Japan's "Herbivorous Men"

[Curtis24]

At the age of 18, Mitsuhiro Matsushita already has a good idea of his ideal future. After he graduates from university a few years of work will be followed by marriage to an industrious wage earner. When children arrive it will be Mitsuhiro who stays at home looking after them, baking cakes and biscuits and living the traditional life of the Japanese housewife.

None of this would be noteworthy but for one thing. Mitsuhiro is not a conventionally minded Japanese woman, but a thoughtful, articulate and fashionably dressed young man. And far from being a marginal eccentric he is a member of a large and growing tribe of Japanese manhood that is attracting the fascinated and anxious attention of companies, academics and the mass media.

Two phrases have been coined to describe them: soshokukei danshi or “herbivorous males”, and Ojo-man – or “girly men”.

Definitions vary, but the new herbivores could be described as metrosexuals without the testosterone. Although most of them are not homosexual they have in common a disdain for the traditional accoutrements of Japanese manhood, and a taste for things formerly regarded as exclusively female. Girly men have no interest in fast cars, career success, designer labels and trophy women. Instead, they hold down humble jobs, cultivate women as friends rather than conquests and spend their free time shopping at small boutiques and pursuing in Japan what is regarded as a profoundly feminine pastime: eating cakes.

Sociologists worry about the effect on the shrinking population of a generation of men who are not interested in girls. Marketeers ponder how to sell to this new, unfamiliar demographic. Cultural commentators have produced volumes attempting to explain the phenomenon to the rest of Japan, with titles such as Love Study of Herbivores, The Men Who Wear Bras and the Women Who Don’t and Herbivorous Girly Men Are Changing Japan.

The author of the last work, Megumi Ushikubo, estimates that two thirds of men aged 20 to 34 have herbivorous tendencies. Her marketing agency advises Japanese companies on how to appeal to this new demographic — so different from the generation above who came to maturity during the “Bubble Economy” of the late Eighties and early Nineties when rising asset prices in Japan created a frenzy of conspicuous consumption.

“In the Bubble, what people valued in a car was speed and high specifications,” she says. “Herbivorous boys don’t have any interest in that. They want a car which is practical and which gives them the space to be themselves.”

The last few years have seen a range of products to cater to a broadening of tastes among Japanese men. Japanese brewers have introduced weaker beers as sales of conventional alcoholic beverages have declined. A company named WishRoom sells bras for men — designed with manly simplicity, free of lace and frills.

“In the Eighties and Ninetiess, people imagined that men should be men and women should be women,” says Shinya Yamaguchi, 23, a fashion designer. “It was all about brand goods, foreign cars and pretty girls. But now people realise they can live as they wish.”

This week, Mr Yamaguchi will launch his latest collection of skirts and lacy tops, some of them pink, and all aimed at men.

Not everyone regards the emergence of the girly men as completely positive. Masahiro Yamada, a professor of sociology at Tokyo’s Chuo University, said that it had come about as a result of economic decline: if young men were foregoing designer labels, expensive cars and hot dates at flash restaurants it was largely because, after the bursting of the Bubble and 15 years of stagnation, far fewer of them can afford these luxuries.

Japanese women, according to Professor Yamada’s research, have not caught up. Two out of five say they wish to marry a man who earns at least 6 million yen (£40,000) a year — but such men make up only 3.5 per cent of the eligible population. The result of such unrealistic female expectations is a generation of men, and women, who may never marry and have children.

About half of men aged 20 to 34, he says, are unmarried and only 20 per cent of them have girlfriends. Thirty per cent, according to Professor Yamada, have never had a girlfriend in their lives. For a country like Japan, which already has a shrinking population, this is a disaster.

“I worry that herbivorous boys are the future of Japan,” he says. “As young Japanese men become more timid and more averse to taking risks, it will affect the energy and vitality of the society.”

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/new...cle6898611.ece

[Debaser11]

Very interesting. I think economic stagnation has some role in this phenomenon, for sure. But there's definitely something dark going on in Japan with regards to how people view themselves sexually.

Good find, Curtis.

[Sahson]

This was LOLworthy. Good find, but couldn't help but laugh.

[Psychonaut]

Japan...

Seriously, how do you go from this:



to your society being "threatened" by cake-eating guys who don't date in less than a hundred years?

[Fortis in Arduis]

Oh this is not new, at different points in history this sort of behaviour has been tolerated to greater or lesser degrees.

Men are going frilly all the time.

Something like one in twenty men feel the need to feminise.

EDIT: Only the Japanese could turn it into a full-scale sub-cultural movement which has attracted the attention of marketeers.

[Cato]

Pansies.

[lei.talk]

When I was young I had no sense of myself. All I was, was a product of all the fear and humiliation I suffered. Fear of my parents. The humiliation of teachers calling me “garbage can” and telling me I’d be mowing lawns for a living. And the very real terror of my fellow students. I was threatened and beaten up for the color of my skin and my size. I was skinny and clumsy, and when others would tease me I didn’t run home crying, wondering why. I knew all too well. I was there to be antagonized.

In sports I was laughed at. A spaz. I was pretty good at boxing but only because the rage that filled my every waking moment made me wild and unpredictable. I fought with some strange fury. The other boys thought I was crazy.

I hated myself all the time. As stupid at it seems now, I wanted to talk like them, dress like them, carry myself with the ease of knowing that I wasn’t going to get pounded in the hallway between classes.

Years passed and I learned to keep it all inside. I only talked to a few boys in my grade. Other losers. Some of them are to this day the greatest people I have ever known. Hang out with a guy who has had his head flushed down a toilet a few times, treat him with respect, and you’ll find a faithful friend forever. But even with friends, school sucked. Teachers gave me hard time. I didn’t think much of them either.

Then came Mr. Pepperman, my adviser. He was a powerfully built Vietnam veteran, and he was scary. No one ever talked out of turn in his class. Once one kid did and Mr. P. lifted him off the ground and pinned him to the blackboard.

Mr. P. could see that I was in bad shape, and one Friday in October he asked me if I had ever worked out with weights. I told him no. He told me that I was going to take some of the money that I had saved and buy a hundred-pound set of weights at Sears. As I left his office, I started to think of things I would say to him on Monday when he asked about the weights that I was not going to buy. Still, it made me feel special. My father never really got that close to caring. On Saturday I bought the weights, but I couldn’t even drag them to my mom’s car. An attendant laughed at me as he put them on a dolly.

Monday came and I was called into Mr. P.’s office after school. He said that he was going to show me how to work out. He was going to put me on a program and start hitting me in the solar plexus in the hallway when I wasn’t looking. When I could take the punch we would know that we were getting somewhere. At no time was I to look at myself in the mirror or tell anyone at school what I was doing.

In the gym he showed me ten basic exercises. I paid more attention than I ever did in any of my classes. I didn’t want to blow it. I went home that night and started right in. Weeks passed, and every once in a while Mr. P. would give me a shot and drop me in the hallway, sending my books flying. The other students didn’t know what to think. More weeks passed, and I was steadily adding new weights to the bar. I could sense the power inside my body growing. I could feel it.

Right before Christmas break I was walking to class, and from out of nowhere Mr. Pepperman appeared and gave me a shot in the chest. I laughed and kept going. He said I could look at myself now. I got home and ran to the bathroom and pulled off my shirt. I saw a body, not just the shell that housed my stomach and my heart. My biceps bulged. My chest had definition. I felt strong. It was the first time I can remember having a sense of myself. I had done something and no one could ever take it away. You couldn’t say shit to me.

It took me years to fully appreciate the value of the lessons I have learned from the Iron. I used to think that it was my adversary, that I was trying to lift that which does not want to be lifted. I was wrong. When the Iron doesn’t want to come off the mat, it’s the kindest thing it can do for you. If it flew up and went through the ceiling, it wouldn’t teach you anything. That’s the way the Iron talks to you. It tells you that the material you work with is that which you will come to resemble. That which you work against will always work against you.

It wasn’t until my late twenties that I learned that by working out I had given myself a great gift. I learned that nothing good comes without work and a certain amount of pain. When I finish a set that leaves me shaking, I know more about myself. When something gets bad, I know it can’t be as bad as that workout.

I used to fight the pain, but recently this became clear to me: pain is not my enemy; it is my call to greatness. But when dealing with the Iron, one must be careful to interpret the pain correctly. Most injuries involving the Iron come from ego. I once spent a few weeks lifting weight that my body wasn’t ready for and spent a few months not picking up anything heavier than a fork. Try to lift what you’re not prepared to and the Iron will teach you a little lesson in restraint and self-control.

I have never met a truly strong person who didn’t have self-respect. I think a lot of inwardly and outwardly directed contempt passes itself off as self-respect: the idea of raising yourself by stepping on someone’s shoulders instead of doing it yourself. When I see guys working out for cosmetic reasons, I see vanity exposing them in the worst way, as cartoon characters, billboards for imbalance and insecurity. Strength reveals itself through character. It is the difference between bouncers who get off strong-arming people and Mr. Pepperman.

Muscle mass does not always equal strength. Strength is kindness and sensitivity. Strength is understanding that your power is both physical and emotional. That it comes from the body and the mind. And the heart.

Yukio Mishima said that he could not entertain the idea of romance if he was not strong. Romance is such a strong and overwhelming passion, a weakened body cannot sustain it for long. I have some of my most romantic thoughts when I am with the Iron. Once I was in love with a woman. I thought about her the most when the pain from a workout was racing through my body. Everything in me wanted her. So much so that sex was only a fraction of my total desire. It was the single most intense love I have ever felt, but she lived far away and I didn’t see her very often. Working out was a healthy way of dealing with the loneliness. To this day, when I work out I usually listen to ballads.

I prefer to work out alone. It enables me to concentrate on the lessons that the Iron has for me. Learning about what you’re made of is always time well spent, and I have found no better teacher. The Iron had taught me how to live.

Life is capable of driving you out of your mind. The way it all comes down these days, it’s some kind of miracle if you’re not insane. People have become separated from their bodies. They are no longer whole. I see them move from their offices to their cars and on to their suburban homes. They stress out constantly, they lose sleep, they eat badly. And they behave badly. Their egos run wild; they become motivated by that which will eventually give them a massive stroke. They need the Iron mind.

Through the years, I have combined meditation, action, and the Iron into a single strength. I believe that when the body is strong, the mind thinks strong thoughts. Time spent away from the Iron makes my mind degenerate. I wallow in a thick depression. My body shuts down my mind. The Iron is the best anti-depressant I have ever found. There is no better way to fight weakness than with strength. Once the mind and body have been awakened to their true potential, it’s impossible to turn back.

The Iron never lies to you. You can walk outside and listen to all kinds of talk, get told that you’re a god or a total bastard. The Iron will always kick you the real deal. The Iron is the great reference point, the all-knowing perspective giver. Always there like a beacon in the pitch black. I have found the Iron to be my greatest friend. It never freaks out on me, never runs. Friends may come and go. But two hundred pounds is always two hundred pounds.

Henry Rollins

*

[Cato]

In the U.S., nerds can score with women; in Japan, nerds eat plants.

[Curtis24]

The Henry Rollins article was interesting, but these Japanese men don't seem all that unhappy. Unlike Rollins, their behavior and lifestyles aren't a result of self-hatred and fear. They are perfectly content to take feminine roles.

What is going on is different. I am certain it is somehow connected to wider cultural changes in Japan, and indirectly connected to the state of the Japanese economy. Just how, is a difficult question.

Generations are a product of what is going on in their country and the world when they come of age. You see this in America - different types of upbringings produce different types of people

[Osweo]

Might there be strictly biological factors at work? Like the weird behavioral shifts and even physiological ones observed when rats are kept too densely packed or the like?