A sea of beckoning paws greets you here—rows of glossy figures with raised arms, their expressions serene yet inviting. This is Imado, in Asakusa, eastern Tokyo, celebrated as the birthplace of the maneki‑neko, the “beckoning cat” that has waved good fortune across Japan and beyond. Once a separate township, today folded into Taitō ward’s Asakusa district, Imado is also known for Imado ware and Imado dolls, folk crafts that crystallized during the Edo period (1603–1868). The story that animates this neighborhood is disarmingly simple—a legend of an old woman who, after a dream, shaped cat figures from local clay—and yet its cultural impact is immense: merchants adopted the figure as a good‑luck emblem, and an image born in backstreet kilns came to symbolize prosperity in storefronts from Edo to the world.

Historical Foundations

To appreciate Imado, begin with the city it served: Edo, the bustling early modern metropolis that would become Tokyo. In the Edo period (1603–1868), local kilns here in Imado produced durable pottery and expressive clay dolls for an expanding urban market. Folk craft thrived in such neighborhoods, where artisans answered the tastes of townspeople—shopkeepers, entertainers, pilgrims—whose daily lives were saturated with objects promising security, success, and small delights.

Within this context, a tale took shape and endured: an old woman, poor but pious, dreamed that she should model cat figures. She followed the vision, molding cats from clay; the figures sold, and with them her fortunes rose. However spare, this legend provided a human origin for the maneki‑neko, rooting the popular charm in the hands and hopes of an individual craftsperson. What matters historically is the outcome: these folk crafts spread through Edo, and merchants—sensitive to signs that attracted customers—adopted the beckoning cat as an emblem of good luck. The figure was easy to recognize, easy to reproduce, and easy to place in shop windows. Over time, the cat’s beckoning gesture became part of the visual vocabulary of Edo’s streets.

Imado’s identity—interlacing neighborhood, workshops, and a storied object—persisted as administrative boundaries changed. Once a separate township, it is now administered within Taitō ward, anchored in Asakusa, an area famous for layered urban culture. There is no UNESCO listing here, and yet its intangible heritage—craft, story, and symbol—has proven as durable as fired clay.

Architectural Mastery

Imado’s “architecture” is the architecture of making: kilns, workshops, and shopfronts where clay became commerce. During the Edo period, local kilns in Imado turned out Imado ware—utilitarian pottery—and clay dolls shaped, dried, and fired for affordability and charm. The process was straightforward: workable clay was hand‑shaped or pressed into simple molds, then dried carefully to prevent cracking. Firing hardened the pieces; hand‑painting supplied faces, gestures, and color. The resulting Imado dolls were expressive rather than monumental—meant for the hand and the hearth, not for palace display.

The maneki‑neko belongs to this world of practical, reproducible craft. Its power lies not in monumental scale but in a standardized silhouette: rounded body, upright posture, paw raised in a beckoning arc. Such a design can be modeled repeatedly, painted with variation, and sold at price points a shopkeeper could afford. In that sense, the figure is a masterpiece of Edo‑period product design—recognizable at a glance, instantly legible in a shop window, endlessly adaptable in surface detail while stable in form. Imado’s artisans specialized in precisely this balance.

As you walk today, the “built environment” that matters are the shops and studios where the lineage continues: window displays that read like a catalog of gestures; shelves that perform a visual chorus of inviting paws; workbenches where contemporary makers still shape and paint. The craft’s architecture—tables, tools, drying racks—is modest, but it reveals a sophisticated choreography of labor and object that has changed little in principle since the Edo period.

Religious & Cultural Significance

Though not a temple precinct, Imado sits within the spiritual economy of Edo‑Tokyo, where belief, commerce, and daily life interlace. The maneki‑neko embodies this fusion: a good‑luck figure meant to beckon prosperity. In the Edo period, such objects acted as practical talismans; a shopkeeper might place one by the entrance as an inviting signal to passersby. The merchants of Edo embraced it for the same reason modern businesses still do: it communicates welcome and hope in a language anyone can read.

The legend of the old woman is crucial here. It locates fortune not in imperial patronage or esoteric ritual, but in the humble act of crafting. That democratization of luck—prosperity made tangible through a small clay figure—suitably reflects the ethos of Asakusa, historically a district of entertainers, traders, and artisans. Over time, the maneki‑neko transcended its neighborhood origins to become a ubiquitous sign in Japan and across East Asia, yet its cultural DNA remains deeply Imado: handmade, affordable, and optimistic.

Across the Asakusa area today, you will find constant references to the legend—cards, posters, and mascots that echo the gesture; shops that curate shelves of beckoning cats as if arranging small altars to prosperity. While there is no single “correct” ritual practice attached to the figure, the act of choosing one, placing it at a threshold, and letting it “work” is itself a vernacular devotion.

Natural Setting & Environment

Imado’s environment is urban and intimate: Asakusa’s narrow streets, low storefronts, and lively pedestrian rhythms. The key natural material here is the earth itself—the clay that once sustained local kilns and continues to underwrite the craft identity of the area. Rather than dramatic mountain vistas or temple gardens, Imado offers a different aesthetic: the warm tactile presence of hand‑shaped clay, the matte and gloss of glazes under changing daylight, and the human‑scaled streets where craft and commerce meet.

Seasonally, the neighborhood’s energy shifts with foot traffic—busy on weekends, contemplative on weekday mornings—allowing you to experience the figurines in differing lights. Because the heritage here is woven into the everyday cityscape, it feels alive: not preserved under glass, but encountered in shop windows, studio benches, and the quick exchange of buyer and maker.

Visitor Experience & Heritage

What can you see today? Expect a rich concentration of shops and studios selling maneki‑neko figurines, Imado ware, and Imado dolls. Look for visual nods to the legend of the old woman—illustrations, signage, or small narrative displays. Many shops present families of cats in varied sizes, sometimes grouped in themes, which helps you sense how the figure migrated from artisan bench to marketplace display. The pleasure is comparative: notice the subtle differences of expression, the angle of the raised paw, the interplay of color and glaze—all clues to the hand of the maker.

Because Imado is administered within Taitō ward’s Asakusa district, it sits within easy reach of other cultural highlights, yet it retains a distinct identity anchored in craft. There is no UNESCO designation here, which is oddly liberating: the heritage feels unceremonious and participatory. Buying a small figure is not just shopping; it is engaging with a living tradition that stretches back to the Edo period (1603–1868). If you enjoy context, ask shopkeepers about their stock—many are happy to explain patterns, price ranges, and how these objects fit into local custom.

As a symbol, the maneki‑neko has traveled far, but its most resonant address remains here, where the story began: a neighborhood that turned imagination into clay, clay into figures, and figures into a citywide language of welcome. The experience is quiet yet powerful. You trace the arc from legend to kiln to shop window, and in that journey, you glimpse how everyday objects carry the weight of a city’s memory. Imado may not boast grand halls or towering gates, but it offers something equally enduring: a concentrated lesson in how craft, commerce, and belief interlock—and how a small figure with a raised paw came to beckon the modern world.