The club was the product of an unlikely partnership: the British leisure group Juliana's, led by Michael Wilkings and Mark Vlassopulos, and Nissho Iwai Corporation, one of Japan's powerful general trading companies (now part of Sojitz). Producer Masahiro Origuchi brought the concept to life in a cavernous Shibaura warehouse space. From day one, the formula was deliberate -- free admission for women dressed in provocative clothing, elevated dance platforms called otachidai, and a sound system that moved from Italo house to Belgian hardcore techno as tastes shifted. The business model worked spectacularly. At its peak, Juliana's drew thousands of visitors per night, becoming so iconic that a television show was dedicated entirely to the venue. The club also released a series of compilation CDs, primarily featuring techno, that sold over a million copies across six volumes.

What made Juliana's unforgettable was not the music but the dancers. Office ladies -- the salaried women of Japan's corporate world -- would leave their desks, change into body-conscious dresses, and climb onto the raised platforms to perform elaborately choreographed routines. The bodycon style, a Japanese adaptation of the tight-fitting fashion pioneered by designer Herve Leger, became synonymous with the club. Professional go-go dancers shared the stages with amateurs, but the boundary between the two blurred deliberately. The otachidai turned every woman into a performer, and the white feather fans became props in a nightly ritual of liberation. For many participants, Juliana's offered a rare space in buttoned-up corporate Japan where strict social hierarchies dissolved under strobe lights.

Juliana's undoing began in 1993 when a magazine promotion featured staged photographs of nearly naked dancers at the club. The images drew police attention and public backlash, forcing management to institute a dress code and ban the gyaru-style dancers from the elevated platforms -- the very thing that made the venue famous. The atmosphere shifted immediately. Tokyo's nightlife crowd moved to less restrictive venues, and the dance floor that once packed thousands began to thin. Noise complaints from Shibaura residents added further pressure. The owners spent $500,000 remodeling the club in an attempt to attract a different clientele, and there were plans for expansion to additional locations in Tokyo and Osaka. None of it worked. On August 31, 1994, Juliana's Tokyo closed its doors for good.

Juliana's existed for just three years and three months, but its cultural aftershock reached far deeper. The club has been referenced in manga, anime, and film, with the white feather fans appearing as a cultural shorthand for early-1990s Japan. Producer Masahiro Origuchi went on to found the Goodwill Group, pivoting from nightlife to nursing care. In 2015, the Shibaura building that once housed Juliana's was converted into office space by Sasaki Architecture, who installed floating walls inside the former dance hall. In 2018, a revival event called Juliana's was staged in Osaka, drawing nostalgic crowds eager to relive the experience. The original site in Shibaura still stands, its entrance recognizable to those who remember -- a quiet doorway on an industrial block where, for a brief and feverish stretch, Tokyo danced as if the money would never stop.