The bow is at the very core of social interaction in Japan.  Used in business meetings, at the end of class, and even when saying goodbye on the phone, the bow is known by everyone around the world as a unique aspect of Japanese culture.  But the bow holds much more meaning to it than just as an equivalent of a handshake: it is a symbol of omotenashi that refers to the world of Japanese hospitality.  

Japan’s high-quality service is something that is greatly marketed to tourists and is certainly not difficult to miss.  Unlike the UK where, except for that occasional chatty Sainsbury’s cashier, customer expectations are generally relative to the nature of the service, in Japan this does not seem to be the case.  While hospitality is a common experience on any aeroplane or expensive restaurant around the world, this level of service is often extended as far back to the konbini (convenience stores) or even your local McDonald’s.  Being served in any establishment often involves a warm welcome and being served in rehearsed keigo, honorific language.  Whether it is an expensive antique or a bottle of water, your purchase is carefully bagged, and in some konbini you are even seen off with a humble bow.  In other words, a much more elaborate experience to the monotonous ‘do you want your receipt’.  

In many ways omotenashi has the positive results it is meant to generate.  Although perhaps subconscious, a bright or polite interaction is a reminder of the humanity behind an otherwise mundane situation, so on one level it is naturally pleasant to experience this wherever and whenever you shop in Japan.  In fact, there are certain jobs with a purpose that just seem to be to display omotenashi on behalf of the company in question, as opposed to primarily making the working process more efficient. Train attendants who stand and repeat ‘arigato gozaimasu’ as each passenger walks through the ticket barriers, traffic wardens who guide cars through virtually empty streets, and employees who greet you and wave you in at the gate of museums are some of the positions that come to mind. There is something indescribably inspiring about a stranger looking genuinely pleased to welcome you to their establishment.  They appear proud of their job and content to be where they are, even if they are working the konbini nightshift on a quiet street where there are rarely any customers.  And yet, when considered on a deeper level, these kinds of interactions are perhaps not as satisfying as they initially seem. 

No one appreciates unnecessarily impolite servers, which is why foreigners often welcome Japanese hospitality when they travel here.  But when you step back from the position of a customer and look at the situation from the server’s perspective, perhaps an omotenashi that is a bit rougher around the edges is preferable.  Working life can be difficult, and while Londoners constantly moan about sulky bus drivers on their commute to the office, they are likely to also feel sympathy and even some kind of solidarity.  Developing a career is an important part of life, and stress is an inevitable part of the journey.  Nonetheless, just because it is a common experience, the attitude of ‘grin and bear it’ at all costs is somewhat ridiculous.  In fact, coming across a slightly gloomy server at 2am in a local konbini would be a more human interaction in some ways.  Of course this does not mean one should avoid applying themselves to their work, but there is also nothing wrong with accepting that there are days when we feel positive about our responsibilities, and there are days when everything can just feel too much.  In the Japanese world of work, the room to display boredom or lack of enthusiasm is harder to find. Omotenashi could be seen as more important to an employee’s training than teaching core skills such as how to work a cashier; many companies carefully train new staff how to bow in the proper manner, for example. 

Not only does this restrict the worker’s emotions in the workplace, but it also creates a barrier between the server and the customer.  While on the surface highly polite treatment of a customer seems appropriate, the gap this creates can be somewhat alienating in our busy and sometimes lonely modern lives.  This leads onto the cultural phenomenon of tatemae (one’s social façade) and honne (one’s true feelings).  The importance of tatemae in Japanese social life can make socialising and analysing interactions difficult, and this is also true of server-customer communications.  

Ultimately, the debate on the effects of Japan’s high-level hospitality depends on how we define service.  In this age of individualism and the growth of alienating social media that is now at the heart of human communication, politeness and ritual is not what people demand. Human interaction, even with a dash of frankness, is preferable to an overly honorific and impersonal interaction out of fear of inconveniencing the person on the receiving end. Omotenashi certainly shows respect for the customer, but perhaps it is time to respect the emotional needs of workers