The “Useless Muscles” Debate: Why Must Muscles Be Justified in Japan?

Macho in Narrative Space

Let’s shift the focus of our discussion slightly to a more general perspective.

For example, let’s put it into words using a detective drama as a concrete example. At a crime scene, numerous uniformed officers and plainclothes detectives are bustling about. Among those detectives, suppose there’s one who’s a Gori Macho.

If this were a foreign drama, Japanese viewers would likely accept the scene without question, thinking, “Oh, there’s a tough-looking guy. Well, it is a foreign show.”

But if this drama is set in Japan, the dynamic changes completely.

“Why is a detective so muscular?”
“What’s up with that Gori Macho detective?”
“What’s his backstory?”
“Is that Gori Macho some kind of foreshadowing?”

We’d become so preoccupied with the Gori Macho detective that we’d lose track of the actual plot. And if, even after watching the series to its finale, there’s no explanation for “why that Gori Macho guy was there” – meaning, from the viewer’s perspective, the foreshadowing wasn’t resolved – the drama’s reception would likely be lukewarm. The director might get scolded by their superiors or the public for “Never put a Gori Macho in there without a clear reason.”

This situation arises because in Japan, there’s an expectation of accountability for justifying the presence of a muscle-bound actor in the narrative space. Furthermore, this dynamic creates a phenomenon where while society may understand and accept an actor temporarily building muscle for a role, an actor who is perpetually Gori Macho often finds their range of roles narrowed.

This isn’t limited to crime dramas; it applies to dating reality shows too. If a Gori Macho joins the cast, other participants and viewers will demand an explanation for his physique. If his answer is “I play rugby” or “I was on the judo team,” that response gets full marks and societal understanding and acceptance.

However, if that Gori Macho answers, “I just enjoy building muscle itself,” or “Because I find this body beautiful,” then that Gori Macho will be labeled “incomprehensible.” Both the audience and the production team will interpret and consume this Gori Macho based on the premise that he’s an “aberration.” In other words, he’ll likely get that introductory narration every time: “Now, meet our slightly eccentric guy…”

Differences in Macho Perceptions Between the West and Japan in Narratives

Moreover, Western stories often feature men with muscular, macho physiques who are taciturn, clumsy, and seem somewhat unfriendly. Yet such a character isn’t portrayed as the type of character who would be labeled a “Nokin” or “brawn over brains” type in Japanese internet slang. Rather, the opposite is true: precisely because he speaks little, he is constantly thinking about something deep inside. Justice, guilt, faith, responsibility, his own violence—he lives with these heavy burdens hidden deep within his muscles. I believe this archetype has been repeated time and again since ancient mythological heroes.

Characters whose bodies are portrayed as containing intelligence are not necessarily heroes.
Zampano, a character in Federico Fellini’s film “La Strada,” possesses a powerful physique. Yet he is not a stereotypical “muscle-bound idiot.” Within his robust physique lies an intelligence characterized by “human traits” like jealousy, cowardice, and cunning.

Conversely, when trying to conjure such an intelligent character from Japanese narratives, it suddenly becomes difficult. Perhaps I simply don’t know any. But I can’t find enough examples to say “there are plenty.”

Take, for instance, “The Life of Muhomatsu.” Although he is portrayed with warmth and kindness, his capacity for intelligence is quietly sidelined within Japanese narrative conventions. Muhomatsu wasn’t portrayed this way because he was particularly simple-minded.
Rather, when placing a character with a formidable physique into a story, Japanese narratives have often relegated intelligence and introspection elsewhere. I believe Muhomatsu is one of the clearest examples illustrating this approach.

The moment “muscle” or ‘strength’ is foregrounded, the character is inevitably cast somewhere as a “non-thinking role.” Robust physique and deep contemplation—these two seem incompatible, making such characters, I feel, difficult to handle within narratives.

I understand this difference between Western and Japanese views of machismo as follows:

In the West, the spirit is seen as manifesting in the body. The body is the vessel, the result, and the trace of the spirit. Therefore, a strong body does not equate to “a lack of thought.” It is not considered contradictory for deep thought and inner conflict to be hidden within a powerful physique.

In Japan, however, spirit and body tend to be separated. Personality and intelligence are often discussed as existing in a different place from the body. Consequently, when the body is emphasized, the inner self becomes simplified. Muscles are not seen as vessels supporting the depth of spirit; rather, they are often treated as something that diminishes the spirit or elements like “technique” and “Ki” or vital energy.

Fear of Deviation

From here, I return to the central question.

I’ve already proposed the hypothesis that “Japanese people fear becoming deviant entities incomprehensible to society more than anything else.”

So why do we fear “deviating” so intensely?

Since this article will also be published in English, I feel it necessary to explain the background of Japanese society here for readers unfamiliar with Japanese culture.

Simply put, in Japan,
“Deviation is perceived as weakness.”

Countless contexts exist to explain this cultural trait in Japan, but the most commonly cited argument is likely:
“Before modernization, commonly cited as around 90% of Japan’s population were farmers. There, conformity was valued above all else, and deviants were excluded.”
This argument can be summed up in the proverb: “The nail that sticks out gets hammered down.”

Using my own imagery, I’ll elaborate a bit more carefully on the mechanism of “the nail that sticks out gets hammered down” that has functioned within Japanese communities:

In a village community, it goes without saying that preventing the emergence of “deviants” unsuited for communal farming work was a critical task. The mechanism for identifying and excluding these deviants was built upon a chain of psychological pressure exerted on each member: “Never cause trouble for your fellow community members.”

When a “deviant” unsuited for communal work emerged from a village, the following process was set in motion:

“When did you first notice the deviant’s existence?”
“Who bore the primary responsibility for detecting the emergence of the deviant?”

Within the hierarchical structure, with the ruling samurai at the apex, it was desirable for dealing with deviants through this process to occur at the lowest possible level. Consequently, this process functioned effectively, and deviants were dealt with at an early stage.

I believe this process has been passed down in modified form to modern Japanese organizations. Moreover, if you live in what is often called the “countryside,” you might observe this process remaining in a more primitive, easily recognizable form.

Among the things often cited as shocking to people moving from the city to the countryside are:
“Neighbors just walk into your house without permission”
“They knew everything—which supermarket I went to, when, and what I bought”
“Everyone in this small town knows far too much about everyone else.”

These experiences may be remnants of the process for early detection and handling of deviants, or perhaps they reveal that this process is still actively fulfilling its duty today.

Through modernization, the way Japanese people live has changed significantly from pre-modern times. Some estimates put the share of agricultural employment in modern Japan at around 3%. Yet I sometimes wonder if modern Japanese Macho are being confronted by society—or perhaps by the lingering echoes of history—with questions etched into their past and genes:

“You’ve built up all that impressive muscle, but does it actually help with farm work?”
“Just don’t cause any trouble.”

For various reasons and backgrounds, many Japanese fear becoming deviants.

This tendency persists even in the SNS space, where seeking attention is justified as a means of fulfilling desires. The position many Japanese seek on SNS is “slightly above average.” It means standing out within the bounds of non-deviation. It is neither “above average” nor “below average.”

The majority are people who fear deviation to an extreme degree.

This cultural background, where the majority of people are extremely fearful of deviation, may be difficult for people overseas to understand.

Anonymous culture and the lack of physicality

When comparing Japanese social media spaces to those overseas, what stands out is Japan’s “culture of anonymity.”

“Why do Japanese people wear masks when they’re YouTubers?”
“Why do so many people use anime avatars instead of their own photos?”

These are questions often voiced by foreigners encountering Japanese SNS culture for the first time.

While there are various ways to answer this, within the context of this article, one response is:
“For Japanese people, anonymity grants the ‘freedom to deviate.’”

This “freedom” isn’t limited to acting however one pleases. Rather, it’s the freedom to temporarily detach oneself from the social evaluation and accountability circuits triggered by deviant behavior.

In Japanese society, the body carries meaning beyond mere physicality.
The face, hairstyle, age, gender, physique—these function as extremely powerful signals indicating which community a person belongs to and the degree of accountability they carry. To give a concrete example, my own hairstyle is a shaved head. In Japanese culture, however, there are domains in which a shaved head effectively functions as a taboo—particularly in financial institutions, sales positions, and other roles dealing with conservative clientele.

“Why do so many Japanese people have negative perceptions about tattoos?”
This is another question frequently asked by people overseas. The answer to this question can also be: “Because tattoos function as extremely powerful physical signals in Japan.”

Becoming anonymous in cyberspace is also an attempt to temporarily nullify physical signals. By erasing names, hiding faces, and obscuring age and gender, Japanese people can finally express “deviant words” or “deviant interests” with a certain degree of persistence.

I believe that only by becoming anonymous—that is, by temporarily suspending physical presence—can Japanese people truly deviate.

This brings us back to the subject of this article: “muscle.”

Muscle is a form of physicality that cannot be anonymous.
You cannot choose an avatar or blur its attributes.
Muscle always appears with the body, is instantly interpreted, and demands explanation.

That is precisely why, in Japan, muscle cannot escape questions like:
“Why that body?”
“What purpose does that muscle serve?”

The questioning of muscles in Japanese society is both swift and intense.
Consider a famous person who has publicly declared things like, “I don’t really care about living a long life,” and embraced a hedonistic, stance, including drinking and smoking. Suppose this person, perhaps for some reason, suddenly starts going to the gym and working out. Muscles build, and the body changes.

Of course, this isn’t inherently seen as a bad thing. However, they become the subject of teasing from the public, like “You started working out? (lol)” – essentially being consumed in a half-mocking way. This is a common sight in Japan’s media landscape.

And the typical outcome afterward is one of two things:
The person either starts hiding their body or quits working out altogether.
Why does this happen?
It’s likely because a disconnect or contradiction arises between the accountability that person had previously assumed regarding their body, and the new accountability imposed on their changed physique.

In Japanese culture, such “discrepancies” or ‘contradictions’ are often interpreted as “signs of deviation”—as unsettling, and the anxiety that arises from it.

The meaning of living with a body that cannot remain anonymous in a society where anonymous culture has developed this far.
I believe this is the fertile ground where Japan’s “useless muscle debate” takes root.

Are Macho Narcissists?

In Japan, there have been many instances where Macho and narcissism have been strongly linked and discussed together.
“All men obsessed with weight training are narcissists.”
“Narcissists are self-centered and indifferent to others’ pain.”

Such discourse—linking Macho with narcissism and implicitly denying their character—has long been common in Japan.

So, are Macho truly narcissists?

My answer is simple:
It is both wrong and right.

From here, I will articulate my thoughts on Macho and narcissism a bit more carefully.

In modern Japan, it is common to refer to people who consistently engage in weight training as (weight) “trainees.”

The term “trainees” can be applied regardless of how many years they’ve been training (their career) or how impressive their physique currently is.

Therefore, the term “trainee” encompasses people such as:
Those who participate as competitors in bodybuilding or physique competitions, continuing their training with a clear goal. Or those who, while not competitors, continue training to pursue their own ideal physique. Pursuing an ideal might sound intimidating, but this doesn’t necessarily mean something lofty or complex. A motivation like “I’m self-conscious about my thin arms, so I want to build them up” is perfectly valid and a worthy form of ideal pursuit.

Now, this element isn’t limited to attempts to change one’s body through weight training; it’s essential for any sustained endeavor, like studying for exams or work. That element is “checking progress.” Without being able to check progress, it becomes incredibly difficult to maintain the motivation to continue the endeavor, as you cannot tell whether what you’re doing is right or wrong.

For trainees, progress confirmation is often about “appearance” rather than numbers.
Of course, some people obsess over numbers like how many centimeters their chest has grown or their waist has shrunk.
But no matter how much the numbers change, what truly matters is the “appearance.”
Take bodybuilding competitors: even if someone puts in tremendous effort, say gaining 10 cm in chest circumference over a year to compete, that achievement itself is astonishing and the result of immense effort and sacrifice—something we deeply admire. Yet at the competition, “appearance is everything.” No matter how much you improve or worsen your numbers compared to the past, that fact alone is fundamentally not what gets judged in the bodybuilding world.

This isn’t just about competitors. Someone who started weight training because they were self-conscious about thin arms – would they feel happy and satisfied if their upper arm circumference increased by 5 centimeters? Probably not. The initial impulse was likely triggered by seeing themselves in the mirror.

Therefore, “looking in the mirror” is an extremely effective means for trainees to check their progress. Of course, nowadays it’s easier to track progress by capturing video or still images of oneself, so mirrors might hold less significance in the trainee world than before. However, it’s worth noting that the majority of commercial gyms still feature mirrored interiors. While this serves the purpose of checking training form, I believe it also plays a role in maintaining members’ motivation.

So, summarizing what we’ve covered so far:
For trainees, checking their bodies in a mirror is a way to track progress, much like track and field athletes measuring their times to gauge their development as competitors. When they achieve good progress in something they’re pursuing voluntarily and consistently, it’s natural for a smile to slip out. This cannot be conclusively labeled as narcissism.

Now, if you feel this explanation is sufficient, you may stop reading this chapter here without issue.

However, for those who prefer interpreting things from multiple angles, the explanation so far might leave a lingering sense of dissatisfaction. After all, it hasn’t fully addressed why the statement “Macho are narcissists,” mentioned at the beginning of this chapter, is “both wrong and right.”

From here, I will articulate why it is also correct.

Simply put, it is impossible to clearly compartmentalize or visualize the inner workings of the human mind.

I have already mentioned that for a trainee, looking in the mirror is a way to check their daily training progress, and if that progress is good, well, a smile will naturally appear.
However, whether the source of that smile on the trainee’s face stems solely from the good progress, or whether it’s mixed with a touch of narcissism like “I’m beautiful,” is impossible to visualize and prove. Moreover, it’s rare for the person themselves to be fully aware of it.

For example, imagine a child at school who scores 90 on a test.
Upon seeing the score, the child might involuntarily smile.
At that moment, one child nearby might feel anger, thinking, “That kid’s smiling smugly, feeling good about beating me.”
Another child might feel a sense of superiority, thinking, “That kid’s happy with just 90 points? It’s meaningless unless it’s 100.”
But the kid himself might just be happy because his parents promised, “If you get over 90, we’ll buy you a Nintendo Switch.”

Like this, the impression others get from what they observe on the surface can easily clash with what’s actually going on inside a person. In human interactions, we rarely encounter situations where we have to explain every single one of these minor discrepancies, and the means to prove them are practically nonexistent.

So, returning to the topic of Macho and narcissism,
when a Macho smiles at his reflection, is he delighted to see his progress, or is it narcissism, or perhaps both? We simply cannot know.
This is why I believe the premise that “Macho are narcissists” is both wrong and right.

To be honest, this chapter feels a bit out of place within this article.
Still, what compelled me to write it lies in the changing position of narcissism in modern Japan, particularly within the internet space.

In recent years, centered around SNS, a distinct ideological presence has emerged—what might be called an “NPD (Narcissistic Personality Disorder) Victims’ Circle.” While individual groups aren’t large, they show a steady presence. Posts there express various cries of resentment: “I suffered this harm from an NPD man,” “My heart was trampled on.” Some even use quite extreme expressions like “NPD sufferers are potential criminals.”

Personally, I sometimes feel that some of these expressions might not actually be NPD. Regardless, if this trend accelerates, I can’t help but imagine a future where the concept of “narcissistic men” in Japanese society shifts abruptly from its traditional positioning – “undeniably causing a frown, but not quite anti-social” – to being labeled outright as “enemies of society.” And this does not feel like a baseless fantasy that can simply be dismissed.

If there’s a structure prone to misunderstanding, isn’t it better to put it into words? This chapter may feel somewhat unbalanced, but it’s precisely because of this feeling that I still wanted to express it.

So far, we’ve mainly examined the atmosphere of the present.
From here, let’s trace back to the past and consider where this atmosphere originated.