10 hours ago
(This post was last modified: 9 hours ago by pitbull510.)
According to the Japan Ministry of Foreign Affairs, fewer than 20% of Japanese people have a passport. Many of these individuals are "never travelers" who are content with domestic trips within Japan. Over 35% of Japanese citizens report having no intention of traveling abroad again. It wouldn’t be surprising if a significant portion of passport holders primarily use them for business travel.
For reference:
- America: ~42% (2017)
- Australia: ~57% (2020)
- China: ~8.7% (2016)
- Germany: ~41% (2018)
- Canada: ~70% (2022)
- Tanzania: ~13% (2020)
- UK: 86%—which isn’t surprising. How else are they going to find some sun?
While the United States is often labeled as insular, it is nowhere near as inward-looking as Japan. American pop culture is a massive global export, and wherever Americans travel, they generally find accommodations for their language, food, and overall preferences. In contrast, Japanese travelers who don’t speak English may struggle significantly abroad unless they’ve prepared with translation tools. The experience is vastly different.
Japan remains highly homogeneous and inward-facing, sheltered from the outside world in ways few other places are, especially outside major cities. Being a foreigner in Japan often feels more isolating than in many other countries. Historically, Japan has been an insular culture, bordering on isolationism, so this shouldn’t be surprising.
Japan stands out for its cleanliness, discipline, and commitment to the collective good. However, when it comes to human relationships and the social fabric, there are deep concerns about its future. The solitude one might feel here can be profound, especially for those without a close companion. Married middle-aged men, willing to pay $500 just for a night of platonic companionship, illustrate the depths of emotional isolation. Young adults, still living with their parents, often focus only on work and their immediate social circles, spending significant amounts on fleeting moments of social validation instead of saving for long-term goals.
A large portion of the population shows little interest in learning English, traveling, or broadening their horizons. Some of this stems from genuine disinterest, but for many, financial constraints force resignation. Then there are the thousands of shop assistants on minimum wage, whose daily routines revolve around cheap ramen, video games, and escapism through anime and figurines. Even more concerning is the phenomenon of hikikomori—individuals who have withdrawn entirely from society, with some not leaving their homes since high school.
Faced with these contrasts, one might reconsider the balance between the struggles of a developing country, where people fight daily for survival, and a developed society that seems to be slowly fading into inertia. Would one prefer the vibrant chaos of Manila’s streets or the quiet despair of a declining Japan?
That said, Osaka is a fantastic city to live in—if one has the time and financial freedom to enjoy it. The sheer number of restaurants and bars is staggering, enough to visit a different one every day for over a decade. It’s also incredibly safe and bike-friendly, with a well-structured grid layout unlike Tokyo’s sprawl. Traffic regulations are relatively relaxed, making exploration easy and enjoyable.
Unfortunately, my own experience was largely confined to working from my hotel room. Without work, I wouldn’t have been able to afford the trip in the first place, so it’s a trade-off.
What stood out most to me was the current state of Japanese society. The older generation seems to go through the motions of daily life, their only real social outlet being monthly nomikai—drinking sessions with colleagues. Given the stagnant economy, this is often all they can afford. Gone are the days of the 1980s and early 90s, when disposable income allowed for frequent travel and luxury shopping.
The younger generation appears even more resigned to their urban routines, lacking curiosity about the world. The English-learning booms of Nova and Aeon in the early 2000s signaled an interest in expanding global perspectives, but that enthusiasm seems to have faded. Now, multiple generations exist in the present moment, adhering to whatever consumerist trends they can still afford while maintaining their disciplined collectivism.
I couldn’t ignore the subtle resentment when introducing myself and my Filipina wife. The veneer of politeness often cracks, revealing underlying frustrations. Many Japanese citizens find themselves trapped in rigid work schedules with limited financial means to travel, all while watching waves of foreign tourists take advantage of the weak yen to indulge in experiences they can’t afford themselves.
Economic data further highlights this shift. In absolute terms, Japan’s wealth now stands at just over 50% of that of the United States and is significantly below the EU average. Adjusted for purchasing power parity (PPP), Japan remains at about 75% of U.S. wealth, roughly on par with the EU. While efficiency and occasional pockets of opulence persist in large cities, sustaining this society is becoming increasingly costly.
It seems inevitable that Japan will reach a breaking point. The only real questions are when and how.
Japanese social culture can feel austere and emotionally distant. Among the world's most insular cultures, Japan often verges on self-imposed isolation. After my time there, I found myself relieved to board a plane back to Vietnam.
For reference:
- America: ~42% (2017)
- Australia: ~57% (2020)
- China: ~8.7% (2016)
- Germany: ~41% (2018)
- Canada: ~70% (2022)
- Tanzania: ~13% (2020)
- UK: 86%—which isn’t surprising. How else are they going to find some sun?
While the United States is often labeled as insular, it is nowhere near as inward-looking as Japan. American pop culture is a massive global export, and wherever Americans travel, they generally find accommodations for their language, food, and overall preferences. In contrast, Japanese travelers who don’t speak English may struggle significantly abroad unless they’ve prepared with translation tools. The experience is vastly different.
Japan remains highly homogeneous and inward-facing, sheltered from the outside world in ways few other places are, especially outside major cities. Being a foreigner in Japan often feels more isolating than in many other countries. Historically, Japan has been an insular culture, bordering on isolationism, so this shouldn’t be surprising.
Japan stands out for its cleanliness, discipline, and commitment to the collective good. However, when it comes to human relationships and the social fabric, there are deep concerns about its future. The solitude one might feel here can be profound, especially for those without a close companion. Married middle-aged men, willing to pay $500 just for a night of platonic companionship, illustrate the depths of emotional isolation. Young adults, still living with their parents, often focus only on work and their immediate social circles, spending significant amounts on fleeting moments of social validation instead of saving for long-term goals.
A large portion of the population shows little interest in learning English, traveling, or broadening their horizons. Some of this stems from genuine disinterest, but for many, financial constraints force resignation. Then there are the thousands of shop assistants on minimum wage, whose daily routines revolve around cheap ramen, video games, and escapism through anime and figurines. Even more concerning is the phenomenon of hikikomori—individuals who have withdrawn entirely from society, with some not leaving their homes since high school.
Faced with these contrasts, one might reconsider the balance between the struggles of a developing country, where people fight daily for survival, and a developed society that seems to be slowly fading into inertia. Would one prefer the vibrant chaos of Manila’s streets or the quiet despair of a declining Japan?
That said, Osaka is a fantastic city to live in—if one has the time and financial freedom to enjoy it. The sheer number of restaurants and bars is staggering, enough to visit a different one every day for over a decade. It’s also incredibly safe and bike-friendly, with a well-structured grid layout unlike Tokyo’s sprawl. Traffic regulations are relatively relaxed, making exploration easy and enjoyable.
Unfortunately, my own experience was largely confined to working from my hotel room. Without work, I wouldn’t have been able to afford the trip in the first place, so it’s a trade-off.
What stood out most to me was the current state of Japanese society. The older generation seems to go through the motions of daily life, their only real social outlet being monthly nomikai—drinking sessions with colleagues. Given the stagnant economy, this is often all they can afford. Gone are the days of the 1980s and early 90s, when disposable income allowed for frequent travel and luxury shopping.
The younger generation appears even more resigned to their urban routines, lacking curiosity about the world. The English-learning booms of Nova and Aeon in the early 2000s signaled an interest in expanding global perspectives, but that enthusiasm seems to have faded. Now, multiple generations exist in the present moment, adhering to whatever consumerist trends they can still afford while maintaining their disciplined collectivism.
I couldn’t ignore the subtle resentment when introducing myself and my Filipina wife. The veneer of politeness often cracks, revealing underlying frustrations. Many Japanese citizens find themselves trapped in rigid work schedules with limited financial means to travel, all while watching waves of foreign tourists take advantage of the weak yen to indulge in experiences they can’t afford themselves.
Economic data further highlights this shift. In absolute terms, Japan’s wealth now stands at just over 50% of that of the United States and is significantly below the EU average. Adjusted for purchasing power parity (PPP), Japan remains at about 75% of U.S. wealth, roughly on par with the EU. While efficiency and occasional pockets of opulence persist in large cities, sustaining this society is becoming increasingly costly.
It seems inevitable that Japan will reach a breaking point. The only real questions are when and how.
Japanese social culture can feel austere and emotionally distant. Among the world's most insular cultures, Japan often verges on self-imposed isolation. After my time there, I found myself relieved to board a plane back to Vietnam.
