Capitalism is following me...
iPod induced revelation number 1:
As I walked to the grocery store last week, clad in the last remaining shreds of my Abercrombie high school jeans, Pumas, and Paris hard rock café t-shirt, backpack slung upon my back and iPod in hand, blaring full power, (maybe I am the poster child for American capitalism) it dawned on me that I’ve been compromising myself the entire time I’ve been in Japan. I’ve been living in fear of sticking out, hoping not to fit into the American stereotype I believe most outside cultures to maintain based upon a few sordid Americans. I’ve been trying so hard not so much to fit in, which is damn near impossible, but not to stick out. The truth of the matter is, I do. It can’t physically be avoided, I’m going to get stares, funny questions, talked about to a point of inducing perma-paranoia. So why should I restrain myself from singing in the grocery store, or dancing the streets, using my usual slang or dressing as I normally do? If they’re going to point and stare, I’d rather it be due to my singing in public and dancing in the streets than the trite fact that I’m an American. I’d rather be unique in MY mannerisms than my perceived and judged culture.
iP od induced revelation number 2:
The Japanese need to learn to live. Riding the train to Kurume yesterday, iPod once again in hand, I swaggered to the individual rhythms of each song, until “Ride” by The Vines began to play. I instantaneously envisioned the Japanese university students, clad in their uniforms, to bust out into the iPod commercial dance, break dancing between the aisles of old people and pregnant ladies. Flashing neon lights, flying hair, mass chaos and entertainment. Alas, there was no dancing, no bright lights, no swaying hair or bodies, no signs of livelihood at all. Just some quiet students riding to school in silence and a smelly guy next to me invading my seven inches of personal space.
I was devastated. I was relying upon them for some train entertainment, and to distract everyone from looking at the main attraction….gaijin (me.) It was a sad, sad experience. The only place the Japanese will ever dance is in my imagination…and there they rock pretty hard core.
As I walked to the grocery store last week, clad in the last remaining shreds of my Abercrombie high school jeans, Pumas, and Paris hard rock café t-shirt, backpack slung upon my back and iPod in hand, blaring full power, (maybe I am the poster child for American capitalism) it dawned on me that I’ve been compromising myself the entire time I’ve been in Japan. I’ve been living in fear of sticking out, hoping not to fit into the American stereotype I believe most outside cultures to maintain based upon a few sordid Americans. I’ve been trying so hard not so much to fit in, which is damn near impossible, but not to stick out. The truth of the matter is, I do. It can’t physically be avoided, I’m going to get stares, funny questions, talked about to a point of inducing perma-paranoia. So why should I restrain myself from singing in the grocery store, or dancing the streets, using my usual slang or dressing as I normally do? If they’re going to point and stare, I’d rather it be due to my singing in public and dancing in the streets than the trite fact that I’m an American. I’d rather be unique in MY mannerisms than my perceived and judged culture.
iP od induced revelation number 2:
The Japanese need to learn to live. Riding the train to Kurume yesterday, iPod once again in hand, I swaggered to the individual rhythms of each song, until “Ride” by The Vines began to play. I instantaneously envisioned the Japanese university students, clad in their uniforms, to bust out into the iPod commercial dance, break dancing between the aisles of old people and pregnant ladies. Flashing neon lights, flying hair, mass chaos and entertainment. Alas, there was no dancing, no bright lights, no swaying hair or bodies, no signs of livelihood at all. Just some quiet students riding to school in silence and a smelly guy next to me invading my seven inches of personal space.
I was devastated. I was relying upon them for some train entertainment, and to distract everyone from looking at the main attraction….gaijin (me.) It was a sad, sad experience. The only place the Japanese will ever dance is in my imagination…and there they rock pretty hard core.
posted by Chishiki Lauren at 7:43 PM
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