Why Do We Crowd? The Psychology of “Tokyo Sardines” and Traffic Jams

Every weekday morning, like clockwork, we perform the strangest ritual: cramming ourselves into trains, lifts, escalators, or traffic lanes as if being shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers is the most efficient way to live.

I’ve been fascinated (and occasionally horrified) by this for years. One day, I decided to write it down. Why do humans love to crowd?

I like to call it the “Tokyo Sardines” effect.

Tokyo Sardines Effect (noun): The universal human tendency to pack ourselves into confined spaces, convinced that proximity equals efficiency. Side effects may include sweating, awkward eye contact, and inhaling someone else’s shampoo.

Used in a sentence: “I was late for work because of the Tokyo Sardines Effect — the crowd was so tight, I basically wore someone else’s backpack as a shirt.”

I’ve said this phrase with friends many times while describing crowded metros, and they always laugh like I just said something borderline offensive. I promise, it’s just a funny little hyperbole — a sardine-sized exaggeration to capture the absurdity of being packed like canned fish.

⸻

A Note on Cultural Observations

Before anyone misreads this, let’s get it clear: this isn’t racist — it’s purely observational. The reason I call it the Tokyo Sardines Effect and not “Anglo-Celtic Sardines” comes down to what I’ve seen in crowded metro systems. Densely packed public transit is far more common in Japan and other East Asian cities due to cultural norms and population density.

Research backs this up: studies show that people in East Asian cultures tend to have a higher tolerance for close physical proximity in public spaces. Living in dense cities for centuries has conditioned people to manage the psychological stress of crowding, so packed trains don’t feel as suffocating as they might in Western countries, where personal space is prized (link.springer.com, psychspirit.com).

It’s not about superiority or inferiority — it’s simply a cultural difference in how we relate to physical space.

⸻

The Tokyo Experience

Back in 2017, I was in Japan, experiencing the legendary Tokyo subway. Picture this: thousands of people moving with military-like precision, station attendants politely nudging commuters deeper into the carriage, and somehow, despite being packed tighter than a suitcase on your last day of holiday, people still manage to let you off at your stop without grumbling.

Contrast this with Sydney: you try to exit the train, and suddenly it’s a rugby scrum. You apologize fifteen times, shoulder-barge someone’s backpack, and finally stumble onto the platform like you’ve just completed an endurance sport.

Why do we willingly smoosh ourselves into sardine tins, both literal and metaphorical? That’s the mystery.

⸻

The Mechanics of Crowding (and Escalators, My Nemesis)

At high densities, a crowd stops behaving like individuals and starts acting like a liquid. People behind you push forward, pressure ripples through the group, and suddenly you’re moving whether you want to or not. You’re not walking — you’re being carried like a tiny, confused leaf in a human river.

Blocked paths (escalators, boom gates, train doors) make things worse. People at the back assume those in front will move, so they keep pressing in, creating bottlenecks that would make any city planner cry.

And speaking of escalators — confession time. I have a completely irrational phobia of going downthem. Going up? Fine. I can strut up like I’m training for the Olympics. Going down? My knees lock, my palms sweat, and I look like a malfunctioning robot.

So I cheat. I take the lift down, or the stairs if I can. Funny thing, though: lifts are often packed, escalators are always crowded, but stairs? Practically empty. Stairs are the introvert’s paradise: peaceful, uncrowded, and only slightly leg-burning.

It makes me wonder: why do we huddle together on moving platforms while ignoring the quiet alternative? Efficiency? Laziness? Or something in our sardine DNA?

⸻

The Psychology of Why We Huddle

There’s more to this than physics. Crowds are full of brain tricks:

• Social Proof: If everyone else is crowding the escalator, it must be the right thing to do. Even if a perfectly empty escalator is ten metres away.

• Contagious Emotions: Panic and excitement spread like wildfire. One person rushes, others follow, and suddenly you’re sprinting because… everyone else is.

• Reduced Accountability: In a crowd, you’re just another face. That lack of responsibility can make people pushy — or, occasionally, generous.

• Imitation: Humans are copycats. If the person in front inches forward, you do too. Before long, everyone’s nose-to-shoulder and nobody knows why.

Crowding scratches a deeper itch: the need to belong. Evolution trained us to huddle together for warmth, safety, and the occasional mammoth hunt.

⸻

🧬 Ancient Roots: Why We’re Pack Animals

Early humans on the savannah faced predators, rival clans, and general chaos. Staying close together increased survival odds — safety in numbers. Proximity also helped with cooperation: hunting, gathering, sharing food, building shelters.

Even shared resources played a role. If food, water, or shelter was scarce, being part of a crowd meant better access. Our modern sardine-packed commute? It’s basically a symbolic echo of those survival instincts — we just swapped mammoths for metro trains.

⸻

Enter the Traffic Jam: Crowds on Wheels

Crowding doesn’t stop on foot. Phantom traffic jams prove the same strange behaviors play out on the road. One driver taps the brakes, the next reacts late, and suddenly hundreds of cars are inching forward in unison.

Big cities take it further. New York City traffic, for example, is basically an art form in gridlock unless it’s 3 a.m. At any other hour, you’re a sardine in a car. Everyone inches forward, honks, and stares at brake lights like it’s a bizarre ritual.

Traffic psychology works like this:

• We imitate the car ahead.

• We fear being left behind, so we tailgate. And if someone’s riding your ass, there’s always that internal dialogue: “Buy me a drink first,” or my personal favorite, “Get off my ass, you’re not a hemorrhoid.”

• We follow the herd, all merging into the “fast” lane, which promptly stops.

Congratulations, you’re now a sardine with airbags.

⸻

Why It Matters (and Why It’s Funny)

Crowds reveal contradictions: polite yet pushy, social yet irrational. We hate being too close, yet we’ll stand nose-to-shoulder if it means a faster exit. We complain about traffic, but we create it ourselves.

It’s both hilarious and terrifying. Watching people bunch at one escalator while another is empty is comedy gold. Crowd disasters remind us these instincts have real consequences.

Next time you’re packed into a train, wedged in a lift, or stuck in traffic at 5 p.m., marvel: we are, at heart, social sardines. And maybe — just maybe — those empty stairs are worth a try.