Living in Japan as a Mixed-Race Japanese American

As a mixed-race Japanese American (Japanese, Hawaiian, and white) married to a Japanese Brit, I carry my multifaceted and multicultural heritage — and yet, living in Japan for the last six years, I have been continually reminded that I am not Japanese enough.

It’s this experience as both an insider and outsider that shapes how I see this country. Online, Japan is often idealized as a futuristic paradise, carrying the reputation of living in 2050: robots, bullet trains, neon lights, and orderliness. Tourists see a safe, clean, and hyper-efficient utopia, but living here as a woman, a feminist, and someone who is always considered a foreigner reveals a harsher reality. Behind the high-tech toilets and efficient trains lie systemic inequality, sexism, and xenophobia, as well as the pressure to conform to rigid social codes.

Even though I have Japanese heritage from both sides of my family (both my parents are half Japanese), I’ve never wrestled with my identity more than I have living here, in the country that is supposed to feel like home but refuses to see me as its own. Although living in Japan has been transformative and rewarding, it has also been painful.

What Are the Pros and Cons of Living in Japan?

Pros

There are many things that I enjoy about living in Japan, which I’ve truly come to appreciate the longer I live here, from general cleanliness and reliable public transportation to a low crime rate. Japan has a deeply ingrained sense of collective responsibility that shapes daily life. People naturally look out for one another, follow social norms to maintain harmony, and take actions that prioritize the well-being of the group. During the COVID-19 pandemic, for example, mask-wearing was almost universal — not because of mandates, but because it was seen as the right thing to do to protect others. This cultural emphasis on community makes social interactions feel safer and more predictable, fostering a sense of belonging and mutual care.

Cons

Life in Japan also comes with challenges, many of them structural and deeply ingrained, like racism and misogyny.

Even though I am half Japanese, people tell me I am not really Japanese. My surname is written in katakana, marking me as permanently foreign. Mainstream media regularly airs xenophobic segments about foreigners. My students have parroted ideas like, “All Japanese are good and kind, all Chinese are bad and violent, all foreigners should go back to their country.”

Additionally, sexism and rape culture are prevalent in Japan. Every Japanese woman I know has experienced harassment or assault, often starting in childhood. On trains, chikan (sexual assault/groping) is so common (one in 10 young people, 90% of whom were women, according to a 2024 poll) that there are women-only cars. On the street, butsukari (men slamming their shoulders into women) happens regularly; in fact, I’ve experienced it countless times. The kawaii culture that glorifies childlike innocence has a dark side: It normalizes the sexualization of young girls. Journalist Shiori Itō was vilified for reporting her own rape, while her attacker went free. Women are expected to endure in silence, and those who speak out are punished. Laws and society fail to protect us. Speaking out — as Itō did — invites shame, not justice.

Living in Japan means balancing these extremes: a place of safety and beauty, but also a society that silences, marginalizes, and resists change. No country is perfect, but it’s important to stop idealizing Japan as a perfect, harmonious utopia and fight for social change.

Always a Foreigner in a Country That Is Now My Home

Life in Japan isn’t just about navigating conveniences and frustrations, or seeing past the glossy tourist image. For me, the deeper challenge is identity. No matter how long I live here, no matter how much I learn, or how much of my heritage connects me to this place, Japan likes to remind me that I am still an outsider.

Japan has a casual word for foreigners, gaijin (which can be used as a slur), and a polite form, gaikokujin. One of the biggest issues I have with the word gaijin is the fact that everyone falls under the same category: tourists, foreign residents, and even mixed Japanese people who were born and raised here. There is never a distinction. The use of this word subconsciously continues to promote a black-and-white, us-versus-them mentality.

This mentality seeps into every single aspect of the social fabric here. There’s a separate alphabet for foreign words, katakana, which is used for the same exact sounds as hiragana, except it is used to distinguish what is actually Japanese from what is foreign. Fun fact: Ramen is actually one of these foreign words spelled with katakana. Another fun fact: My 100% Japanese last name was written in katakana here because I am not a Japanese national, thus not a real Japanese, and therefore I do not receive my Japanese kanji (which, funnily enough, is the alphabet derived from Chinese characters).

Countless times, I have been told that I could only have my Japanese last name because I am married to a Japanese man. And even when I correct people and let them know I am Japanese, this is met with shock and disbelief. Although they may not intentionally mean harm, it’s exhausting to be told what I am and what I am not. Mixed-race people like me are often policed, scrutinized, and denied full belonging, and these microaggressions pile up in classrooms, workplaces, and even friendships.

Sanseitō and the Rise of the Far Right

Layered on top of daily xenophobia is the rise of Japan’s far-right Sanseitō party, which openly follows a nationalist playbook. Inspired by the MAGA movement in America, their platform thrives on ultra-nationalism, misogyny, anti-immigrant fearmongering, and pseudoscientific health policies. Sanseitō’s slogan is “nihonjin first,” or “Japanese first.” They spread misinformation about foreigners, manipulate anxieties, and in 2025, jumped from a single seat in parliament to 15.

For women, immigrants, and people like me, their rise is deeply unsettling: Their rhetoric targets our identities, freedoms, and safety. Everyday prejudice is bad enough; when it becomes institutionalized through political power, the dangers multiply.

Women Fighting Back and Creating Change

And yet, resistance exists. Women are doing the work to confront these issues head-on:

• Shiori Itō became a symbol of courage when she spoke out about her rape, sparking national conversations about sexual assault despite relentless attacks. Her memoir was a bestseller, and her documentary about it and her experience was nominated for an Academy Award.
  
• Yurié Collins, a Japanese woman born and raised in Japan, whose first language is Japanese and who attended Japanese schools, is still treated like a foreigner. In her stand-up comedy, she uses humor to highlight misogyny and the othering of mixed-race Japanese people.
  
• Saya, of Saya’s Japanese School, teaches Japanese while also creating empowering spaces for women and girls to resist social pressures and sexism. She fights the patriarchy through education.
  
• Blossom the Project provides resources, education, and safe communities for survivors of harassment and abuse. It also calls attention to social issues on its social media platforms.

There is a famous Japanese proverb about conformity: 出る釘は打たれる (deru kugi wa utareru), which translates as “the nail that sticks out gets hammered down.” But these women and organizations prove that change is possible. They remind me — and anyone living here — that silence only protects the systems that harm us. And I especially admire them because, as Japanese women, they stand up even when society tells them to stay small and silent.

Why Do I Stay?

I stay because Japan is also beautiful, safe, and endlessly fascinating. I stay because of my friends, my family, and my work. I stay because I appreciate the traditional culture and love the food. I stay because Japan is a part of me. But I also stay because I refuse to be silent.

Being too loud or too foreign is a price I am willing to pay to live authentically. Living here has taught me that silence only protects the status quo. For Japanese Americans considering life in Japan: Japan may not view you as fully Japanese, regardless of your heritage. But your identity is valid. Find allies. Speak out. Reclaim your agency. Uplift women. Spread kindness.