countries where many foreigners come from also contributes. And then so-called bridging — that is, much of the information on akiya hasn’t been available to the outside world before people like me.”

Of course, Japan’s infamously aging population plays its part too, with 14% of all houses in Japan standing empty, ripe for the taking. Akiya renovators breathe new life into these communities, not only architecturally but also through the people who will now move there.

In about a year, Wormann has taken four Tokyo akiya under his wing — three in Sangenjaya and the most recent in Shin-Nakano. He is about to sign a contract for a 250-square-meter kominka (farmhouse home) in Chiba Prefecture.

And with such a huge social media following, another challenge is, of course, the odd detractor accusing Wormann of “cultural appropriation,” perhaps not knowing that significant architectural exchange has taken place between Japan and Europe since the mid-16th century.

But Wormann notes that the focus on non-Japanese individuals active in this field can be misleading, as the community of Japanese renovators is actually much larger. In social media, this scene is more associated with practitioners of traditional Japanese carpentry, like the bilingual carpenter Dylan Iwakuni.

“There are big communities among Japanese people doing this that most foreigners have no idea about because many of these renovators don’t speak or at least don’t post content in English,” Wormann says.