A Branding Company that is Designing Happiness Through Bananas

Could you introduce yourself?

I run a design studio called banana in the neighborhood of Kiyosumi Shirakawa. My name is Takafumi Miki, and my favorite food is bananas.

So that’s where the company name comes from, right?

Yes. It’s pretty simple. I just genuinely love eating bananas. Bananas have this happy image, don’t they? They’re bright yellow, after all. I’ve even heard that bananas contain elements that make you feel happier. For example, you often see bananas from Ecuador. Ecuador sits right on the equator, and warm countries tend to have a cheerful image, relaxed about time, open, bright in spirit. On the other hand, if you think about northern countries like Finland, where there are white nights, there’s this impression of enduring long, harsh winters. Compared to that, sunlight feels like it carries a kind of happy aura. So the idea is that bananas, having absorbed so much sunlight, pass that happiness on to you when you eat them.

I see. Did you look into all of that when you were starting the company?

Not really. I’ve just always loved bananas. I even have stories from when I was two years old about how obsessed I was. I’d bring a banana in my lunch during club activities, take one on school trips since you could bring fruit in addition to snacks, and I kept eating them even after I started working. So it wasn’t something I researched for the company. It’s more like a personal lesson I’ve carried with me throughout my life.

Could you tell us about your business and what defines your company?

I genuinely love designing logos. That’s where everything begins for me. Once you start creating a logo, you realize it naturally leads to other needs. A website, business cards, in-store materials, menus, support with social media. As I kept working across those touchpoints, the word “branding” started to make sense, and now calling ourselves a branding company feels right. I have someone I consider a mentor in design, Tokolo Asao, who is known for his geometric design and for creating the emblem for the Tokyo 2020 Olympics. I first met him when I was a first-year university student, and the impact of that encounter was profound. It made me realize how exciting design and logo creation could be. At my core, I’ve always loved working with geometric forms. Beyond that, I want people to feel happy through what I make. If something I design can bring even a small sense of joy, that’s enough for me. This might sound like a tangent, but earlier in my career I worked on projects for Red Bull. There, they would often say, “It needs a twist.” That slight turn, that extra layer that makes you say “wow.” I was really drawn to that idea. It eventually became part of our own guiding phrase: “SIMPLE · TWIST · DISCOVERY.” I like things to be simple and easy to understand, but I also want to bring something uniquely ours into the work, something you wouldn’t get from just any design studio. I appreciate minimal and clean design, but by adding a small “twist,” I want it to go a step further. Through that subtle quirk of our own, I hope the design can carry the client’s intentions and create moments of discovery. That’s the kind of design we aim to make. Our own logo works in a similar way. It’s built from simple geometric shapes, but with a subtle cut or adjustment, different marks begin to appear. New possibilities emerge. Designing a logo means distilling a founder’s aspirations and vision into a minimal world. So I naturally want to embed that sense of twist and discovery into it. In a way, I don’t feel like I’m only designing a logo. I’m imagining the scenes after delivery, the stories that unfold when it’s actually used. A client puts the new logo on their business card and someone asks, “What does it mean?” And the client replies, almost proudly, “Actually, it stands for this.” That explanation creates communication. It helps others understand the company more deeply. I design with those moments in mind. Of course, some clients simply want a design that is clean and beautiful, without a heavy conceptual story behind it, and in some projects that’s exactly the right approach. It really depends on the situation. But whenever possible, I want to create something that makes people feel, “I’m really glad we asked you to do this.”

Hearing that, I’d love to know more about the thinking behind banana’s own logo.

I’d say it’s a compact expression of “SIMPLE · TWIST · DISCOVERY.” The form itself is made only from rectangles and circles. In theory, they’re shapes anyone could draw. I took those basic elements, digested them in my own way, and reassembled them into the word “banana.” By adding a small cut to the form, a single “twist” appears, and from that you can start to see an infinity symbol emerge. For the symbol mark, I aimed to create a banana icon that is as simple and instantly recognizable as possible. That led me to a simple question: how many bananas should it have? Since my last name, Miki, is written with the character for three trees, the icon features three bananas. I’m also drawn to geometric beauty, so the design fits neatly within a square, while still sitting comfortably inside circular frames like social media icons.

It’s simple, yet layered with meaning. What kind of company do people say your company is?

People often say, “It looks like you’re having fun.” Or that we’re a company doing things that seem enjoyable. I take that as a compliment. That’s how I’d like us to be seen. Recently, for example, we welcomed a junior designer Aki. We’ve been working together on skill-building missions and developing her training program. The idea is not only for Aki to enjoy the process, but also for others who follow along to experience it vicariously and feel encouraged to support her. I try to design systems where everyone involved gains something, where the process itself feels engaging. That’s why we share our internal missions and personal projects on platforms like X. It becomes a way to extend that sense of participation beyond the studio.

The atmosphere inside the studio also seems very positive. What kind of people do you enjoy working with?

I’d say people who share the same vibe, or more importantly, the same intention to make things better. There are many types of design work, but when you’re working with someone who genuinely wants to improve something or bring joy through what they create, the outcome tends to be happier for everyone involved. For example, we don’t have in-house engineers, so we collaborate with engineers we trust. When we do, they might say, “I think this approach would work well,” or “What about trying this?” That kind of proactive thinking is always welcome. On the other hand, there are projects where the engineering team is already assigned before we join. In those cases, even if we suggest possibilities like “What if we added this kind of motion?” everything may already be tightly managed in terms of hours and budget, and the response can be, “We can’t go further than this.” Of course, managing time and budget is important. I understand that, but sometimes I wish we could at least explore the possibilities together before drawing the line. So for me, the most rewarding collaborations are with people who share the desire to make something better, to create something that truly delights. That alignment in values makes all the difference.

Could you walk us through a typical day?

I have two children, one in third grade and one in kindergarten. My wife is a photographer. We try to split housework and parenting evenly, but there are times when I have to travel abroad for extended periods, which inevitably puts more pressure on her. At the same time, she sometimes travels overseas for shoots, so we both try to respect each other’s work. My official start time is 9:30 a.m., but before that my wife and I often stop by a local coffee shop. It’s a small ritual, a quiet moment to reset in the morning. I usually pick up a coffee for Aki as well and get to the studio around 10. We begin with a short morning check-in to review the day’s schedule, then move into meetings and production work. At lunch, Aki and I usually either grab something nearby or go out to eat together. In the evening, I leave a little after 6 p.m. to pick up my kids. After that, it’s family time. We have dinner, go over homework, play, and just spend time together. Around 10 p.m., I return to the studio and work until about midnight. I sleep for a few hours and typically wake up around 4 a.m. From 4 to a little past 6, I work again, then head home to take care of laundry and other chores before the day officially begins. Honestly, I’m not even sure where to say my day starts. But in practice, I’m usually up at around four every morning.

You’re giving your full energy to both home and work.

I used to work at a global advertising agency. When our first child was born, I was still working intensely, often coming home in the middle of the night. A friend once told me, “You only get this time to watch your child grow once.” That really stayed with me and made me rethink how I wanted to live. Sometimes I’m asked to schedule meetings between 6 and 8 p.m., which is typically standard working hours. But the teams I regularly collaborate with understand my situation and try to avoid that time. They’re even willing to meet at 10 p.m., after I return to the studio. I’m truly grateful for that support. On the rare occasions when I have a 7 p.m. meeting, I join online from home, and more often than not, one of my kids ends up wandering into the frame. Compared to the amount of time I’d ideally want for focused work, my working hours are simply limited. So I compensate by working early in the morning. It’s a quiet window, no emails, no phone calls, and I can concentrate deeply. All-nighters don’t really work for me anymore. Even if I plan to push through, I usually end up falling asleep at my desk. These days, I’ve learned to accept that and prioritize sleep when I need to.

That sounds intense. You also work from home at times, but what is your office like?

I really love the neighborhood of Kiyosumi Shirakawa. There’s a historic building here called Seishu Dormitory, about 93 years old, and I’ve always been drawn to it. Ever since I started the company, I hoped that one day I could have our office there. Thankfully, that wish came true, and we’re now based inside that building. The space itself is quite small, filled with plants. People often say it feels like visiting their grandmother’s house. It has that kind of warmth and calm atmosphere. Apparently, it makes people feel very at ease.

So the building itself also has a story behind it.

Yes, it does. The exterior is painted a pale yellow, and sometimes people ask me, “Did you choose it because it’s the color of a peeled banana?” Honestly, that perspective only occurred to me after someone pointed it out. What drew me to it wasn’t the color, but the sense of history. I’ve always been attracted to places with a certain heritage and character. That’s what made me want to be there.

How did the company grow into what it is today?

We founded the company on August 7, 2018. I really wanted it to be on Banana Day, so that became our official anniversary. Over the years, there were periods when we had other designers on board, and times when we worked with a project manager. The team size shifted between one and three people, depending on the stage. Eventually, after a phase of working solo again, Aki joined, and now it’s the two of us. We’re currently in our eighth year.

There are bananas everywhere. You can really feel your love for them.

Well, if I’m going to do it, I might as well go all the way. I actually waited about six months after leaving my previous job so that I could officially start the company on August 7.

That’s incredible. Are there any moments, projects, or client reactions that have particularly stayed with you?

After leaving my first company and going independent, I spent two years in London on a working holiday when I was 29. Before heading to London, during my freelance period, I worked on the branding for a signage company. About a decade ago, when I had moved to Kiyosumi Shirakawa, I was walking through the neighborhood and noticed a row of signs bearing a logo I had designed. I remember thinking, “I made that.” Realizing that a company using my logo was now based in the same area where I lived felt strangely meaningful. It made me happy to see that they were still using it and valuing it after all that time. Years later, when I came to Kiyosumi Shirakawa about ten years ago, I was walking through the neighborhood and suddenly noticed a sign on a building with a logo I had designed. I remember thinking, “Wait, I made that!” Realizing that a company using my logo was right there in the same neighborhood felt really special. It made me happy to see that they were still using it and that it was still part of their identity. Another memorable project was for a French bistro food truck called Bistro Mon Porte. I worked on everything from the logo to the stickers and the vehicle wrapping. What made it special was the connection. The client was someone I had met years earlier, when I was a university student. At the time, I was part of a group called Matatabi, a mix of art students, regular university students, working adults, even a roasted sweet potato vendor. Every summer, we traveled to a small island called Goshoura in Kumamoto to host workshops with local children, using the island’s nature as our playground. One summer, we crossed the island in a traditional rowing boat powered by a single oar. Among the children who joined us back then was a girl who, years later, reached out to me and said, “Mickey, I’ve had a child, and my husband and I are starting a French food truck. Can you design our logo?” It felt like a long thread finally tying itself together. A connection from years ago coming full circle. That project carries a deep emotional weight for me.

It’s wonderful how those connections resurface over time.

When I look back at my work, a lot of it is connected to friends. I’ve collaborated with a friend from middle school, worked on projects with a former high school soccer teammate who’s now in architecture, handled branding for university friends, and even received commissions from former colleagues after they changed jobs. At every stage of my life, I’ve been fortunate to have friends who reach out, who trust me, and who support me. I feel very lucky, and I’m constantly helped by those relationships. I’m incredibly grateful for that.

What keeps you going in this work? What drives you?

Seeing someone happy. That’s really it. I was pretty good with my hands as a kid. Once, I made something like a drawstring bag in sewing class, and a girl I liked said, “That’s cute. I want one too.” So I made one for her the next day and brought it to school. She was so happy. That feeling stayed with me. If someone needs something and I can make it, and they’re happy because of it, that makes me happy. It’s been a repetition of that my whole life. “I’ll make it.” “I’ll take care of it.” And if someone smiles because of it, that’s enough. I guess I’ve always been a designer at heart. I can initiate things myself when needed, and I create content too. But at the core, I prefer making things that are for someone. If I put it bluntly, maybe it’s a coping mechanism. It’s where I find my sense of meaning. That’s why I feel the way I live and work now is truly my calling.

What do you hope for the future of this industry?

I think the design and creative industry is entering a major period of transformation, especially with the rise of AI. In moments like this, the only thing that comes to mind is: don’t give up. There’s a line in the song “TOMORROW” by Mayo Okamoto that says exactly that. I’m probably saying it to myself as much as to anyone else. You asked earlier why I’ve been able to keep going. The truth is, I intend to keep going. To keep making. My high school soccer coach used to say, “Continuity is strength.” And Tokolo, who designed the Olympic emblem, once said, “I could create that because I kept going.” There were many creative friends around me in the past. Some changed careers, others chose different paths. But we’re here now because we continued. Maybe I could have lived more comfortably if I had chosen another line of work. But more than comfort, I want to keep doing this. I feel like something exists on the other side of continuation. So no matter how the times change, whether it’s AI or any new technology, if we learn to work alongside it and keep going, something meaningful will emerge. I’m not really in a position to speak for the whole industry, but I guess what I want to say is: let’s not give up. Let’s just keep going.

That’s inspiring. Looking ahead, are there any challenges you’d like to take on as a company?

I’d like to grow the team a little. Right now it’s just a designer and a director, so we don’t yet have roles like engineers, creative producers, or digital-focused directors in the team. I’d love to increase the number of projects we can complete entirely within our company, without outsourcing. That would allow us to pursue our ideas with greater depth and consistency. I’ve always been drawn to the idea of a team. Some people form guilds or loose collectives, which is great, but I’m interested in building something that can operate internally. I sometimes say I’m looking for the third banana. We’re not officially recruiting yet, but over time, I hope we can gradually add more “bananas” to the bunch.

You mentioned the word team. What does having teammates mean to you?

That’s a difficult one. Maybe it’s like an extended family. There’s a sense of closeness, almost familial. I want the people who work with me to be happy, the same way I would want that for family. Aki sometimes looks after my kids. When they come to the studio with their school backpacks, she’ll ask, “How was school today?” or sit down and color with them. My children adore her. There are also designers who once worked with banana and have since gone independent, building their own paths. I genuinely support what they’re doing, and I’m always happy to offer advice if they ever need it. Our studio is small, which means I can take responsibility for each person more directly. I want to help them develop strong foundations so that wherever they go, they can stand on their own as designers. Ideally, in two or three years, they’ll be independent and capable enough that I can confidently entrust projects to them. And if they choose to stay longer, that would make me even happier. Whatever path they take, I hope they can be proud of the skills and mindset they cultivated at banana. That’s the kind of team I want us to be.

Thank you. Finally, could you share a message with our readers?

Let’s make something fun together. That’s really it. Whether it makes money or not, I’d like to set that aside for a moment. If there’s something interesting, I’m always open to collaborating. Maybe I’ll reach out to someone and say, “Could we try something like this together?” Or maybe someone reading this will reach out to me. Either way, I want to keep pursuing things that feel exciting. On a related note, not long ago a large project suddenly fell through. So I posted on social media saying I was open to more work. It takes courage to say something like that. You worry people might think, “Are they struggling?” The wording feels delicate. But after I posted honestly, a new inquiry came in. As it turned out, the art director they had planned to work with had fallen ill, and they were looking for someone. Timing just aligned. When you’re active on social media, people tend to assume, “Mickey must be doing great,” or “He’s probably always busy.” But I realized that when you’re in trouble, it’s okay to say, “I need help.” Sometimes you just have to be honest. So I want to stay true to myself and keep doing interesting things with interesting people. I’ll say it here, too. And because I made that post, I ended up being interviewed like this today, so you really never know where life will take you. I’m very grateful that you came across that post and reached out. Thank you so much!