Latest news with #nomikai
Forbes
13-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Forbes
Study
In Japan, work doesn't end when the workday does. It ends around beer eight, when the salaryman finally says what he really thinks. Women are underrepresented in these after-hours rituals. Until then, the salaryman is polite, efficient and respectful, almost to a fault. He bows his head when spoken to, drinks when his boss expects him to and lives in a culture where emotional honesty, in everyone's interest, is delayed until the room is drunk enough to pretend it's safe. Although countries like Romania and Germany drink far more per capita, few work cultures have imbibed drinking quite like Japan's has. Interestingly, rebellion isn't the feeling salarymen are chasing, but belonging and release. In corporate Tokyo, drinking is part of the infrastructure. And somewhere between the sixth and the eighth beer, the mask slips — because the system requires it to slip. Office parties are infamous for awkward small talk and overdone cheer. But in Japan, nomikai, or after-hours drinking sessions with colleagues, often go further — becoming socially sanctioned spaces where otherwise reserved employees can temporarily abandon formality. There's even a word for this: bureikō, a state in which social hierarchies are relaxed and people are allowed to speak more freely. While bureikō may offer momentary relief, it also masks a deeper issue. When alcohol becomes the primary socially acceptable outlet for emotional expression, it risks pathologizing connection by reinforcing emotional repression rather than resolving it. Psychologically, it creates a cycle where authenticity is outsourced to intoxication, rather than integrated into daily life. Elsewhere, office parties might feel optional or even avoidable. However, many Japanese salarymen routinely show up not out of joy or desire to bond, but because saying no can feel like career sabotage. This dynamic ties into a deeper cultural code: tatemae — the face you show the world — versus honne — what you actually feel. In Japan, maintaining social harmony often means suppressing your true thoughts, especially around superiors. Emotional honesty becomes a kind of taboo. In the first season of James May: Our Man in…, which explores Japan, the British host chats with a group of salarymen about exactly this. One of them, a mergers and acquisitions employee at a large multinational company, explains: 'In Japan, you're not allowed to say what you think… you have to say a tatemae, which respects the other person, especially if they're older.' May asks, 'But what if you've had, say, eight Asahis?' The salaryman laughs: 'Eight Asahis? Oh, then that's a different question.' The joke lands because it's painfully true. In a culture built on restraint, alcohol does more than loosen lips — it subverts emotional expectations. For many, intoxication becomes the only socially acceptable way to access their honne, the private, honest self they keep hidden the rest of the time. In a country where work is considered sacred, the phenomenon of karōshi, or death by overwork, remains a pressing issue. In 2024, a white paper reported a 20% rise in the number of individuals recognized as suffering from work-related mental health disorders, marking the highest number on record to date. Notably, 79 of these cases involved suicides or attempted suicides. And these are just the cases we know about. This trend is beyond unsettling in a country where, as it is, population and birth rates have steadily been on a decline. The culture of nomikai can marginalize non-drinkers and perpetuate a cycle where alcohol becomes a tool for professional networking rather than personal enjoyment. Even in Western cultures like the U.S., choosing not to drink can sometimes raise more eyebrows than drinking itself. But in Japan, where emotional restraint is already culturally enforced, that pressure is amplified. Younger generations in Japan are increasingly questioning the traditional salaryman lifestyle. There is a growing movement towards achieving a better work-life balance, with some companies experimenting with four-day workweeks to address labor shortages and promote healthier working environments. But if honesty effervesces only after eight Asahis, the problem probably lies in the social role the salaryman is taught to fulfill in silence. A salaryman often doesn't feel psychologically safe at work. Take the Psychological Safety Scale to see if your workplace qualifies.
Forbes
12-05-2025
- General
- Forbes
Why Your Average Japanese Salaryman Has An ‘8-Beer Problem' — A Psychologist Explains
The 'salaryman' is a symbol of loyalty, sacrifice and quiet endurance in Japan. But beneath the ... More pressed shirts and punctual commutes is a psychological fault line. In Japan, work doesn't end when the workday does. It ends around beer eight, when the salaryman finally says what he really thinks. Women are underrepresented in these after-hours rituals. Until then, the salaryman is polite, efficient and respectful, almost to a fault. He bows his head when spoken to, drinks when his boss expects him to and lives in a culture where emotional honesty, in everyone's interest, is delayed until the room is drunk enough to pretend it's safe. Although countries like Romania and Germany drink far more per capita, few work cultures have imbibed drinking quite like Japan's has. Interestingly, rebellion isn't the feeling salarymen are chasing, but belonging and release. In corporate Tokyo, drinking is part of the infrastructure. And somewhere between the sixth and the eighth beer, the mask slips — because the system requires it to slip. Office parties are infamous for awkward small talk and overdone cheer. But in Japan, nomikai, or after-hours drinking sessions with colleagues, often go further — becoming socially sanctioned spaces where otherwise reserved employees can temporarily abandon formality. There's even a word for this: bureikō, a state in which social hierarchies are relaxed and people are allowed to speak more freely. While bureikō may offer momentary relief, it also masks a deeper issue. When alcohol becomes the primary socially acceptable outlet for emotional expression, it risks pathologizing connection by reinforcing emotional repression rather than resolving it. Psychologically, it creates a cycle where authenticity is outsourced to intoxication, rather than integrated into daily life. Elsewhere, office parties might feel optional or even avoidable. However, many Japanese salarymen routinely show up not out of joy or desire to bond, but because saying no can feel like career sabotage. This dynamic ties into a deeper cultural code: tatemae — the face you show the world — versus honne — what you actually feel. In Japan, maintaining social harmony often means suppressing your true thoughts, especially around superiors. Emotional honesty becomes a kind of taboo. In the first season of James May: Our Man in…, which explores Japan, the British host chats with a group of salarymen about exactly this. One of them, a mergers and acquisitions employee at a large multinational company, explains: 'In Japan, you're not allowed to say what you think… you have to say a tatemae, which respects the other person, especially if they're older.' May asks, 'But what if you've had, say, 8 Asahis?' The salaryman laughs: 'Eight Asahis? Oh, then that's a different question.' The joke lands because it's painfully true. In a culture built on restraint, alcohol does more than loosen lips — it subverts emotional expectations. For many, intoxication becomes the only socially acceptable way to access their honne, the private, honest self they keep hidden the rest of the time. In a country where work is considered sacred, the phenomenon of karōshi, or death by overwork, remains a pressing issue. In 2024, a white paper reported a 20% rise in the number of individuals recognized as suffering from work-related mental health disorders, marking the highest number on record to date. Notably, 79 of these cases involved suicides or attempted suicides. And these are just the cases we know about. This trend is beyond unsettling in a country where, as it is, population and birth rates have steadily been on a decline. The culture of nomikai can marginalize non-drinkers and perpetuate a cycle where alcohol becomes a tool for professional networking rather than personal enjoyment. Even in Western cultures like the U.S., choosing not to drink can sometimes raise more eyebrows than drinking itself. But in Japan, where emotional restraint is already culturally enforced, that pressure is amplified. Younger generations in Japan are increasingly questioning the traditional salaryman lifestyle. There is a growing movement towards achieving a better work-life balance, with some companies experimenting with four-day workweeks to address labor shortages and promote healthier working environments. But if honesty effervesces only after 8 Asahis, the problem probably lies in the social role salaryman is taught to fulfill in silence. A salaryman often doesn't feel psychologically safe at work. Take the Psychological Safety Scale to see if your workplace qualifies.
