“Where are you from?”—a question that inevitably arises when living abroad, especially if your looks do not quite blend in the local “majority”. Be it in a university lecture hall, a lively pub, or a friendly exchange with a café barista, this inquiry often serves as more than small talk. It’s a way for people to locate us within their mental map of the world, an attempt to make sense of difference and build a bridge for conversation. Yet, beneath its simplicity lies a deeper reflection of the socio-cultural frameworks we all navigate.
Born and primarily raised in Japan, though I have lived in England for quite a while now, my usual answer is simply, “I’m from Japan.” Judging from my experience, this response often seems to bring a certain image to life in people’s minds, as if my answer activates a ready-made stereotype. Remarks like “Oh, I love sushi!” or “I’m obsessed with anime!” frequently follow—comments that, while well-meaning, can leave me feeling subtly unease, as though I am being demystified according to the nation I was born into. Yet, it is also true that these reactions serve as useful conversation openers, providing a shared reference point that can pave the way for more meaningful dialogue.
In my experience, Japan often holds a unique appeal, especially within creative circles. Many individuals I have encountered in the arts and design world have a deep fascination with Japanese culture—some have already visited, while others dream of making it their next destination. As a result, learning that I was born and raised in Japan frequently piques one’s curiosity even more, sparking a deeper interest in getting to know me further.
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Residing and working in Europe, I often find myself navigating complex emotions regarding the ways in which I engage with stereotypes tied to my Japanese identity. I often grapple with a sense that I am consciously playing into or even leveraging those stereotypes.
There are moments when I notice myself accentuating facets of “Japanese-ness” in my attire or demeanour, particularly in contexts where it seems it would work in my favour. Yet each of these instances leaves me somewhat unsettled, especially because my usual stance is to distance myself from being defined “who I am” by any sort of label/category. Ultimately, my behaviour in these situations seems paradoxical, as though I am willingly adopting a certain mould only when it feels beneficial. A compromise that leaves me wrestling with a sense of cognitive dissonance.
I describe this complex, willful performance as “self-orientalism”. When I reflect upon it again, it may function as a survival mechanism, a nuanced adaptation that individuals from marginalised or minority backgrounds sometimes adopt to navigate life in a foreign society.
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When I was a student in the UK (I attended a university in London), I made quite a few friends who were attending other British universities as an international student like myself. When we gathered to hang out, our conversations often circled back to our shared experiences of being a foreign student. One of the recurring themes was the tendency for our academic work to be viewed through the lens of our cultural origins. This often meant that our projects were appreciated primarily for their perceived ties to our home countries, regardless of our own intentions.
A tutor’s critique of my work, for instance, might sound something like, “I love it! It’s so Japanese!.” While such enthusiastic reaction was somewhat flattering (as it implied that they valued “my culture”), it did not satisfy me, particularly when I had not intended any connection to Japanese culture in the work. Over time, however, I learned that this kind of feedback was likely to correlate with high marks. So, despite the subtle discomfort I felt with such interpretations, I remember I would just let these moments pass, recognising the benefit in conforming to their expectations.
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Speaking of how the Western gaze and its perception of East Asian cultures, I sometimes question whether prevailing beauty standards for East Asian women in the West have progressed much since the 1970s, when figures like Sayoko Yamaguchi, the pioneering Japanese supermodel, introduced “Asian beauty” to Western audiences. Yamaguchi, celebrated as one of the first Asian models to break into high-fashion’s elite circles, has long been regarded as a significant figure who transformed beauty norms in the Western fashion world with her “oriental beauty”. Her iconic look, distinguished by a signature “okappa” bob and almond-shaped eyes, came to define this “oriental” aesthetic.
Interestingly, Yamaguchi’s celebrated appearance was not solely a natural trait but, in part, the product of her team’s deliberate artistry. It is said that her eye shape was naturally more rounded; however, her team used makeup to create an almond-shaped eye, intentionally aligning with the Western stereotype of East Asians as having “slanted eyes”. This calculated styling choice highlights the strategic, and at times performative, dimension behind her enduring image in Western fashion.
In such a way, It is fascinating to observe how individuals from marginalised groups, often confined by the stereotypes imposed upon them, can at times subvert the power dynamic by strategically embracing these very stereotypes to their advantage. This manoeuvre illustrates an intricate reversal of roles, where the perceived “mould” becomes a tool for agency rather than limitation. It is worth noting here that I believe such a tactic can be examined not only in the context of race but also across other axes of identity, such as gender and sexuality—topics I may explore further in a future piece, though they lie beyond the scope of this discussion. So stay tuned…
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Many of the stereotypes ingrained in our daily lives have, in part, been heavily influenced by the literature and studies historically written by scholars in anthropology and sociology—often privileged Western caucasian men—who have profoundly shaped the traditional academic canon. Even in this era where international travel is increasingly accessible, the imagery portrayed in Hollywood films, global news, and widely syndicated television shows continues to perpetuate a range of cultural “symbols” that embody and amplify socio-cultural biases. Ultimately, these media reinforce racial, gender, and various kinds of stereotypes, embedding them even more deeply within the global consciousness.
On the other hand, stereotypes serve as cognitive shortcuts that can streamline interactions between people from diverse backgrounds. Whether we realise it or not, we have all picked up certain stereotypes and biases while growing up. It’s unlikely that anyone is completely free from prejudices or discriminatory thoughts. As someone shaped by the culture and values of a specific community and nation, I too must acknowledge the ways in which societal stereotypes have likely influenced my perceptions. Yet, the real challenge lies not in denying these biases but in cultivating an awareness of them. Only by remaining vigilant against the lull of unconscious prejudices can we hope to navigate our complex social fabric with integrity and fairness.
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I am not here to argue for the abolition of stereotypes or to debate their moral worth. Instead, the question that fascinates me is how we might subvert these entrenched frameworks to unlock new possibilities for future generations—even by consciously engaging with stereotypes themselves. To conclude this piece, I would like to share an anecdote from a photoshoot that prompted deeper reflection on this matter.
A few years ago, I had an opportunity to model for a project themed around Japan. As it was inevitable to focus on Japanese culture due to its whole concept, the client—a European team—was thoroughly cautious about avoiding cultural appropriation. To ensure authenticity, I imagine, quite a few Japanese creatives were involved, including myself as the model, along with Japanese hair and makeup artists. Throughout the shoot, the team went to great lengths to avoid any missteps. They frequently consulted us, Japanese creatives who were on the shoot, ensuring that there were no potential ‘misrepresentations’ happening in their creation—by asking whether their handling of kimonos was respectful or whether certain colours could carry significant cultural connotations.
Such great attention to detail was probably a necessary attitude for that type of project, especially since what the client, who was coming from a place considered historically privileged (and the team was also dominantly white), was attempting through their creation was to represent ‘Japan’—a culture long subjected to Western exoticization and feminization. However, some of the questions posed during the shoot were, quite honestly, difficult even for us “Japanese” to answer definitively.
This experience left me questioning whether a culture can truly be “owned” by any particular group of people. As a Japanese individual living and working abroad, it also forced me to confront an unsettling realisation: I don’t—and perhaps cannot—fully understand the culture I’m expected to represent as “my own.” Yet, time and again, I find myself placed in the role of a cultural spokesperson.
That day, as the designated “Japanese model,” I embodied the idea of “Japaneseness” through the characters I portrayed on set. From the tone of the shoot, I could sense the client’s vision of Japan, the aesthetic they hoped to capture for Western audiences. Yet, I couldn’t shake a sense of cognitive dissonance. I felt a tension between my own understanding of Japan and the version I was expected to present. The responsibility weighed heavily: to interpret and represent my culture in a way that felt authentic, while knowing it would be consumed through a lens shaped by external perceptions.
There is a saying that “the best progress comes from bending the rules.” Breaking free from the confines of stereotypes and creating new possibilities requires a nuanced understanding of the socio-political biases ingrained in society. This is crucial not only for those who have traditionally held positions of privilege but also for those who have historically been marginalised. By exploring the origins and contexts of these biases, we can begin to see how they might be reimagined or even strategically utilised to challenge and transform the narratives that limit us.
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