10-08-2025
How Kirin's Heartland defied convention and found a following
Heartland Beer by Kirin Brewery. Japan's first beer to be sold in an emerald green bottle, with an unlabeled embossed design on July 4 in Tokyo's Bunkyo Ward (Masaki Hashida)
Brewmaster Eriko Ota is an unsung hero in Japan for helping to create a beer in a distinctive emerald green bottle unlike any other in the market.
In the fiercely competitive world of Japanese brewing, where industry giants vie for dominance, her brainchild, Kirin's Heartland Beer, carved out a special niche.
It is often mentioned alongside Sapporo Lager Beer (Akaboshi) as a 'beer that sells without advertising.'
This fall, Ota—a senior fellow at Kirin Holdings Co.'s Health Science Business Headquarters and one of the minds behind Heartland—is set to leave the company at the end of her post-retirement re-employment period.
Beer enthusiasts should raise a toast to Ota, marking the finale of a long career deeply entwined with the story of this unconventional brew.
Her journey offers a rare window into the radical thinking and creative experimentation that gave birth to a beer that remains as popular as ever, almost 40 years after its introduction.
'Our aim was to create a beer with a crisp, clean finish—one that didn't leave a lingering aftertaste,' said Ota, 64. 'Everything was trial and error. We produced more than 50 prototypes in a five-kilogram tank. I remember getting dizzy from it all,' she recalled with a laugh.
Her professional life began with Heartland, and the premium pale lager remains one of her proudest achievements.
Ota joined Kirin Brewery in 1983, two years before the equal employment opportunity law was enacted, and just six months later, she became part of the newly formed development team for Heartland.
'At the time, Kirin held more than 60 percent of Japan's beer market,' Ota said. 'The question we kept asking was: how do we reach the remaining 40 percent? That's when the idea emerged—let's launch an entirely new brand to tap into that underserved segment.'
Internal research conducted by the marketing department had uncovered some alarming trends: Kirin's brand-specific orders at restaurants were declining; the rise in single-person households was leading to a drop in home beer deliveries; and an increasing number of consumers were seeking personal fulfillment and becoming more selective in their choices.
A 10 percent decline in market share was projected.
Heartland was born from this sense of urgency. It was a period when so-called 'Saison culture' was flourishing—a movement that blended retail and cultural innovation, led by the now-defunct Saison Group and its core companies, such as Seibu Department Stores and Parco Co., known for their lifestyle-oriented shopping complexes.
'For decades, it was standard practice in Japan for each beer company to focus on just one flagship brand,' Ota said. 'We wanted to challenge that model. Instead of pushing products from the top down, we aimed to create something that consumers would seek out themselves. Our goal was to design a beer that resonated with people's lifestyles and personal aspirations.'
Heartland's green bottle is embossed with the image of a large tree—a bold departure from convention. Notably absent is Kirin's iconic emblem, the mythical chimera-like creature from East Asian folklore.
Even the company name is nowhere to be found on the bottle, a deliberate choice to let the product speak for itself.
The design was inspired by two unexpected sources: unlabeled embossed bottles recovered from a sunken ship off the coast of New York, and a landscape painting depicting a granary in Illinois.
Heartland was also the first beer in Japan to feature an emerald green bottle—another quiet but striking break from industry norms.
BREWING A CULT FOLLOWING
When Heartland was launched in 1986, it aimed to be a 'beer known only to those in the know'—a quiet, discerning alternative to the mainstream. But just a year later, Asahi Breweries' Super Dry burst onto the scene, capturing the market and igniting a nationwide 'Dry Boom.'
As Japan plunged into a frenzy of stock speculation and land investment, emblematic of the bubble economy era, Heartland struggled to find its footing.
'Heartland isn't a beer of the bubble era,' Ota said. 'It's a beer that represents something more personal—a place of the heart. That's why it didn't thrive in a time defined by asset-price bubbles.'
According to professor Akihiro Inoue, a marketing expert at Keio University's Graduate School of Business Administration, the Heartland development team never lost faith in its vision.
Instead, the team members quietly and persistently worked to foster a deeper emotional connection with consumers. They invited interested bar and restaurant owners to Kirin's Tokyo headquarters, where they shared the brand's philosophy and emphasized its cultural significance.
Heartland began to regain momentum in 1993, following the collapse of Japan's bubble economy. That year marked the beginning of a remarkable streak: shipments rose for 24 consecutive years. And since 2022, sales have continued to exceed the previous year's figures for three years in a row.
Remarkably, this success has been achieved without a single mass-market advertising campaign—and without altering the beer's original brewing method, which only uses malt, hops and water, or design. Over time, Heartland has quietly cultivated a loyal, if niche, following.
'Maybe the concept was just a little ahead of its time,' Ota said. 'But I truly believe it was something society needed.'
A similar story of quiet persistence applies to Sapporo's time-honored Akaboshi (Red Star) beer. First brewed in 1877, it holds the distinction of being Japan's oldest surviving beer brand.
In 2024, its shipment volume was approximately 2.1 times higher than in 2019, before the COVID-19 pandemic. Like Heartland, Akaboshi has never relied on traditional mass advertising—eschewing TV, newspapers, and train station ads in favor of word-of-mouth and long-term brand integrity.
RIVAL ASAHI KEEPS CLOSE EYE ON HEARTLAND
How do competitors view the quiet success of beers such as Heartland? Asked about the trend, Atsushi Katsuki, president and CEO of Asahi Group Holdings, responded without hesitation:
'We're watching it very closely. There's a kind of synergy at play—when manufacturers take a steady, thoughtful approach, and restaurants that are committed to genuine quality choose to serve their products. That creates a perception among consumers that, 'If this place carries it, it must be good.''
