The paradox of “Handmade”: Why we pay more for less perfection

Have you ever seriously considered why we like handmade items?

In Japan, the Food Labeling Act strictly restricts the use of the word “handmade.” This strictness I believe proves that people find significant value in that single word. But what exactly is the value of handmade goods? This isn’t about the “IKEA Effect“—the cognitive bias where people over-evaluate things they make themselves. We want to pursue the psychological reason behind the consumer’s preference. To do this, let’s explore the issue through several conflicting examples.

The contradiction of craving: handmade cars vs. handmade heart pacemakers

Consider two car examples driven by passionate enthusiasts. The ISUZU 117 Coupe (1968) was so beautifully designed by Giugiaro that its complex body panels had to be formed almost entirely by hand, as metal forming technology couldn’t keep up. Another example is the Morgan 4/4, whose wooden outer body shell was famously built by hand from 1936 to 2019. For car enthusiasts like me, these handmade stories strongly touch our heartstrings.

Yet, handmade is not always the top priority. If I were forced to drive across a desert without an oasis, I would definitely choose a reliable, high-tech machine like a TOYOTA Land Cruiser. Similarly, if I were awaiting surgery to insert a heart pacemaker and found out it was handmade, I would not be happy at all.

It’s a funny contradiction. In scenarios demanding reliability, precision, and safety, the word “handmade” acts as a negative influence on our choice. This proves that what we expect from “handmade” is clearly not just quality or perfection.

The secret ingredient: Who made the chocolate (and why it matters)

As some of you may know, St. Valentine’s Day in Japan is unique. Globally, lovers exchange gifts. In Japan, February 14th is the day when girls confess their love (often with great anxiety) by gifting chocolates. (It must always be chocolates, though I still don’t know why that is.)

On the morning of February 14th, all Japanese school boys look into their shoe lockers or desk drawers with pounding hearts, pretending not to care at all. For this reason, February is the biggest month for chocolate sales, often more than double any other month.

In Japan during February, handmade chocolates are a massive cultural topic. Now, imagine this: If you receive a handmade chocolate from a girl you are interested in, it feels like absolute bliss—the fact that it is handmade multiplies your happiness. But what if it’s from a girl you’ve never met before? Isn’t it slightly scary? It is a truly human reaction to at least want to know the backstory.

Here lies the secret of “handmade.” We find value in handmade items because we expect or associate the word with a meaningful, human background story—a narrative of effort, attention, and connection.

The furniture story: Combining precision with human touch

In our wooden furniture manufacturing, we use the latest machines for the initial processes, such as rough cutting. However, handmade processes are absolutely essential to complete our products. It is impossible to achieve a truly beautiful and smooth wooden surface without the human touch.

We believe that the combination of high-tech artificial precision and essential handmade processes creates a better story. I hope this combination will make our products more attractive to you—and certainly not scare you away, like a hypothetical, and frankly terrifying, handmade pacemaker would!

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It is a sobering thought that the same ‘handmade’ effort can lead either to a romantic confession or a call to the police—depending entirely on the sanity of the backstory. I like to think that our craftsmanship falls safely into the ‘artisan’ category, rather than the ‘handmade pacemaker’ of my nightmares. But just in case my personal dedication to wood isn’t enough to convince you of our sanity, we decided to partner with a global icon who is literally built from precision data. Our Hatsune Miku Art Chair is the perfect synthesis: it features the human touch of Hokkaido artisans to ensure the wood is smooth enough to soothe your soul, paired with a digital masterpiece that requires no awkward shoe-locker confessions. It’s a way to own a ‘story’ that is undeniably premium and entirely non-terrifying. Sit back and enjoy the human touch, without the fear of a misplaced heartbeat. —— The Hatsune Miku Art Chair.

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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!

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