Stories Of Workplace Sexism in Japan: ‘Only Women Know How To Vacuum’

Some rules are made just for girls, they say. Here’s to breaking them all.

After having experienced my fair share of less-than-cool comments and some rather interesting conversations while working, I decided to reach out to other women working here to hear about their experiences of workplace sexism in Japan. In this article, I share a story of my own and two real-life anecdotes from a Korean friend who has been working here all her life.

“Only Women Know How To Vacuum”

© Photo by iStock: Deagreez

My Japanese boss is wrestling with the many plants in our office. I see him muttering to himself as he goes from plant to plant, tending to some of their dead leaves and varied dehydrated states. I can’t hear what he’s saying because I have headphones on. I’m editing a trailer that’s due at the end of the day when I hear a muffled sound that can’t be from the video. I hear it again, it’s louder the second time. 

Having both heard the muffled command, my coworker and I take off our headphones at the same time. Our boss gestures for us to come to his side of the room, so we follow, leaving behind our time sensitive projects. We join him next to a particularly forlorn plant and he explains that customers are coming soon. He says that we need to make the office look clean and presentable. Both of us nod to show that we care and understand. He gives my coworker, John, a strange look that neither of us understood at the time. There’s a small vacuum in our boss’s hands. He lifts it off the floor, points to the carpet, and says in English, “Clean please.” We both nod again. John reaches for the vacuum.

Our boss’s eyes widen. He seems even more confused than usual and leans back, clutching the vacuum to his chest, just out of John’s reach. There are a few awkward moments where the three of us don’t know what to do or say when, finally, our boss lets out a huge laugh. He bends over, clutching his knees for support. John and I exchange perplexed glances. Our boss straightens up and hands me the vacuum while speaking to John.

“Sit, sit, John. Please sit. You can continue editing. You are a man.” He says in Japanese, still laughing.

He points to me and says my name to John, “It’s her job to vacuum, don’t you think?” John looks at me with eyes that say, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” Meanwhile, I’m left standing next to that particularly dry plant in a state somewhere between shock and rage.

The boss walks away laughing, shaking his head and repeating John’s name as if he was the funniest jokester on the planet.

Unwilling to inhabit a world where plants were deprived of water and women were dispensable cleaning devices, I left that job. That’s when I resolved to ask other women in Tokyo to see if they, too, had experienced similar transgressions made at work, the first being a close friend, Hana Lee (pseudonym), a 29-year-old Korean woman who grew up in Japan. I made plans to meet with her for coffee and some breakfast and hear about her stories of what it has been like for her to work as a woman in this country, specifically in the field of media. Here are some of her stories, recounted anonymously and retold accordingly in a first-person perspective. 

“Only Men Can Have Opinions”

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A few years ago, I was working at a trading company in Tokyo, where I had a boss in his 50s with a terrible sense of humor. He would often make degrading jokes about women, but of course, they were just “jokes,” so as employees, we could never really object to them. One day, my boss asked me to meet to talk about our projects. I don’t even remember what I disagreed with him about during the meeting, but it had to do with our projects at that time.

He looked at me and said, “You speak your opinion quite directly. I don’t think you’ll be able to get married.”

“No, I think I will be able to,” I reply. I knew he felt he could say that because I was the youngest woman in the office. It was a reflection of the deeply rooted workplace hierarchy scene in Japan, and I was at the bottom by default.

One of the things I hated most about that job was the uniforms. Only women were required to wear them. It somehow identified us only as “girls” or “women” washing out any chance of our personalities or creativity shining through. We all looked the same. After a while, I quit. And so did a bunch of other women after me.

“Only Women Without Makeup Can Be Assistant Directors”

© Photo by iStock: Anchiy

It was my first video shoot with my new job title at a Japanese TV production company. The producer I worked for, a Japanese man in his 60s, brought me over to meet the director, who was an outside hire, a freelancer. They shook hands like old friends, and I was introduced to them as the new assistant director for the production company. I was young and somewhat inexperienced, but I knew my worth. However, the director had other ideas. He took one look at me and then looked back to my boss.

“Really?” he asked.

My boss nodded and said, “Really.”

“Where did you find her?” The director asked.

“We interviewed her.” My boss replied.

“Yes, I just sent in my CV and applied to work with this production company,” I said, slightly confused at why this wasn’t obvious.

The director looked to my boss again and replied, “Oh, I thought perhaps you just picked her up off the street.”

After the producer left, the director approached me again, asking, “Seriously though, how did you get this job?” I told him I sent in a CV, and went to an interview.

“Really?” He asked again.

I could tell that he didn’t take me seriously at all. I also think he was implying that I had gotten the job by means other than an innocent CV. Plus, it seems that the female assistant directors in the industry don’t usually wear makeup and dress like I do. My style stood out, which apparently made me a target for doubt and criticism. If I were a man, my position wouldn’t be in question. And here I was, simply wearing clothes and makeup of my choosing, my appearance harnessing enough power to cast shadows of disbelief about my abilities on the first day. I wanted to tell him: I don’t dress up to attract men, I dress up because I love dressing up. And what does that have to do with anything anyway?

What Can We Do?

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My friend’s stories didn’t stop there. There were many more. When our conversation came to a close, I capped my pen and closed my notebook. But the air was still filled with her floating words, leftover thoughts, and a kind of residual anger that only an unresolved situation can give life to.

“What can we do about all this?” we asked each other.

“Well, we just did something,” I said, nodding towards my notebook on the table, pen wedged inside.

For more advice on how to go about situations like this, please read our article about battling ingrained sexism in the Japanese workplace.

If you are experiencing or witnessing sexism in Japan, please consider contacting the Human Rights Bureau in Japan for counseling and support:

• Human Rights Hotline: 0570-003-110
• Women’s Rights Hotline: 0570-070-810

If you have a story of workplace sexism in Japan to share, contact us at editor@savvytokyo.com (anonymity guaranteed) or leave a comment here if you would like to share your story publicly.