The surveillance culture: Why I came back to the office against the times

Do we still need an office? This discussion is livelier than ever since remote work became common due to COVID-19. Proponents of working from home argue convincingly for its benefits: improved productivity through concentration, and reduced stress from office relationships.

Prior to COVID, my job involved constant business trips, meaning I was rarely in the office. It’s a truly human paradox that, I used to work almost entirely remotely, but now I’m back here in the office, completely against the grain of the current trend.

Let’s first understand the basic layout of a typical Japanese office. Customarily, desks are arranged in confrontational rows, with executive desks closely facing their team members. Private rooms are extremely rare. This arrangement is rooted in the deep-seated Japanese value of “Wa” (harmony), requiring visual confirmation of everyone’s efforts. To put it politely, it’s an open-space community; to put it realistically (from my viewpoint), it’s a prison under mutual surveillance.

The death of the “Minute”: The most annoying question in Japanese offices

This is where the Japanese office environment becomes a productivity black hole. The phone is ringing constantly somewhere; people are talking loudly around your desk; and then, someone approaches you, throwing out the most meaningless question in the world: “Do you have a minute? (Ima, chotto ii desu ka?)”

I want to scream this out loud: What is the point of that question?

That conversation rarely, if ever, ends in a single minute. Furthermore, by initiating the question, the person is forcing you to make an immediate cognitive shift—moving your brain from deep work to social judgment—before the actual work request even begins. It’s a courtesy that acts as a profound act of aggression against focus. This incessant stream of noise and interruption, framed by forced politeness, is the biggest barrier to productivity in this environment.

Fighting the loneliness disease: The value of flexible design

Having complained extensively about working in the office, I should confess I didn’t mean to deny its value completely. The truth is, the period of COVID made me keenly aware of the importance of human connection. Loneliness is a deadly disease, and perhaps we need to work in the office to avoid it.

However, maintaining a reasonable distance between colleagues is equally vital for a good environment. Today, I can offer you a good solution—a design that balances connection and concentration.

The images above are of our Tokyo office. My favorite part is its diversity. You can be alone and deeply absorb yourself in something in the semi-private, partitioned areas. Conversely, you can communicate closely with colleagues in the open areas when you’re feeling lonely to death. This flexible design allows the individual to choose the right setting for their task and emotional state. This, I sincerely hope, will be the new standard for Japanese offices.

The Hokkaido reality: Seeking strategic escape

The problem? The headquarters office where I currently work—here in Hokkaido—is still a typical Japanese office: confronting desks, minimal privacy, and relentless “Do you have a minute?” interruptions. It’s totally different from the Tokyo office.

As someone who has embraced the organization theory of the Lazy Ant (as I wrote previously), I realize the critical need for “slack time” and undistracted deep work. The only strategic solution is a change of scenery.

Perhaps I need to ask our sales team to buy me a ticket to Tokyo. It’s not a business trip; it’s simply organizational resilience requiring my strategic, productive absence. (Ah, the excuses we make for better concentration!)

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If you find yourself perpetually besieged by the ‘Do you have a minute?’ brigade in an office that feels more like a mutual surveillance facility than a workspace, you don’t just need a strategic escape to Tokyo—you need a cognitive sanctuary. Our Hatsune Miku Art Chair serves as the ultimate physical partition for your focus; a piece of furniture so strikingly ‘non-corporate’ that it acts as a silent deterrent to anyone seeking to ruin your deep work with a ‘quick question.’ It is a seat designed for those who have mastered the art of the ‘Lazy Ant’ and prefer the company of a digital icon over the noisy, forced harmony of a crowded room. Sit down, ignore the clock, and let the art do the gatekeeping for you. —— The Hatsune Miku Art Chair.

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