Things I love about Japanese girls

Yes you did read that right. I know the J-ladies catch quite a lot of flack from me and other foreign women here but in the interest of mixing it up a little, I thought I'd dedicate this one to them.

I have found some admirable qualities of the ladies native to this island chain, albeit some of them used to be material for humorous scorn, but after running into an old friend I hadn't seen since being a university student here, I realized that I was both stomping around in heels and carrying my big red leather bag in the crook of my arm just so. Like they say, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. So here it is, my under-construction list of those qualities I have come to know and love.


Bag on chair: Despite the Tokyo metropolis being cleaner than others of its size, practically clean enough to eat off (well, I would), the ladies here don't put their bags on the floor, it just isn't done. Unless the floor I'm on is truly questionable I tend to have no qualms about plonking my bag down on the floor, under my chair, you get the picture. Women here usually put them behind them on the chair, meaning the bag has to be small, they have to be small, they have to adopt a bit of a forward lean, or any combination of the three.


Things in purse: Or Mary Poppins' Syndrome. I really wouldn't blink if I saw someone here pull a big lamp out of her bag, I would just think, "I need to get me one of those bags." It's a fabulous thing, the handbag of a Japanese woman, filled with marvels and wonders like oil-blotting tissue, dainty sweat-mopping handkerchiefs, tissues for hand-wiping, wet wipes, cosmetics bags, cell phones with requisite bling, nail repair kits, large hand mirrors, PET bottles of milk tea, day planners, thin paperbacks, mints, designer cigarette cases, folding umbrellas or parasols in summer...Let me end this by saying that if there is anyone you'd want to be stranded on an island with, it's a Japanese woman.

Umbrellas: Without fail, if it starts raining and you're out with a group of Japanese ladies, the sucker getting wet is going to be you. I used to mock the frantic pumping of umbrellas into the "out" position as soon as the lightest drop of rain was felt, but I am totally down with this native custom now. It certainly cuts down on hair frizz so I don't end up with a Jewfro on wet days and I now employ my time mocking people in Vancouver who wear gortex and *gag* actual raincoats.

Nails: "Too much? Never." This is exactly what I said in answer to the manicurist's question of whether sparkly nails were too much for me to wear at the Kaisha. At the nail salon this question often comes up. I always laugh and reassure whoever is doing my nails that the crazier, the better. Hell, I am competing with some fierce secretaries. Even some of the younger Professional females wear lame (lamay, not lame that is) nails or glittery French tips and I have to wonder at what point that is beaten out of them or whether they suddenly realize that glittery princess nails are not very professional unless perhaps you work at Disney. You've got to love the attention to one's nails that is paid here. From the gyaru who have nails so long and jewel-encrusted it is a wonder they don't walk out of the house naked in the morning after failing to button or zip on clothing, to the women with talons of a less intimidating length and a subtle bling manicure going on, it's all about the nails here. For 12,000 yen you too can join the stone-encrusted masses!

Heels: I've never seen so many broken down heels and crazyleg gaits as I see here in Tokyo. It doesn't seem as apparent to me as it did when I was a university student but I remember marvelling with my girlfriends over the fierce devotion Japanese women have to heels, determined to walk in them even if they were ground down to the metal spikes and caused the wearer to list to the side a la Titanic. For a city where you walk everywhere, there is a ridiculously high number of women wearing heels. I won't deny it though, they make me feel better too.

Cigarettes in cases: Even women with that "nasty" habit turn it into something sparkly and pink. Behold the cigarette case: not the slim metal cases of bygone eras but cases made from lux material or perhaps stamped leather, these cases hold both cigarette box lighter. The ladies of Japan show that there is a stylish route on the road to cancer.

Handkerchiefs: This did come up in the purse heading above but I feel it also deserves it's own heading. Serving as lap protectors during lunch, perspiration rags in the summer heat and eco-friendly hand driers after a trip to the washroom, no woman can call herself Japanese without a handkerchief or two. It's a beautiful thing.

Lunch bags, toilette bags: There is a bag for everything. Despite carrying the world around in their purses, Japanese women also like to have a separate, mini-tote to carry with them at lunch time. When going to the washroom, they often employ yet another small bag containing more female wonders. Trust me on this, I've been observing them in their natural habitat at the Kaisha.

Hairless arms: I believe I may have mentioned this before in one of my many discussions on body hair. Sure I would never get rid of my own arm hair, but it's quite a nice smooth look, although I do have to wonder about "arm stubble" on those pesky in-between shaving days. I suspect the women here feel about smooth and sleek forearms the way we gaijinesses do about our legs.

Uncanny ability to take off shoes gracefully: I'm getting better at it but I suppose with years of practice the women of Japan would be a tough match. You know the story, big dinner party at the local izakaya and you leave your shoes at the door to the private room. Two hours of all-you-can-drink magic later and I honestly don't know how these women can slip into their shoes so gracefully without stepping onto the (dirty) ground first or losing their footing and flailing around for a few seconds before clamping down on a salaryman's shoulder for support.

Ability to sit seiza or at least fake it: Enough said.

Listing "shopping" as a hobby: Japan, home of men who list "sleeping" as a hobby and women who list theirs as "shopping." I may have mentioned in passing my love of fashion and as a result of that a slightly unfortunate shopping habit but I would never admit to shopping being a hobby!! The inevitable "what is your hobby" question from just about everyone you ever meet here is always answered with more snooty-sounding pursuits: late 20th century Russian literature, swilling red wine from the Bourgogne region of France, dressage...not here though. Here women readily admit to consumption being a hobby of theirs. Props for honesty.

No qualms about weird grooming behaviour: "Whatever it takes" seems to be the mantra in this case. Some of the obsessive compulsive grooming habits I see at the gym are truly fascinating. The habits themselves no so much, it is more the perfect willingness of women to do said habits in public. Or on the train. I would be far too self-conscious to do my make-up in public or even do a quick oil-blot on the run. I feel these are things that should generally be done in the privacy of well, you and yourself. That is all fairly tame but what about those contraptions at the drugstore that are supposed to make your nose thinner or exercise your cheek muscles so that your face looks smaller? That is some crazy shit right there and yet women here are ready and willing to consume them. Lastly, have you seen any shows recently about "fat massage"? I can't remember what it is actually called but women go to aesthetic salons here for "slimming" massages where basically their chub is manipulated and pummelled by an aesthetician. And for only around 10,000 yen a pop! I think I might do away with my healthy eating and exercise regime and just go get touched.

Chopstick envy: Like most people not living under a rock, I can use chopsticks. Yay prize for me! I have been noticing recently though, that a few women here are very deft with their chopsticks. I don't know what it is, the angle and poise of the wrist or what, but they make using chopsticks look so damn enticing, it's no wonder western men want to fuck them.

Was that crossing the line?

Bag in arm-crook: I have never seen another population of women with so many arm-crook carriers among them. It was one of the first things I noticed when I arrived in Tokyo as an exchange student. Why the hell are these women carrying their purses in the crook of their arms with their hands up and held far out in front of them? I often asked myself. Combined with the crazyleg gait and you could spot a Japanese woman kilometres away by her silhouette. It looked like a ridiculous parody of a crazy doe-legged debutante to me. And I now find myself unconsciously adopting a similar carrying technique. What would my 20 year-old self think?!

Gentle readers, it's participation time. I'd love to hear your thoughts on qualities of Japanese women (or men) that you admire, in particular some that are not as painfully shallow as those above.

Please do it at the athletic club

I've been thinking, perhaps the reason the much-anticipated chikan poster hasn't made a debut yet is because you can't very well say "please do it at the playground" or "please do it at the athletic club" to chester the molester now can you? These manner posters are all about positive language and if you flick back through the series, I believe the construction "please don't" is only used once (and in small print too). These posters don't ask commuters not to do anything but instead to do it elsewhere, using positive language every single time. For an interesting blurb on the word enryou in Japanese, check this out.

If a chikan had been the star of this most recent poster, it would have been very fitting for me. I think I may have encountered a chikan on the train last week. I say "may" because if I had known for sure I would have dragged him by the balls from the train and to one of the station employees. Wouldn't that be a blog for GEG!!

I ride the train every day at least twice and I know what it's like to have the corner of a suitcase molesting my ass or a salaryman's shoulder wedged beneath a breast. In other words, I know what unintentional touching feels like. That day however, the train was crowded but there was enough space that no one needed to be touching on me. I had my bag in one hand and was flipping through the NY Times on my iPhone in the other when I felt something soft but hard against the bag hand. I'm no pink salon attendant but I know what's what and that did not feel like an ass, arm, hip or anything else that could plausibly be at the same height. As soon as I noticed something I yanked my hand away (yes I immediately thought I was touching dick without even looking) and looked to see who was the closest to me. A man reading a newspaper. Now was he "reading" or was he reading? Honestly it was so fast and I reacted so quickly that I have no idea whether my instincts were on the mark or not. I wish I could know, if only to be able to deem myself still a chikan virgin or to be able to kick the guy's ass. Maybe I should have left my hand there a while and waited to see what kind of action it would get...

I haven't had a run-in with a chikan before, possibly because I don't ride the lines rife with them but more likely because I give bitch eyes to everyone on the train and chikan tend to go for easy targets - women who won't do anything while they go to town. During my university days here however, I had two Perv Predicaments very close together and in the same area. Why have I not regaled you with these stories yet dear readers, I do not know, there's not much to tell.

The first time I was coming back to my dorm after a night at Pure (first mistake? possibly) at dawn and if I recall correctly, was sniffling to myself about this guy who kept fucking me around (hard to believe I know). I was nearing the street to turn in on when I noticed this guy off to the side of the road facing me and stroking his shakuhachi. My first thought was indignance: who was this asshole to jerk off in front of me when I am trying not to cry over this one guy and be happy about a little flirty flirtation with a hot Maori rugby player instead?! You can probably guess, I gave him the bitch eye and kept walking. That obviously wasn't a deterrent because he started walking after me asking Did you see it? Did you see it? No I didn't fucking see it you cock smoker. At that time I didn't really know how to tell people what's what in Japanese so I screamed at him to FUCK OFF and he ran off in one direction, while I ran off home in the other. I still don't know how to really lay into someone in Japanese to the point that it is as satisfying as it is in English but I try, I do. And I mostly end up just sounding like some shrill woman in a daytime Japanese soap.

The second time, lord help me, I was also heading home from Pure as the sun began to light up the sky. This time a couple of guys on a bicycle (yes, singular) rode past me. A few minutes later I found them riding back past me the other way. My possibly-sketch-situation bells started going off, the ones all women are equipped with and probably know the sound of too unfortunately. Their ringing got louder as the boys circled back towards me again and this time stopped the bike right by me, one of them getting off and I felt like they were closing in. One of them opened his mouth to say something and I opened mine faster with a, you guessed it, FUCK THE HELL OFF! They backed off and I ran home. Who knows what they were looking for, maybe just some nampa on the gaijiness walking home far too early in the morning, but I've learned that when the bells ring, it's best to listen to them.

Now that I've possibly entertained slash horrified you, I must beg your leave and be off to (hopefully) a perv-free day at work. Much to my chagrin, my story about the store selling used highschool girl panties will have to wait for another day...

Learning to bow

After living here a while your body language changes. Manoeuvring your way around small spaces and unconsciously observing the way those around you interact with movement is bound to have some effect. I remember my Japanese teacher in high school telling me that she used to find herself bowing while talking on the phone in Japan. I was 16 and found that to be terribly endearing. I had no idea what I was in for.

I feel strange lifting my arm to wave to Japanese people I don't know well from a distance and prefer a quick nod of the head. When I see people in the hallways instead of keeping my head up and smiling I duck it in a mini bow of acknowledgment and am always torn when a foreigner holds a door open for me as to whether I should say thank you and make eye contact or just bow my head in thanks. On a slightly unrelated note, I have learned not to become incensed when the beau beckons for me with his fingers pointing down instead of up, a gesture that would normally make me feel like a dog but in Japan fingers point down, much like the directional swirl of the toilet bowl water in different hemispheres.

After the years I've spent here, my body language slowly evolving, I finally learned how to bow this week. I'd love to tell you that the Kaisha sent me to a bowing class as punishment for being a gaijin on a Monday but it's actually part of my training to become a kimono dressin' master. My teacher sat me down for one of our lecture lessons this past week and taught me about the delicate intricacies of manner from a Japanese perspective. She even whipped out a tray at one point to demonstrate how to carry something but luckily it didn't go as far as having me practice it up and down the room (possibly equivalent to walking with a pile of books on your head in a Western etiquette class?). She then taught me how to bow both standing up and sitting down, with three degrees of politeness for each. Granted, the average Japanese person learns this by imitation, but I would hazard a guess that most of them do not learn it like this unless they go to finishing school, take lessons in a traditional art, or are taught it in a work seminar. Hand placement, where to focus your line of vision, how far forward to go, bending from the waist with a straight back, not bending your head too far forward so as not to allow a peek down the back of your kimono collar, the speed at which you move and the length of the pause once you are down - all things to think about in executing a proper and graceful bow. I will say though, I felt a lot smoother after having it spoon fed to me. Getting up and down from seiza was also something we practiced, and my teacher related to me the words of an old crooner whose name I cannot recall, which were that learning to get into and out of seiza properly takes ten years to master. Now if that's not some good old Japanese methodology of learning I don't know what is! I felt like the fucking karate kid but with a fancier obi.

The most interesting part of my teacher's lecture however, was the story she told me of herself as a young OL. Back in the day (over twenty years ago) when she joined a company as a young bright-eyed OL, the company sent her and the other newbies to an OL boot camp. Apparently they had to get up early and exercise every day for the week of this camp and were drilled on proper manners, including proper use of keigo and how to answer the telephone. The kicker however, was that they were also taught how to do things like fold and put away futon properly. Instead of simply being trained to be good office ladies, their company was practically grooming them for their futures as housewives. I suppose we should be happy that things have changed although looking around, it seems things are not changing quite as quickly as they'd have us believe. Companies still have training sessions for newbies and while perhaps not as extreme as folding futon, there is still an eerie sense of the fifties that I get from it all. What is interesting to me, is the fact that upon entering a company here, both men and women are (re-) taught keigo and basic business practices such as writing emails and letters, and phone manners. Am I out of touch and this kind of thing happens elsewhere? Or do university graduates either sink or swim in the manner department depending on the experience they've had before starting their careers? I suppose one thing that comes out of manner training here is a sense of uniformity across the board, but to me this makes the interactions between people a bit stiff and rehearsed. And here we go into the honne and tatemae thing again. I'm going to quit here and be thankful I am learning how to bow by choice, and not through some boot camp designed to primp me into marriage material.

Postcard from the Kaisha 6

I have been freed from my gaijin exile, hard to believe I know, but it's true. At least for this week. Despite some perfectly good and decent cubes around me, I have been the only quarter in my quad since I started at the Kaisha. Except for that crazy week when it rained 10,000 yen notes and a secretary had the misfortune of being seated in my quad. They quickly remedied that SNAFU however, and I promptly found myself alone again in my quad.

Imagine my curiosity then, when towards the end of last week individual items like a computer monitor, a clipboard and a pen holder containing pencils adorned with pink furry ends began to appear on the desk across from me. I tried to deny it, unbelieving that the Kaisha would actually seat someone with me on more than a temporary basis. The move went forward in full force though, and I now share my quad with two secretaries. One of them I "kind of" know, as in she acknowledges me when necessary, and she actually came over to announce her arrival and we did the whole "please think of me fondly and let's be good to each other in the future" thing (nicely summed up in two words: yoroshiku onegaishimasu). The other one is fairly new and I only got a Good Morning from her, no So We're Sitting Together Now chit chat. In fact, I had to wait until the more seasoned one physically took her around to everyone for introductions to be introduced. But who am I to complain, this is the Kaisha.

As Seasoned was moving her stuff and getting settled, some of her secretary sisters came by to scope out her new digs or twitter and giggle as they did a walk-by. Perhaps this is normal behaviour here. If I were to include it in my conspiracy theory, I would tell you that they are giggling and casting sneaky glances around my quad because Seasoned has drawn the equivalent of the short straw in getting stuck in a quad with me. But I'm not telling you that. Am I?

We shall see how it all pans out, and whether these two ladies last for more than a week sharing my fair quad. One thing I am becoming unblissfully aware of however, is that I have to reel in my at-work equivalent of Secret Single Behaviour. Alone in my quad I was still wary of people walking around the office but I could still make a certain amount of noise, eat raw carrots and cubes of chocolate, and shake my caramel macchiato with wild abandon so that the espresso and milk become one. I even, wait for it, have blown my noise on occasion when I can't be bothered going into the bathroom, turning on the Sound Princess and having a good old honk. Now I am under the close scrutiny of two secretaries who type quietly, speak in hushed tones and hang up their phones slowly so as not to allow the receiver to make a sound upon hitting the home base. Am I about to enter secretary boot camp? We shall soon see...

Pointing fingers

I got an email last week from the administrators of the building where the fair Kaisha is located telling me that someone in the building has contracted the swine flu. It then went on to disclose the name of the foreign company where said dirty and infected person was visiting from overseas. Nice. I love how in times of panic people point fingers. My first thought when reading the email was dirty foreigner. What do you think the Japanese people reading it thought?

A friend recently related a story to me about his Japanese partner, who wanted to cancel their yearly summer trip back to the States with their children, fearing the wrath of their neighbours. Apparently one nosy ossan had no qualms in voicing his displeasure at the family's impending trip, thinking they would surely contract the flu outside of Japan's safe border and bring it back, infecting the whole apartment block. The old guy probably has a better chance of running his bicyle into a car. These be strange times and I am almost surprised the government doesn't quarantine all foreigners before letting them into Japan.

Part of your world

Just call me the little fucking mermaid. Last week I had a short glimpse of what life might be like if I was one of the popular girls at the Kaisha and had a lunch date lined up every day of the week. But just as Ariel got her mertail back after a short jaunt on land, I find myself confined once again to my cubicle ghetto.

My secretary, ever helpful and outgoing lady that she is, neglected to tell me she wouldn't be in the office for a couple days and so of course there was a fuck-up that needed fixing during that time. I enlisted the help of my colleague's secretary who has got to be the holy grail of secretaries, and made my experience so pleasant that by the end of it I wanted to trade mine in. That sounded a little horrible even for me didn't it? Honestly though, I am still trying to pinpoint whether it is a gaijin thing, a me thing or a severe lack of social skills that prevents her from acting courteously towards me. All I'm asking for is some eye contact time when I pass her in the hall, or if that is too much, a 5 degree tilt of the head. Really now.

I decided to take Holy Grail out to lunch to thank her for being so fantastic and unlike all the other biatches I gots to deal with. I like to think I am over the whole English-so-mumbo-jumbo-it's-cute thing, where you compete with your gaijin friends for who can receive the funniest/cutest email from a Japanese person, the level of cuteness being defined by how mixed up/unexpected the English is. Apparently I'm not however, so when Holy Grail replied by email, "Thank you for your invitation, that's what I thought all along, but I can not create opportunity," I knew we would be Friends for Life. Which is how we found ourselves eating lunch at a macrobiotic cafe, exclaiming far too loudly when discovering we live near each other and generally giggling at nothing like a couple of OL bitches (minus the horrid nurse slippers).

Holy Grail gushed over how happy she was to have the chance to finally have lunch together and I beamed like an idiot and just kept repeating that I was super happy about the whole thing. Actually I think Holy Grail is probably around 10 years older than me (35 (or 65 in secretary years)) and not as inane as some of the barely-legal ninnies just out of university, so we had a nice conversation and I was pleased to discover that she is a genuinely nice person. So nice in fact that due to her secretary age, I figured she probably holds sway with a lot of the secretaries and definitely has a finger on the gossip pulse at the Kaisha (try as I might I can't find it). Which is why when she asked me how I found the Kaisha, I gave the usual party line but also threw in that I am pretty darn lonely in my cubicle ghetto, compounded by the fact that no one talks to me (can you hear the violins yet?). I expected that comment to make the rounds by the end of the day and maybe, just maybe, some kind soul would take pity on me and end the Ostracization. Holy Grail mentioned that she had invited another secretary along who had begged off, claiming she can't speak English. I don't know why I bother mentioning to you that we've had exchanges in Japanese over the photo copier, because clearly I think I'm speaking Japanese but it must be coming out in English. Next time I'm going to just speak Hebrew. According to her, a lot of people simply don't have enough confidence in their English to befriend me so who knows, maybe my neurotic conspiracy theories are moot...either way I'm still part of the out-crowd around here. Last week did show me however, that change is possible and at this rate I will probably build up a small network of people who will acknowledge my existence by right around the time I quit, at which point people I don't even know will start coming out of the woodwork claiming how much they'll miss my white ass around here. Just you wait.

August Storms

I don't know what it's been like in other parts of these fair islands but the weather in Tokyo has been a little apocalyptic as of late. A long earthquake last night and flash rains this past week and I have to remind myself we are in the middle of a hot summer.

Something the beau said last night has really stayed with me ever since I woke up this morning. This past week marks both dates of the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki and so he had been watching something on TV about Nagasaki while I was trying to sleep off a headache. He came into the bedroom and seemed to really want to explain the Japanese consciousness of the bombings and a collective feeling in August in Japan that relates to obon, the anniversaries of the bombings and the koshien high school baseball series. I was already half unconscious but he left me by saying that when there is a lot of rain and stormy weather in August, Japanese people believe it is the tears of those who died in the bombings.

That is all.