Japan has the amazing power to make one feel their age. I’ve spent the weekend swimming upstream in the famously massive intersections of Shibuya and Shinjuku. The only gray among a sea of tens of thousands of bobbing shiny black hairdos. What is astonishing about these gargantuan parts of town is that they are considered to be youth quarters. Thousands and thousand of kids and young adults shopping, eating, just having fun. But where are all the cool 40ish Tokyoites I want to meet and pal around with? Please don’t tell me I can’t tell their age because Asians age gracefully. I long ago decoded that riddle —much to the discontent of withering Japanese women who want to be mistaken for 27. For a country that to the outsider seems so homogeneous, there is an astonishing degree of segmentation by interest, type, costume and subculture, and yes, by age. “Get off the asphalt Grandpa, we’re trying to do hip-hop”.