★★☆☆☆ #EXPO2025 Osaka: A Soul-Crushing Flop That Shattered My Expo Dreams 
As a die-hard World Expo geek, I’ve crisscrossed the globe for these dazzling showcases of human ingenuity and culture—
Shanghai 2010’s urban spectacle, 
Yeosu 2012’s coastal charm, 
Milan 2015’s vibrant flair (skipped 
Dubai 2020(1), thanks, pandemic). Expo 2025 Osaka was supposed to be my holy grail, a tech-fueled masterpiece from Japan, the land of precision and hospitality. I hyped it on 𝕏 for months, snagged tickets a year early, and packed my nerdiest expectations. Instead, Expo 2025 was a masterclass in squandered potential—frustrating, dull, and a betrayal of everything I love about expos. Strap in for my rant.
A Digital Trainwreck: UX from the Dial-Up Era
Japan, home of bullet trains and robot baristas, somehow birthed a digital experience stuck in 2005. I ended up with four separate apps—each a glitchy, user-hostile mess. The main app, a glorified webpage, didn’t even support the browser’s ‘back’ button. A cardinal sin! Scrolling through it felt like slogging through digital molasses. I’m no tech rookie, but this was a nightmare. How does a nation that invented the Walkman fumble basic app design this badly?
Planning Hell: A Bureaucratic Maze
I’m a planner. Itineraries are my love language, and past expos let me craft perfect schedules with ease. Osaka 2025? A chaotic slog. The website was a labyrinth of confusing all-things-to-all-people info, like a digital Pythagoras Switch—endlessly complicated for no reason. I tweeted last week it felt like wrestling a Rube Goldberg machine. Defeated, I decided to wing it on-site, banking on my expo savvy. Rookie mistake.
Unlike Shanghai, Yeosu, or Milan, where strategic queuing got you into jaw-dropping pavilions, Osaka’s system is an online reservation gauntlet. Step one: buy a ticket. Step two: book a specific day and time slot to enter. Step three: enter lotteries for “cool” pavilions, concerts, or even decent meals. Lotteries! I spent hours refreshing the app, chasing slots for hyped exhibits. Every “available” slot vanished on click. I was stuck with second-rate no reservation stalls in the Commons halls—glorified trade-show booths with zero wow factor. Compare that to Milan’s stunning Tree of Life, accessible with a reasonable wait, or Shanghai’s China Pavilion, a walk-in marvel. Osaka’s setup felt engineered to crush your spirit before you even arrived.
The Expo: A Sterile Snoozefest
Stepping onto Yumeshima, Osaka Bay’s artificial island, I braced for a futuristic wonderland themed “Designing Future Society for Our Lives.” Instead, I got a soulless corporate trade show with overcrowding as the main attraction. The layout was a mess—pavilions scattered, signage sparse, and bottlenecks everywhere. Many stalls I saw in the Commons halls were phoning it in with buzzwords and PowerPoint slides. Where was the cultural depth? Missing in action. Food was a ripoff unless you’d pre-booked a restaurant. I shelled out ¥2,000 for a small pizza set at a walk-up food hall that’d cost ¥800 in Dotonbori.
A Betrayal of Japan’s Magic
This hurts most: Japan could’ve owned this. The nation of Shinkansen, Studio Ghibli, and sushi-serving robots should’ve delivered a love letter to the world. Instead, Expo 2025 was bogged down by bureaucracy and half-baked execution. Shanghai 2010 dazzled with global vision. Yeosu 2012 charmed with marine innovation. Milan 2015 blended food and culture with pizzazz. Osaka? It cherry-picked their worst flaws and forgot the magic.
Final Verdict: Save Your Yen
I wanted to adore Expo 2025, I swear. But the godawful digital chaos, reservation hellscape, and yawn-inducing attractions make it a firm no. Ditch it for Osaka’s true star—Universal Studios Japan. No PhD in logistics required for that kind of joy. Better yet, come to Tokyo. Tokyo is like one big World Expo every day.
I’ll hunt the next expo, but Osaka 2025 leaves a sour sting. Japan deserved so much better.
#大阪・関西万博
As a die-hard World Expo geek, I’ve crisscrossed the globe for these dazzling showcases of human ingenuity and culture— Shanghai 2010’s urban spectacle, Yeosu 2012’s coastal charm, Milan 2015’s vibrant flair (skipped Dubai 2020(1), thanks, pandemic). Expo 2025 Osaka was supposed to be my holy grail, a tech-fueled masterpiece from Japan, the land of precision and hospitality. I hyped it on 𝕏 for months, snagged tickets a year early, and packed my nerdiest expectations. Instead, Expo 2025 was a masterclass in squandered potential—frustrating, dull, and a betrayal of everything I love about expos. Strap in for my rant.
A Digital Trainwreck: UX from the Dial-Up Era
Japan, home of bullet trains and robot baristas, somehow birthed a digital experience stuck in 2005. I ended up with four separate apps—each a glitchy, user-hostile mess. The main app, a glorified webpage, didn’t even support the browser’s ‘back’ button. A cardinal sin! Scrolling through it felt like slogging through digital molasses. I’m no tech rookie, but this was a nightmare. How does a nation that invented the Walkman fumble basic app design this badly?
Planning Hell: A Bureaucratic Maze
I’m a planner. Itineraries are my love language, and past expos let me craft perfect schedules with ease. Osaka 2025? A chaotic slog. The website was a labyrinth of confusing all-things-to-all-people info, like a digital Pythagoras Switch—endlessly complicated for no reason. I tweeted last week it felt like wrestling a Rube Goldberg machine. Defeated, I decided to wing it on-site, banking on my expo savvy. Rookie mistake.
Unlike Shanghai, Yeosu, or Milan, where strategic queuing got you into jaw-dropping pavilions, Osaka’s system is an online reservation gauntlet. Step one: buy a ticket. Step two: book a specific day and time slot to enter. Step three: enter lotteries for “cool” pavilions, concerts, or even decent meals. Lotteries! I spent hours refreshing the app, chasing slots for hyped exhibits. Every “available” slot vanished on click. I was stuck with second-rate no reservation stalls in the Commons halls—glorified trade-show booths with zero wow factor. Compare that to Milan’s stunning Tree of Life, accessible with a reasonable wait, or Shanghai’s China Pavilion, a walk-in marvel. Osaka’s setup felt engineered to crush your spirit before you even arrived.
The Expo: A Sterile Snoozefest
Stepping onto Yumeshima, Osaka Bay’s artificial island, I braced for a futuristic wonderland themed “Designing Future Society for Our Lives.” Instead, I got a soulless corporate trade show with overcrowding as the main attraction. The layout was a mess—pavilions scattered, signage sparse, and bottlenecks everywhere. Many stalls I saw in the Commons halls were phoning it in with buzzwords and PowerPoint slides. Where was the cultural depth? Missing in action. Food was a ripoff unless you’d pre-booked a restaurant. I shelled out ¥2,000 for a small pizza set at a walk-up food hall that’d cost ¥800 in Dotonbori.
A Betrayal of Japan’s Magic
This hurts most: Japan could’ve owned this. The nation of Shinkansen, Studio Ghibli, and sushi-serving robots should’ve delivered a love letter to the world. Instead, Expo 2025 was bogged down by bureaucracy and half-baked execution. Shanghai 2010 dazzled with global vision. Yeosu 2012 charmed with marine innovation. Milan 2015 blended food and culture with pizzazz. Osaka? It cherry-picked their worst flaws and forgot the magic.
Final Verdict: Save Your Yen
I wanted to adore Expo 2025, I swear. But the godawful digital chaos, reservation hellscape, and yawn-inducing attractions make it a firm no. Ditch it for Osaka’s true star—Universal Studios Japan. No PhD in logistics required for that kind of joy. Better yet, come to Tokyo. Tokyo is like one big World Expo every day.
I’ll hunt the next expo, but Osaka 2025 leaves a sour sting. Japan deserved so much better.
#大阪・関西万博 