‘Even after all these years, I still have a massive insecurity about my English. I think that language, honestly, is one of the biggest things that makes me feel out of place and infuriated living in the West. It’s like…. I’m suddenly six years younger when I speak in English—like a less experienced version of myself. In Japanese, I’m usually quite chatty, so it’s really frustrating when I can’t express my thoughts or opinions as well in English as I can in Japanese. A lot of the time, I end up just staying quiet to avoid embarrassing myself, which only adds to that sense of holding back.’
(from a conversation with my friend K)
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The phrase, “If you can’t speak English, you can’t succeed in today’s globalised world,” is one we hear often. Based on my own experiences living and working abroad, I understand why this sentiment resonates; navigating daily life is undeniably easier when you’re fluent in English, which is the world’s most widely spoken lingua franca after all. But despite this practicality, I cannot ignore this certain discomfort I carry on how heavily modern society orbits around English—a phenomenon often referred to as “English imperialism.” This reliance on one language often leaves me reflecting on the nuances and complexities of cultural dominance in the world we live in.
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As globalisation has progressed, various forms of “capital”—economic and cultural alike—have increasingly concentrated in the Global North. The fashion industry is no exception. The longstanding dominance of New York, London, Milan, and Paris as the “big four” hosting the most influential Fashion Weeks reflects a broader imbalance, where international authority and cultural capital are unevenly distributed. This centralisation has historically led the fashion industry to be largely shaped by those holding cultural and social privileges across dimensions such as race, nationality, gender, and sexuality—a power structure that seems firmly in place still to this day.
Given this landscape, it’s no surprise that many people worldwide are drawn to the Global North in search of “better” job opportunities. For me, this journey began when I moved to the UK as a student, aiming for opportunities in academia initially. Yet, I have stayed in Europe ever since I graduated from a university, and now work primarily in the fashion capitals, the “big four.” These Western cities are hubs where individuals from diverse backgrounds come together to collaborate. In fact, I can hardly recall a single shoot in Paris for example, where I was the only “foreign” presence, meaning all other staff on set were French. In such international work settings, English naturally becomes the universal language of communication.
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No matter what kind of job you do, some degree of communication with your business partners is essential. While an effortless idea exchange may be ideal for efficiency, it is also natural for those who speak English as a second language to vary in how “smoothly” they can utilise English in order to connect with others. Importantly, these differences in “English proficiency” should not necessarily reflect a person’s creative abilities or professional skill set. Nevertheless, for a “foreigner” working in the West, fluent English often seems to be a baseline requirement for being treated as an equal by peers—and especially for advancing in one’s career.
I recall, a journalist friend of mine once shared her ongoing struggle that shadows her career. As a writer reporting in English, which is not her native tongue, she constantly feels at a disadvantage compared to her native English-speaking peers. Despite her skills as a writer, her work requires a final proofread by a native speaker before it’s ready for publication, a reminder of the hurdle her non-native status imposes. This language gap makes her doubt whether she’ll ever progress in her career as far as her native peers might—her ambitions, in a sense, held back by the subtle but persistent barrier of language. To tell the truth, I could totally relate to her pain. It makes me wonder if I would ever be good enough as a solo creator communicating in English.
Of course, no one gets to choose the country or region we are born into, so I have no intention of critiquing or placing blame upon native English speakers in any way through this article. I also understand that this is not a simple topic where raising a voice because you feel unequal will make a difference. Instead, I offer this memoir as a way to share the subtle, unsettled feelings—blurred and difficult to fully articulate—that linger within me.
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While working in the West as a fashion model, I have observed a tendency for individuals who were born and raised outside of English-speaking countries, and who cannot communicate “fluently” in English, to be often kept at a distance, to be looked down upon, or to be treated like a child as if they were in some way inferior to the rest.
Here is an anecdote from my own experience of working as a model in France — There was this photographer who came in the studio for a shoot that we were collaborating on for the day. Perhaps based on a cursory glance, he assumed I wouldn’t speak English. When the creatives on set gathered to discuss the theme of the shoot, he began asking other staff members for information about me instead of asking me directly, even though I was standing right in front of him. The stylist noticed this and addressed the situation, saying, “Taira speaks English fluently, by the way” (and I even introduced myself to him in English). Nevertheless, from that point on, whenever he spoke to me, he used overly simplistic language and adopted a tone as if he were talking to a child, which I found rather patronising. Certainly, it could have been that he was just being insensitive in that specific instance. Or he was just an “exception”. Judging from stories I have heard from my peers, however, it seems this type of microaggression is not uncommon, especially if your looks do not quite fit the image of “majority” — the visual expectations of an English speaker.
It is reasonable to assume that repeated experiences of such treatment can foster insecurities regarding one’s communication skills and a sense of inferiority. Furthermore, the shame and frustration stemming from such unequal treatment may create pressure to feel embarrassed about making mistakes in English, leading to the belief that one must speak “perfect English.” This pursuit of “perfection” can further deter individuals from expressing themselves in English, even when they have thoughts or opinions in mind that they wish to convey.
Additionally, through my experiences abroad, I have found that many individuals who have learned English as a foreign language do not appreciate, or often struggle to accept the fact that their English may carry a distinct accent. This complex may arise from the frustration of being perceived as “others” by native English speakers due to their “foreign” accent, leading to a sense of being treated as inferior rather than as an equal peer. It is utterly unjust for someone to be subjected to such inequities based on an arbitrary language hierarchy, derived from one’s mother tongue—a circumstance beyond one’s control. Consequently, it is natural to feel a sense of helplessness and discomfort in the face of these inequalities.
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On the other hand, however, as an individual residing in the West and speaking English as a second language, I recognise some gains of having had the opportunity to acquire new language skills on top of my native one—even if this was undertaken somewhat out of necessity.
Language learning imparts insights far richer than grammar and vocabulary alone. Take, for instance, the Japanese term “Otsukaresama,” a phrase rich with meaning and widely used in Japan, yet without a direct English equivalent. Such untranslatable expressions offer a glimpse into cultural nuances and values that shape the way people interact and perceive the world in the region where the language is spoken. By studying these culturally specific words, we engage with the deeper stories and contexts they carry, enriching our understanding far beyond the surface of language. Through learning and using more than one language, I feel I’ve gained a broader understanding of the world, one that goes beyond the perspective offered solely through the lens of my mother tongue, Japanese. This process has undeniably expanded my knowledge and opened new horizons.
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During my time abroad, I have encountered a remarkable spectrum of English varieties. Take the so-called “British accent”, for instance—a label that hardly does justice to the vast array of regional dialects and expressions it encompasses. This variety highlights the impossibility of defining any single “correct” pronunciation, accent or phraseology. Yet, in today’s world, where English proficiency is increasingly valued, there is often a strong emphasis on speaking English just like a “native speaker” would. Ironically, even among native speakers, English is inherently diverse, reflecting unique regional and cultural identities.
Ultimately, the vast diversity within the English language is both inevitable and something to be embraced, especially given its role as a global lingua franca. This linguistic variety speaks to the unique identity of each individual speaker, a reflection of culture, experience, and self. And such expression of identity should not be repressed under the weight of an inferiority complex, but rather be celebrated as vibrant hues that enrich the tapestry of our world.
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