The ex-military problem: Should we cheer or fear Godzilla?

Growing up, Godzilla was my ultimate hero. I meticulously memorized the height, weight, and weaknesses of every single monster he fought—knowledge that I’m sure annoyed every adult around me (and which my parents wished I’d applied to schoolwork).

Godzilla is perhaps the most popular Japanese cinematic export globally, and in Japan, he is not merely a film subject; he is an academic, marketing, and cultural phenomenon. He destroys cities, people run, yet in Japan, he is often worshipped like a god. Why?

The most resonant explanation is that Godzilla is the walking, atomic metaphor for nature itself. He is neither good nor evil; he is simply an overwhelming, non-negotiable force. He destroys cities without showing animosity, hatred, or, crucially, any apology.

The flustered soldier: When technology fails

To be perfectly honest, as an ex-military person, I always feel a twinge of frustration watching a Godzilla film. The Japanese Self-Defense Force (JSDF) is reliably cast as the expendable first line of defense. Even in the acclaimed 2016 Japanese version, Godzilla effortlessly shrugs off all modern technological attacks, looking utterly unimpressed.

This recurring scene—where technology and human effort are rendered useless—perfectly encapsulates the Japanese view of nature.

Do you recall the widespread admiration for the calm and composed behavior of the victims during the devastating tsunami on March 11, 2011? While their courage was undeniable, I believe their reaction was profoundly influenced by the Japanese worldview: We believe, deep down, that confronting nature is meaningless. We resign ourselves to it as our fate and focus on surviving the aftermath. We submit, then endure.

The surrender principle: From Kaiju to cracks in wood

This principle of “surrender to the inevitable” extends directly to our relationship with wood.

I’ve written time and again that wooden furniture differs fundamentally from other industrial products because the main raw material is inherently unequal and unstable. No two pieces are the same.

We cannot control nature. We cannot stop the patterns, the color variations, or the inevitable end cracks that appear in wood. We spend our lives working with nature, not against it.

I am not asking for blind acceptance, but I am hoping for a little more tolerance for the nature of wood—the imperfections that prove its organic origin. Just as we surrender to the overwhelming force of the Kaiju metaphor, we must be tolerant of the beautiful, unpredictable forces embedded in the materials we choose to live with. Embracing a crack in the wood is a small, daily act of submitting to nature, just as the Japanese submit to Godzilla.

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I confess that as an ex-military man, watching Godzilla shrug off our best technology is frustrating—but as a craftsman, I know that surrendering to nature is our only path to true beauty. We cannot control the grain of the wood any more than we can control a Kaiju. Our Hatsune Miku Art Chair is born from this very ‘surrender’—a masterpiece that doesn’t fight against nature, but embraces its unpredictable power and digital soul. It is an overwhelming, non-negotiable comfort. Now, here is a portal to a force you cannot resist: the image below is your link to the special site. If you prefer the boring, predictable safety of artificial perfection, do NOT click it. But if you’re ready to submit to the beautiful, untamable spirit of the Hokkaido forest, go ahead. Give in to the legend. —— The Hatsune Miku Art Chair.

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