The end-of-the-world test: Italy vs. Japan
What would you do if you learned the world was ending tomorrow?
The popular ethnic joke provides the stereotypical answers: An Italian would say, “I would spend the day making love to my lover.” A Japanese person would reply, “I have to finish my work quickly.” Most Japanese people (including me) nod and wince at the accuracy of this contrast: Italy is perceived as easygoing; Japan is viewed as tragically, relentlessly serious.
Funnily enough, despite these sharply contrasting national images, these two nations share a profound commonality: a deep tradition of artisanal craftsmanship. The difference, however, is in how their respective governments treat their artisans (artigiani).
The Ferrari paradox: Punishing craftsmanship in Japan
In Italy, artisans are highly respected and receive preferential governmental treatment. Ferrari, for instance—a global giant that has seen explosive sales growth—was once a small, local factory dependent on that ecosystem. Italian policy recognizes that small, specialized businesses are crucial for developing long-term perspective and niche strategies that mass production cannot replicate.
In contrast, the Japanese government seems intent on driving our artisans into extinction. Japan is the only OECD country where the Real Wage Index has been declining for over two decades. The government habitually blames this stagnation on small businesses, applying immense pressure for consolidation and elimination. It is a heartbreaking paradox: the government punishes the very craft and devotion to detail that makes “Made in Japan” globally respected.
The simplicity of complexity: Ken Okuyama’s 15-Minute design miracle
In the luxury furniture industry, Italy is undeniably the advanced country. Wherever we go for new market development, we find Italian brands have already achieved mainstream recognition. They are our constant, high-level hurdles. Yet, I feel an instant connection with them because of our shared belief in craftsmanship.
When I contemplate the essence of high-end Italian and Japanese design, I always recall the words and, more importantly, the legendary courage of Ken Okuyama (see image above). He is the first and only Japanese person to have designed a Ferrari (as the former Creative Director of Pininfarina).
Here is the famous, nerve-wracking story: When Pininfarina presented their main design concept for a new Ferrari to the Chairman, it was instantly rejected. The Chairman, clearly disappointed, was about to leave the premises by helicopter when the Pininfarina President stopped Okuyama, who was a junior designer at the time, and gave him an impossible command: “The Chairman is being stalled with a sandwich for exactly 15 minutes. Draw a new design, right now!”
Unbeknownst to his team, Okuyama had secretly prepared his own alternative design, believing the official one would fail. He seized the moment, furiously sketching the new concept. In that impossible 15-minute window, he presented his revised idea and won the coveted “Go” sign from the Chairman. The design of a history-making Ferrari (Enzo Ferrari) was born from a combination of foresight, preparedness, and an overwhelming pressure cooker of just 15 minutes.
This epic moment is the ultimate validation of Japanese craftsmanship. It is not about speed alone, but the obsessive, quiet preparation required to perform brilliantly when everything is on the line.
His philosophy, therefore, perfectly articulates our shared, hidden complexity:
“What looks simple is not simple. It’s designed to look simple. When looking at such design up close, you can see how complicated it is.”
This is the ultimate secret of craftsmanship in both nations. Our serious, detail-obsessed Japanese nature, combined with the timeless Italian pursuit of beauty, results in objects that appear effortless. The simplicity is the lie; the complexity of the joinery, the hidden metal, and the 100-year plan is the truth. When you purchase our furniture, you are not buying simplicity; you are buying the highest hidden cost of perfection.
I confess that I find the ultimate truth in Ken Okuyama’s Ferrari: that true beauty must look simple, even if it hides a lifetime of obsessive complexity. In Japan, we are ‘tragically serious’ enough to prepare for a decade just to shine in a 15-minute miracle. Our Hatsune Miku Art Chair is our Enzo Ferrari moment—a masterpiece that masks its complex joinery and structural soul behind a mask of seamless, turquoise-green simplicity. It is the highest hidden cost of perfection, delivered in a single, elegant form. Now, here is a portal to our most sophisticated ‘lie’: the image below is your link to the special site. If you prefer the honest crudeness of mass production, do NOT click it. But if you’re ready to own the complexity that only a master can hide, go ahead. See what lies beneath. —— The Hatsune Miku Art Chair.
Photo Credit: https://www.motorauthority.com/news/1105671_ferrari-enzo-designer-unveils-limited-edition-kode57-supercar
Shungo Ijima
Global Connector | Reformed Bureaucrat | Professional Over-Thinker
After years of navigating the rigid hallways of Japan’s Ministry of Finance and surviving an MBA, he made a life-changing realization: spreadsheets are soulless, and wood has much better stories to tell.
Currently an Executive at CondeHouse, he travels the world decoding the “hidden DNA” of Japanese culture—though, in his travels, he’s becoming increasingly more skilled at decoding how to find the cheapest hotels than actual cultural mysteries.
He has a peculiar talent for finding deep philosophical meaning in things most people ignore as meaningless (and to be fair, they are often actually meaningless). He doesn’t just sell furniture; he’s on a mission to explain Japan to the world, one intellectually over-analyzed observation at a time. He writes for the curious, the skeptical, and anyone who suspects that a chair might actually be a manifesto in disguise.
Follow his journey as he bridges the gap between high-finance logic and the chaotic art of living!