japanese culture– tag –

Why are things going well with Milano Salone? I think one of the primal reasons must be the good environment in Milan in April. Comfortable weather, nice food, beautiful streetscapes, etc. Indeed, it's a trade show, and most people come there for business, but we're not always serious and don't focus only on our jobs. Entertainment is necessary even when we are at work.

What is the meaning of work? I begin by contemplating the Howard Hughes Dilemma—the tragic loneliness of a titan who isolated himself from his work. This contrasts sharply with the Stylish Paradox of Tokyo's furniture makers: beautiful, showcase offices paired with full remote work. I ask why workers commute two hours a day to the office, concluding that the underlying drive is a profound mystery of human connection. Our upcoming office renovation is a trial to prove that the opposite of Howard Hughes is a good chair and a friendly colleague.

Have you ever seen "jewelry ice?" It is completely different from drift ice, made of not sea water but fresh water, and so, it's highly transparent like a diamond. River water turns into ice on the surface at river mouth, and the ice pieces, before getting washed ashore, drift in the sea for a while, get rounded off, and are more brightly polished. According to Wikipedia, this natural phenomenon occurs only along the coast of a small town in Hokkaido even in all the wide world.

I analyze the success of the Convenience Gym, which found a million members by removing every possible barrier to exercise. Then, I examine the hit Men's Parasol, which succeeded by simply redefining the item's purpose. Both confirm Theodore Levitt's Principle: "Sell the hole, not the drill." I apply this to our craft by proposing to engrave family names on dining chairs—shifting the purpose from "comfort" to "making the place where family members return to." (The only downside: it risks making parents terribly sad after the kids fly the nest.)

Why do Japanese people eat KFC and cake on Christmas? I analyze this "culturally blank" phenomenon, tracing the origins of the traditions from aggressive commercial marketing to intense social pressure to avoid being a "loser." I conclude by inviting readers to Hokkaido to trade the chaos of collective anxiety for the silence and true, natural beauty of a White Christmas.

Why do we pay a premium for "handmade" imperfection? I explore the Handmade Paradox: while a handmade pace maker is terrifying, a handmade Valentine’s chocolate is bliss. I argue that the value lies not in quality or precision, but in the meaningful, human background story. We conclude by discussing how our furniture combines high-tech precision with the essential human touch to create a better narrative.

Why does Japan's $300 Matsutake mushroom smell like dirty socks overseas? I explore the cultural acclimatization of fungi, the 4,000-year history of risk, and the scientific mystery of poisonous mushrooms. I then take you to Hokkaido, the last mushroom frontier, where unpicked bounty proves the biodiversity and health of our forests—and the quality of our wooden furniture.

Fire was stolen from the gods (Prometheus, the Jaguar King) to make us human. But in wooden Japan, fire also created a deep-seated dread. I trace this primal paradox of fascination and awe, only to lead you to the final conclusion: The Bonfire Bar on a rooftop terrace in Asahikawa, Hokkaido. Visit to enjoy a unique, eco-friendly bonfire made from furniture wood waste—a small, local answer to a grand, universal mystery.

Why were stars like Shohei Ohtani forced to shave their heads in high school? I analyze the irrational culture of Guts (Konnjō) versus the practical logic of the pros. Framed from my rational Hokkaido perspective, I argue that forced unity is a relic of non-sense discipline. The conclusion? A surprising logical leap from the rigid fields of Japan to selling furniture in the vibrant baseball capital of Monterrey, Mexico.

Why does the Scottish folk song "Auld Lang Syne" make Japanese people instantly flee? I explore the Pavlovian closing signal ("Hotaru no Hikari"), only to pivot to the actual fireflies in Hokkaido. From a surreal night in the JSDF to Asahikawa’s successful community effort to reclaim natural beauty, I argue that the magic of a cool summer night is the best reason to avoid the heat of mainland Japan.