By Meg Tanaka

Japanese culture is a conundrum that both fascinates and confuses. As one of the most developed countries and economies in Asia, it’s futuristic and cosmopolitan, but outdated and backwards at the same time. Yes, our public bathrooms have warmed toilet seats and automated bidets, but our smartphones are also required to have an irremovable shutter sound due to the prevalence of ‘upskirt shots’ (camera voyeurism in Tokyo rose 60% between 2007 and 2016). It’s outdated in the way that its girls are expected to be “good wives and mothers” before being an independent human being, and “no dating” rules are enforced on J-pop girl groups to appease their hordes of male fans.

The burgeoning Japanese music industry, which has gone from strength to strength in the past few years now represents the second largest music market in the world (after the U.S.) and has boasted consecutive year on year growth for almost a decade with 2.4 billion USD in sales in 2022 alone. While these strong gains are largely due to the previously physical-heavy market’s growth in their digital sector, the glamorous industry’s successes represent a jarring dissonance with Japan’s overall attitudes towards women’s rights.

According to data from the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD), the wage gap between men and women in Japan was 21.3% in 2022, and in 2023, Japan was ranked 125th for the latest Gender Gap Index, its lowest ranking ever in its history and registering at the bottom of the East Asia and Pacific rankings, alongside Fiji and Myanmar. 

Looking at these statistics, as a member of Japan’s music industry, I can safely say these national attitudes are reflected heavily at industry level. I too used to glamorise working in the music industry, just as any Wattpad fanfic-obsessed teenager would. Being the badass girl-boss music producer, or playing the bossy yet endearing manager of a boyband. I dreamed of the lights, the action, and the roaring of the fans the moment the artist came onstage, and imagined the feeling of smiling proudly from behind the curtain, being the first one to hug my artist after a successful show. 

After working in the Japanese music industry for 6 years since the age of 20, I have had the pleasure of experiencing many of the above, and can attest that the  rewards are indeed worth the never-ending work days and sleepless nights that go on behind the scenes. 

However, just as shiny silver chains rust and lose their sparkle over time, these wins did not come without a few battle scars. It showed up when the CEO of a label shook hands and conversed with all of the men in the room, ignoring me, the director of the project with a smile on his face. It was explicitly clear on a tour bus ride with a group of rappers, when their manager wouldn’t stop talking about “which fangirl they should bang” after the show, the artists chuckling along while I was sitting next to them. 

In those situations, I could only sit with a frozen, awkward smile on my face while my insides churned with a mix of fear, anger, and disgust. But upon taking the chance to converse directly on this topic with a handful of well-established Japanese women in the music industry, it’s clear that my experience is but one of many.

Asaka Suzuki, 28 is an acclaimed sound engineer for some of Japan’s top-selling acts including SIRUP. With years of experience within the music industry, she has seen many female peers come and go due to the active discrimination and gatekeeping in the local industry.

As someone working behind-the-scenes in a role that demands long hours and a certain level of physical resilience, Suzuki points out the multi-faceted angles through which women are discouraged from entering her sector of the industry, including a lack of support systems, direct discrimination through ‘no female staff’ rules, and sexist stereotypes held both by men and women alike.

“Systemically, there are less opportunities for women not only because they have less physical resilience than men, but also because big name male artists will have a ‘no female staff’ rule to appease their female fans, and female artists will do the same but because they believe that women are more ‘catty’.” – Asaka Suzuki

Addressing the ‘no female staff’ rule, this has become status quo due to the significant investment fans have in their idols’ personal lives, a phenomenon that is unique to Japan’s entertainment industry. 

One prominent example is the shocking story of how popular girl group AKB48 member Minami Minegeshi shaved her head in an apology video in 2013 after being caught leaving her boyfriend’s apartment, as it broke the management’s rules of no dating so as not to shatter fan’s illusions. 

From a business perspective, these practices have explicit implications on Japan’s entertainment industry. When a similar situation happened to weather forecaster Saya Hiyama affectionately dubbed “Queen of Weathergirl Idols” in 2023, she notably lost thousands of Twitter followers and caused a 10% drop in Weather News Live’s stock overnight.

Furthermore, the ‘catty’ stereotype Suzuki refers to is just one of many that still plague womens’ ability to rise through the ranks in the industry. Suzuki also recalls multiple instances where her intention to bring up serious topics in conversation were written off as her being on her period, while acclaimed alt-rock girl band Otoboke Beaver frontwoman Accorinrin (34) recalls how a significant career milestone still managed to leave a sour taste due to public opinion.

“People show me much more respect now that we’re selling out global tours, but even when we announced that we’re going on tour with the Red Hot Chili Peppers, people commented saying that we were chosen to provide sexual services for them. It’s a sick world.” – Accorinrin

Also quoting a personal difficulty building supportive networks “when there’s no one left to bond with”, Suzuki is not the only one who feels this way. Accorinrin and Erika Murphy (25), lead vocalist for alt-rock band Luby Sparks echo the same concern regarding a lack of safe spaces for such discussions to occur.

“Overall, I always feel lonely because there’s no one I can talk to about these things”, says Accorinrin. Murphy highlights how Japanese culture has also made it hard for these conversations to occur.

“In Japan, there’s not really a culture of discussing social and political issues, so it’s hard to talk about these things online. I really value being able to talk and learn from my friends in person, and feel that change starts first at a personal level. ” – Erika Murphy

Indeed, the situation seems dire as there are few effective government intervention plans at national level, with music industry-specific efforts non-existent. While plan after gender equality plan has been rolled out since 1999 (the most recent revision was in March 2021), and Japan indeed was third largest global donor to gender equality efforts in 2022 via the international Development Assistance Committee (DAC), the gender gap rankings still prevail as a reflection of persisting issues. 

When asked about how problems could be resolved at any industry level, Accorinrin seems to feel pessimistic about any resolution in sight, due to the subversive way sexism has found its way into much of Japanese society.

“I don’t know how the industry’s problems can be fixed. Fundamentally, sexism is ingrained in politics, in education… it’s a male-dominated society, right? Too many men don’t see women as human beings. I’ve experienced cases where other male bands will talk loudly and proudly about objectifying women in dressing rooms and even during their shows, and I’ve walked out of venues crying of frustration. Then I’d hear from other people that the men ‘didn’t mean it like that’ or that they said that they ‘didn’t mean any harm’, as if it’s not a big deal and it’s just me that’s overreacting. Japan is seriously lacking in terms of education around gender equality. People think I’m always mad and angry, and make fun of me for it, and I sometimes think that maybe it’s just me… that it’s a me problem, and not a systemic issue of sexism.” – Accorinrin

Speaking with Asaka, Erika, Accorinrin and reflecting on my own personal experiences has made it clear that we’ve only just scraped the surface of understanding the unique challenges and difficulties women in music face in the Japanese music industry. Trends of women leaving the industry earlier than men, high wage gaps and multiple verbalised examples of harassment and abuse are severe indicators of the hostile environment Japan’s music industry has become, due to longstanding structural, cultural and societal factors.

When an industry is largely comprised of men that have been taught to treat women in dehumanising, objectifying and exploitative ways, it’s hard for us as women to convince ourselves that we are not just imagining things; that we are not the problem. And in a country where identifying as a “feminist” continues to be a radically extreme concept, being critical and vocal of the discrimination that we experience could oftentimes be a direct threat to our ability to continue our careers within the industry.

Perhaps it’s difficult to mend any one industry when there are wider societal issues to consider. But as long as our silence continues to be normalised, the harder it is to make change. I could not have gotten this far in my career without my own network of supportive queer and female creatives; and while the future for women in music in Japan is not yet clear, I continue to put my faith in growing and creating change together with my community. For I know that what makes music special in the first place, is the people that make it.

This article originally appeared in Asian Pop Weekly’s 15th Anniversary ‘fluffy’ zine in a piece titled: ‘Girls (Not) Allowed: The Sexist Underbelly of Japan’s Music Industry‘. Get the zine here.