An ill-advised one-on-one classroom situation is where things initially heat up.
A Gifu homemaker has taken the pioneering step of suing her city’s school board over a teacher-student relationship that began twenty years ago when she was 17, sparking a lengthy legal debate over whether a consenting teenager’s romance that escalated into a post-graduation relationship, marriage, and children constitutes a breach of administrative duty. At the time of writing, the couple’s relationship remains entirely healthy and fulfilling.
“Let’s not dwell on how happy my family life continues to be,” stressed the mother of three. “Emotion has no part in this claim. My current situation should not come into consideration. The fact is that while I was legally old enough to consent at 17, he was still an authority figure in a position of responsibility. He held all the power. He was supposed to be looking out for my best interests instead of turning my high school years into a long-term domestic partnership.”
A spokesperson for the Board of Education responded to enquiries with measured, institutional poise, saying simply, “Umm… yeah… This is kind of… new… I guess.”
No computer. No phone. A typical scene inside the Board of Education.
The woman’s husband expressed his support for his wife’s bold actions. “What happened to her twenty years ago, when she was just about popping out of that school uniform, should never have happened. Her education was affected, so much so that she is now largely reliant on me for her income.”
The claimant added that while she is pursuing a nice payout from the taxpayer-funded board, she has zero desire to see her husband face professional consequences. “If my former teacher were punished, it would just mean that his wife and children would in turn face hardship. I couldn’t bear to see those three lovely children going without, unable to keep up with their friends and get the same toys and clothes that they have.
“I love my husband. We cherish every day that we are together as a family,” the loyal wife concluded. “But, when I look at photos from twenty years ago all I see is a vulnerable schoolgirl in a relationship with someone eight years older than me. The authorities need to address this matter. I was reluctant to speak up back then, but I’m here today to demand administrative accountability, and clear guidelines for teachers who marry their students.”
“Some days the wind blows hot and cold,” says Ryan Frankston philosophically. “Life can be sweet and sour, but I manage to keep things together. I’ve had bigger disappointments. I’ll get through this.”
We’re sitting in Yoyogi Park on a lazy Sunday afternoon. The 29 year old Frankston is taking a break from scoping out little nooks and crannies in which to spend time mutual caressing with one of his sidepieces. It is in this setting that he brought up the subject of the latest blow to his career.
“I was all set to teach my first big company class after summer,” explains the abundantly confident Up-State New Yorker. “It was a great opportunity for me in many ways. It was at a cosmetics company. Now, at the start of these company courses there might be just a few classes, and invariably the babes will end up in the coordinator’s class. That’s a fact of life, set in stone. However, with a cosmetics company, there will be an overflow of hotties. This means that all classes end up having top-shelf chicks, so everyone wins.
“Teaching at a bank or government department, you might get one or two premier league women across all classes, which is a shame. If you’re really unlucky, you can end up with mostly men who hate English, and they probably hate you, too. You could be teaching a key phrase to use in negotiations, but they’ll be sitting there picturing you boning either their sister, or the girl that they had a crush on in high school. The inferiority complex should never be underestimated in this country.
“Now, let’s come back to my situation. Quite often a class will have one stern-faced woman of a certain age who is super anal about grammar. She’ll even get into prepositions, asking why we have to say “on the bus” rather than “in the bus” and other kinds of stuff like that. The problem with my new cosmetics class is that almost all the women are like that. Apparently, the co-ordinator decided that they’d dump all these miserable bitches into one class; mine. So there’s no way that I can get any action, even though the class is at a cosmetics company.
“These women will suck the fun out of your lesson,” says Frankston with poignant eye-contact. “They’ll kill any moment or vibe that you create. They suck more than a bunch of so-called Kansas City fa-… err… fruity boys at the Sydney Mardi Gras. They are either cat-loving spinsters or just adults who have never left home. I hate it when they outflank you. You ask them why they’re still living at home, and they’ll respond by saying that their mother is sick and requires assistance. Deep down, though, they’re probably happy with that situation because no one’s going to invite them out anywhere.”
Frankston has tried everything to switch students around, even to the extent of trying to promote undeserving students to higher level classes. “I couldn’t believe it when I discovered that I was supposed to teach such an asexual bunch of women. I really think I would rather teach a group of chain-smoking, caffeine-addicted, middle-aged men who just play pachinko on weekends.”
Just when I think Frankston’s about to break down in tears, he grins, stretching like a cat who just knocked over a vase and got away with it. “But you know what? I’m not sweating it. I’ve got a plan. I’ve heard there’s another cosmetics company down in Shibuya that’s desperate for an experienced English teacher, as opposed to some deadbeat Aussie backpacker. Rumour has it they’ve got a surplus of enthusiastic babes. I’m gonna stroll in there, drop some conversational gold, and maybe even sneak a few of those hotties into my after-hours ‘movie club’ in the park. Life’s like a bad rom-com, full of largely predictable plot twists, but I’m always the leading man.”
As the sun dips below the trees and a rogue pigeon eyes our picnic scraps, Frankston stands, dusting off his jeans with the swagger of a man who’s already mentally rewritten this setback into a victory. “C’mon,” he says, tossing me a half-eaten bag of shrimp chips. “Let’s get moving.” It turned out that Frankston was meeting a former student by the front gates. “She wasn’t the hottest one my last class, but I started to get more eye contact from her and I soon figured out that she was seriously into me.”
He had his secluded spotselected. He had his student ready for the special advanced tutorial. And he was starting late the next day. What more could a young go-getting professional ask for.
Veteran ALT Cooper McDonnell on his commute last week
Students at a posh girls high school in Kyoto were left bewildered when their English lesson went off-script in a big way on Thursday during a grammar lesson. The lesson was intended to begin with light ‘n’ fluffy story reading about a fireworks event held in 1988 to mark the 750th anniversary of Berlin, but their assistant language teacher turned it into an intense history lesson on the divided nature of the city.
“At one point, the Japanese teacher sternly told him to be quiet as she needed to focus on exam-related grammar. But Mr McDonnell went off at her. He said, ‘How dare you? I’m teaching about the world, and you’re concerned about some passive-voice past tense. These kids don’t even know why there are two Koreas. They’d probably believe that Rudolph Hess died from natural causes.’ ”
Please note: the skull and bones don’t represent pirates
This is how one slightly unattractive, yet reasonably bright student (who’ll probably end up in politics) explained how Assistant Language Teacher Cooper McDonnell behaved during a recent English class at her prestigious private school. “He drew an astonishingly accurate and detailed map of Berlin, and then talked about Spandau Prison, Checkpoint Charlie, and the blockade,” she added. “But he didn’t stop there. He got into stuff like the practical cooperation involving the sewerage system and Friedrichstaff Station. Then he told us all to watch one of the worst sequels ever, Wild Geese 2, for homework.”
Responding immediately to our enquiries, McDonnell made his dissatisfaction with the curriculum clear. “There’s so much content when it comes to Berlin, but we were told to teach about some Japanese guy uniting the city by curating a propaganda fireworks event in the late 80s,” said the thinly-haired Englishman. “What next? We all join hands and sing that Scorpions soft-rock song? No way! I played The Sex Pistols’ “Holidays In The Sun” in a pre-emptive strike against that hippy bollocks.”
While some students were shocked, others were spellbound by the Cold War stories.
Teacher Aneni Kokuhaku had no way to respond when she found that her meticulously planned lesson was being highjacked by her assistant. “Traditional classroom hierarchy places me way, way above an assistant language teacher,” said the A-cupped veteran. “McDonnell really ought to know his place, and he ought to remember that the sole purpose that we’re here is for test prepping rather than practical language acquisition. The fact that none of us give him a souvenir nibbly when we come back from vacation should give him an idea of where he stands.”
McDonnell, a 46 year old West Midlander who still goes out in Roppongi, took over the 50 minute class in order to LARP as a history professor, going so far as to wear an old tweed blazer and eat some kind of foul-smelling sandwich prior to the class. School Principal Wazato Seki has chosen not to discipline McDonnell, but offered his comments on the situation during a one-to-one interview with me. “The clothes, the sandwich, the Sex Pistols song; it’s like he’s heading toward an ideological clash which won’t benefit the class in the long run,” he said.
Some fireworks (not necessarily in Berlin)
“And while I admire McDonnell’s initiative, he needs to understand why the Berlin story featured a Japanese pyrotechnician. You see, when we can shoehorn a Japanese angle… err… a good Japanese angle… into an international story, we’ll do it unapologetically.
“You have to remember a few key historic matters. The first person on the moon was a Yank. The first person to conquer Everest was a Kiwi. The first person to reach the South Pole was a Norwegian. What first does Japan have? Sure – the first person to draw an octopus molesting a schoolgirl was Japanese. We don’t celebrate that. Well… not in international forums.”
McDonnell used this photo in class, proud that he could confidently read and understand the uppermost word on the sign.
“Ok – we’ve done some stuff with cars, toilets, and entertainment systems,” continued Seki, perhaps eager to steer the topic away from tentacle porn. “But, these days nobody gives a rat’s clacker about the Sony Walkman or automated multistory carparks. The tamagotchi didn’t exactly set the world on fire, did it. And the mini-disc was a wet fart of an idea, flicked away by the Internet.
“We’ll continue to include feel-good stories such as how a Japanese woman saved an African village with rice balls, or how a Japanese team won an international goat racing tournament because they had a deep bond and exceptional teamwork, and McDonnell can choose to teach this feel-good propaganda or piss off home. We have to wedge this stuff into the curriculum, and melon heads like McDonnell shouldn’t make light of it.”
Sebastian Char is a veteran French language teacher who has taught just about everyone. From school kids to senior bureaucrats, from businessmen to impressionable female art students; Char has been at it for more than 25 years. He’s had the fun times and the serious lessons, yet he’s never had a stalker. That’s a good thing, but it means that the 51 year old izakaya lover can’t compete with his colleagues when it comes to memorable anecdotes.
“It goes without saying that I’ve had a few experiences of impulsive sex with students, but what French teacher can’t say that?” sighs the Suginama Ward resident as we sit down for a cup of coffee in impossibly fashionable Ebisu. “I even have an Australian buddy who has known two high school girls to have had crushes on him, only for both of them to develop eating disorders. I can’t even match that story. You’d think that someone with my vast employment background would have encountered at least one bunny boiler. They tend to stick to teachers like shit to a blanket.
“And let me tell you that this same Australian guy hooked up with a woman who was so unstable, that he made the decision to jog through Ikebukuro Station to get away from her. That’s not all though; the guy was so disturbed by her that he took the train two stations past his own station and walked home from there, just in case he was still being followed. I’m more handsome than this guy, but when I introduce him to my other friends he gets to exchange his stories while I sit in silence.”
Char leans back into the plush velvet chair, looking less like a man relieved by his safety and more like a veteran actor who’s been snubbed for a lifetime achievement award. He gestures vaguely with a croissant, crumbs falling onto his impeccably pressed chinos. “I’ve done the work,” he insists, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. “I’ve provided the brooding silences, the existential tangents, the precise amount of unbuttoned shirt. I’ve practically laid out a red carpet for a grand, obsessive passion, and what do I get? Punctual homework and polite nods at the convenience store.”
He recounts, with a touch of bitterness, a colleague in Roppongi who had to change his phone number three times after a particularly intense series of private lessons on the subjunctive mood. To Char, this isn’t a cautionary tale; it’s a benchmark of professional charisma he’s failed to hit. “Where is my frantic midnight knocking? Where are the lockets containing my stolen hair?” he asks, though his eyes remain scanned on the Ebisu streetscape, perhaps hoping a mysterious figure in a sexy dress is watching him from behind a telephone pole.
The tragedy of Sebastian Char is not a lack of talent, but a surplus of approachability. He is too well-adjusted, too fond of his nightly highball and grilled chicken skewers to project the fractured soul that attracts the truly dedicated fanatic. As the afternoon sun glints off his glasses, he sighs again – a weary, Gallic sound that carries the weight of a quarter-century of being “just a really good teacher.” For a man who views life as a series of chapters in a memoir, the “Stalker” section remains stubbornly blank, leaving him with nothing but stable relationships and a peaceful night’s sleep to show for his efforts.
Char states that he has had a string of girlfriends and been extremely unfaithful to all of them, and now finds that Japan’s married women are more enterprising than single women. However, he’s getting a bit fed up with it all. “It all lacks depth,” he moans (but not in a sexual way). “I’m a man who needs intellectual and philosophical stimulation. Japanese women need to up their game in this area, perhaps to make up for their small breasts. They expect the man to entertain them, but with some of these women after half an hour the conversation’s usually as dead as the Minitel.
“It wasn’t meant to be this way… for me… for me,” he exclaims with a double-handed gesture to his chest. “In the 90s, there was a French comedy movie called Gazon maudit which had a butch lesbian coming into the lives of a young suburban family. Westerners are either appalled or bewildered when they see this movie. For many it’s their entry into French culture. So, I ask you, how does my life stack up against that? For god’s sake! I’m as bland as a British dinner. Can’t there be just one woman out there who wants to touch me inappropriately during a lesson or steal my underpants off my line!?”
“It doesn’t stand to reason,” exclaims Tokyo high school principal Shitsuyo Masaguri, “Women from that region have a reputation for being hot beyond belief, yet we end up with women who just look like regular language teachers. It’s not right.”
This is what the educational heirarchy were expecting to see.
Masaguri is referring to the steady stream of language teachers from The Phillipines contracted to work at schools throughout Japan. Barely seen in schools until five years ago, it seems that The Phillipines is now well represented, or even overrepresented, amongst foreign teaching staff, where once almost all teachers were hired from the Anglosphere. In other worrying signs, teachers with septum piercings, poor fashion sense, and tendencies to sprout their opinions on the American political zeitgeist to 12 year old Japanese students have also been observed teaching to some degree in classrooms.
Failed authors tend to make themselves comfortable in Japanese high schools.
Where once there was a buzz of excitement amongst both the straight male teachers in all faculties and the lesbians in PE and art, there are now feelings of betrayal in staff rooms. In Japan, with its falling yen and shrinking GDP and population, the introduction of women from The Phillipines was seen as a sign of hope that shone in the gloom. Classrooms were going to be invigorated, homework assignments were going to be completed, and standards were going to be raised. But, something happened along the way, which has resulted in all kinds of speculation.
Put this woman in a classroom and absenteeism would end.
Rumors are now rife as to why such an influx of teachers from an impoverished third world country with low education standards is occurring, although a government official responsible for the situation threw scorn on the oft-repeated theories. “There’s absolutely no basis for this nonsense that’s been going around on popular online sites,” said recruitment kingpin Koi Nyurin, “I’ve even heard that this all came about due to a deal allowing a Japanese paper company to strip a remote island of all of its timber resources. Well… That’s definitely not the case in this particular situation.”
Off she goes, creating false expectations for schoolboys in Japan.
Whatever the reason, more and more male Japanese teachers are voicing their frustration. Many have pointed to the lack of motivation in the classroom for the recent drop off in English exam performances. For while competent white teachers in the classrooms is a positive sign, it’s far from ideal, and suggestions have come from well-known experts in classroom philosophy. Veteran language exam writer Kotai Neneki explained that something extra had been required to arrest the slump. “We needed to veer away from the typical white teachers, be it the bald unsuccessful authors or the matronly-looking terse-faced women.
This was supposed to be the new standard in ALT quality.
“I’m not a fan of black women either as they all think they’re Aretha Franklin in the same way that all Irish men think they’re gifted story tellers. The point is, we needed something fresh. But, we haven’t got what we wanted, which was women that looked like they came from one of those Hollywood movies where an uptight businessman visiting a sketchy third world country leaves his hotel at night against his better judgement and gets led down the garden path by a seriously hot, exotic woman who all but destroys him. That’s the kind of woman that we were expecting.”
* Our cropping tool failed during editing – please accept our apologies for this five-person picture.
Tenured professor Reitai Kakimushira, who has nurtured generations of diplomatic translators, also expressed his dismay at the underwhelming quality of assistant teachers in Japan. “It’s critical that we achieve change immediately. Every school needs a TILF to get the boys focusing and the girls trying to better themselves. I’ve seen many old postcards from The Phillipines, which just makes me sad when I think about classrooms now. It’s criminal to see this horde of socially-awkward, ordinary-looking, low-energy women stepping into our classrooms, with English skills barely above our top students.”
This woman would inspire all the shy boys to sing Charlie Puth songs with gusto.
While critical opinions far outweigh the positive, lone voices can still be found in far corners. Responding promptly to our enquiries, senior Akita bureaucrat Imagoro Tadareru chose to highlight the overlooked strengths of Filipina teachers. “Unlike woke white women, the women from The Phillipines who are here are much less sensitive to sexual harassment from horny boys due to their long history of working in the water business in Japan.” This praise did come with a caveat, however, “Unfortunately most are hard on the eyes.”
Amidst all the cigar smoking and backslapping following the successful prosecution of a low-brow nuisance streamer, it has been revealed that authorities expect this to be a harbinger of more to come. And they are ready for it.
“We all know that once all those cashed-up westerners are done with Japan, they’re going to head here,” explained retired policeman Kim Jung-jae gently but with a deadeye stare. “I just want you to know that if anyone wants to get cheeky with us, we’ll be happy to break out the tear gas, batons, and nasty taekwondo moves that’ll have you sobbing for your mama. You’ll find out quick smart that it’s not all spicy chicken and cute chicks with small titties in super choreographed performances here in South Korea.”
Rioting is one of the most popular televised events in South Korea.
Jung-jae continued without a trace of a smile, “Don’t come here and perform a haka in the middle of Myeongdong. Don’t steal a bicycle. Don’t throw a bicycle in front of a garbage truck. And for the love of God, don’t try to joyride on the back of one like you’re in a budget Fast & Furious sequel. If you feel the sudden urge to dance in a subway carriage or belt out a song in a 7-Eleven, congratulations – we’ve prepared a private, solo performance for you in one of those rancid jail cells like what you see in the movies. Ooh yeah… Some of our correctional facilities are still very much third world. This is something that everyone should keep in mind.
“You have to remember that some South Koreans live in squalor. We’ve got squatter camps where things are ten times more desperate than those in The Grapes of Wrath. If you want to come here and behave Somali-style, our legal system will make you just as poor as one of the residents there. You see, we’re technically at war here and we’ll happily use your ass as the frontline in one of our training exercises,” continued Jung-jae, who lists his favourite movies as Full Metal Jacket, Pulp Fiction, and Glengarry Glen Ross.
Twice… actually do a pretty good Jackson 5 cover.
“We’ll have you yelping and wailing and thinking about running north through landmine impregnated fields, with scant regard for your safety, like an American soldier defecting so as to avoid a tour in Vietnam,” said the terrifyingly expressionless square-jawed veteran of law enforcement, his voice providing absolutely no hint of emotion.
“Maybe we’ll go too hard on you and you’ll end up in a quaint hospital being attended to by a beautiful nurse, whose crisp white uniform will gently brush against your arm, and you’ll feel warm in sunshine’s glove. And that’s when we’ll bust into your sweet dreams and start the treatment all over again. We’ll make you want to trade all those online clicks, views, and subscriber numbers for a glimpse of freedom, which you won’t get.
South Korean nurses in tv dramas are among the most attentive and attractive nurses in the world.
“It pains me to think that our contribution to the good fight during the Vietnam War is often overlooked. Our soldiers developed a particularly brutal reputation which preceded them wherever they went. I won’t allow history to forget this, and one way to prevent this from happening is to use any smart ass western clown to remind everyone just how vengeful we can be. To this end, we’ll give you a special K-Pop lesson in singing and dancing in hot pants. Oh yes! We’ll teach you how to sing like a wounded canary and dance like a cat on hot bricks. As for the hot pants, I’m sure we can find a way to make them chafe with every step you take.”
“Happy travels, now,” signed off Jung-jae with a touch of icy sincerity. “Stick to the paths. Obey the signs. And for the sake of your ribcage and your dignity… maybe don’t livestream. Seriously, don’t mess with a country where it’s still technically legal to eat dog.”
A smile despite the circumstances and the reputation
In a stunning display of consistency that has left recruiters across the Kanto region both baffled and quietly impressed, 38-year-old Taylor McSweeney has today received his tenth pink slip from yet another eikaiwa chain, cementing his status as the undisputed endurance champion of getting canned in the English conversation industry.
Sources close to the situation (mostly other foreign teachers who still remember his name from LINE group chats three jobs ago) confirm that McSweeney was let go from Smile English Academyearlier this week after a tenure of exactly eight months, his longest stint since 2022.
An independent language school could be next for McSweeney.
“Taylor was… enthusiastic,” explained branch manager Horinuma Ikegawa, speaking on condition of anonymity because company policy forbids discussing former employees who still occasionally show up asking if the “staff curry rice” is still half-price for ex-teachers. “He arrived each day with great energy. Unfortunately, that energy was mostly directed toward explaining why ‘literally’ can now mean ‘figuratively,’ why pineapple on pizza is a war crime, and how his ‘vibes-based’ lesson plan was superior to the company-approved textbook.”
McSweeney’s decade-long pink-slip collection reads like a depressing travel brochure of Japan’s eikaiwa landscape, yet last week when we sat down at the counter of a rather nice Spanish restaurant he was still happy to fill in the details which bare statistics are unable to show. “I guess my most spectacular dismissal came after my gross indifference to a company class which led to us losing a contract. That class sucked though. They were all a bunch of stiffs. Oh… hang on… Maybe that was the second most spectacular dismissal. There was a time when I went out to an izakaya with a kids coordinator who let his guard down and told me that he had the hots for a cute staff member. I kind of revealed this little secret to everyone the next day on Teams. He was humiliated. She was embarrassed. I was fired. It may have been a dick move by me, but I thought that there was a chance that the two would hook up as a result of my report. They didn’t though. In fact, he quit the company shortly after I left.”
This organisation may well be on the lookout for someone with McSweeney’s experience.
Without a hint of remorse, the prolific Redditor from Milwaukee continued. “There was an incident at another place where I went off on a rant about how Ebonics was not proper English while doing a daring impression of an inner-city black guy. That was ridiculous as my argument was well supported with well-researched notes, albeit delivered in an abrupt manner. Also, my acting was outstanding and completely on point. I was disappointed that colleagues allowed their biased social views to cloud their judgement. Open minds, people! Open minds!”
Numerous disrequests regarding his tendency to provide his opinions on the American political landscape saw him kicked out of the prestigious Starry Sky Language School after ten months. “I was just trying to make people see reason, and grasp simple common sense.” And making moves on a high school girl didn’t help at the Pacific Bridge Conversation School. “I just want to point out that she had come directly from her Graduation Ceremony. Yes – she was in her uniform, but she was no longer a high school student. I asked her out for coffee, as I thought she wanted to talk more about her uncertain future. I was just trying to be a source of encouragement, a guiding light. An 18 year old woman can be particularly vulnerable to lecherous opportunists, so I was prepared to be her protective pillar of strength.”
Sometimes the cops raid the suburban schools looking for illegal Carpenters CDs.
Trouble followed McSweeney to the Davis Language College, where he fell foul of a VIP student. “We were talking about the stray cats of Tokyo, and I asked her if she thought they should all be euthanised. Once I had explained the word to her, she was horrified. She was having an affair with the owner, so she demanded that I be fired. What a bunny boiler! She’s probably great in the sack though.”
A man with a passion for photography, ice hockey, manga, jazz music, martial arts, military history, and women, McSweeney’s mind seems to be on everything but his day job. Sometimes referred to as “The Walking Opinion” by former colleagues, he acknowledges that his tongue, personality, demeanour, and built-in assumptions can get him into trouble. “I want to assure you and your readers that had I not been fired for all the reasons that I was, I would probably have been dismissed for tardiness anyway,” he asserted as he tucked into a second round of mushrooms ahijo. “Let me be clear that the writing was on the wall in every case. My bosses just relish the opportunity to tick another box on the termination report, and they delight in writing lengthy essays about everything that I’ve said and done.”
Owners must be vigilant against teachers who’ll drag the business down.
McSweeney remains philosophical about his career trajectory. “Look, man, the industry’s changed,” he said while continuing to quaff another glass of red wine. “Back in the day you could coast on being charismatic. Now they want certifications, lesson plans, and – get this – actual teaching. It’s basically discrimination against people with natural charm.
“Look, I’ve been in this position before, obviously. And I’ve always bounced back. I feel as though I’m only halfway to scraping the bottom of the barrel. Despite the shifts in the industry, there will always be a language school in desperate need of a certain teacher; a white guy with experience who is in country and available, and you’re looking at him,” he beams.
A walled language school. It may keep the kiddie fiddlers out, but can it prevent bad teachers from entering?
When asked if he plans to seek employment at an 11th school immediately, McSweeney paused thoughtfully, emptied his glass, and replied, “That’s possible, but first I’ve got this killer idea for a YouTube channel: ‘Taylor’s Survival Guide to Getting Fired in Japan.’ Episode one drops tomorrow. Title: ‘How to Turn a Pink Slip into Content Gold.’”
Industry insiders predict McSweeney’s record could stand for years. As one veteran recruiter put it: “He’s not just surviving in eikaiwa – he’s become a living cautionary tale. The man has turned professional mediocrity into performance art.” At press time, McSweeney was last seen updating his GaijinPot profile with the bullet point: “Proven track record of adaptability in high-turnover environments.”
Yukai Rokotsu displays her award at the after-party in downtown Amsterdam.
It’s now undeniable; Japanese porn acting is now considered to have reached a standard comparable to American porn acting. That’s the message that experts have taken away from the annual International Adult Motion Picture Awards ceremony in Amsterdam last night. “They’ve made considerable progress since the days when it was really hard to tell if the female was enjoying being rammed from all angles,” said sex-journalist Saugen Glastisch. “In the past viewers would, of course, enjoy the viewing, but they would be reluctant to recommend what they had seen to friends.”
While it’s generally understood that there is still a long way to go until overall standards rise to the point of challenging the Dutch or the Thai industries, having acting skills being compared to the Americans is a significant milestone to an industry which has often had to explain itself amidst much laughter and confusion.
An emotional Fukasa Hakarenai also found herself amongst the winners, taking out the award for “Most Convincing Portrayal of a Store Detective”.
The turning point came during the ceremony’s newly introduced “Best Dramatic Orgasm in a Power-Imbalance Situation” category, where JAV star Yukai Rokotsu’s pixelated yet emotionally layered performance, complete with wide-eyed surprise, polite gasping, and a final, resigned bow, edged out an American nominee who simply shouted “Oh my God, yes daddy!” seventeen times in under four minutes.
Judges praised the Japanese entry for its “subtlety and cultural nuance,” noting how Rokotsu conveyed layers of reluctant ecstasy, societal pressure, and mild gastrointestinal discomfort without ever breaking the fourth wall or removing her school uniform socks. By contrast, the American performance was described as “technically proficient but lacking emotional range,” with senior panelist Jeremy Quim remarking, “We’ve seen that exact facial expression on every OnlyFans thumbnail since 2021.”
Kanari Kuruta and Genesis Odum’s video message from a Naniwa love couch reminded guests of the enormous DEI success in the industry.
Upon receiving the award, Rokotsu mentioned that a great deal of work had gone into improving their on-camera performances. “Since the first round-table readings, it was there every single day we came to work. Big thanks to our drama teachers for everything they did prior and during the shoot. But I’ve also got to thank our stylists. We’ve always led the way with our authentic uniforms and hairstyles, but we haven’t become complacent. Our pleats have always been freshly pressed and our shoes perfectly polished.”
Industry analyst Dr. Les Fallis, author of Moans of the Orient: Decoding JAV Vocalizations, called the recognition long overdue. “For decades, American porn has set the gold standard in over-enunciation and theatrical squirting,” he explained. “But Japanese performers have quietly mastered the art of conveying pleasure through micro-expressions, increasingly loud whimpers, and the gentle gripping of the corners of the pillow – techniques that challenge the viewer who may be unfamiliar with the concept of ravenous desire mixed with a depth of Shogun-era omotenashi. That is pure genius.”
Along with the soup men, stylists are the unsung heroes of the adult entertainment industry.
Not everyone is celebrating. Veteran American star Brock Hammerstein, winner of last year’s AVN for “Most Convincing Grunting While Maintaining Eye Contact,” dismissed the comparison as unsuccessful cultural appropriation. “They mosaic the good parts and call it art,” he scoffed in a post-ceremony interview. “We show everything, including the visible effort. That’s commitment. Their girls just lie there looking surprised like they ordered sushi and got extra wasabi. Where’s the wide-eyed gasping? Where’s the fake enthusiasm we’ve perfected over generations?
“Of course, none of this really matters,” he said. “We all know that ceremonies like this are simply promotional events which give viewers an idea of the new stuff that’s out there, and it gives the industry an opportunity to come together to exchange ideas in order to help viewers optimise their viewing experience, whatever that may entail.”
Producing art is a serious business, as seen by the concentration displayed by all involved here.
Still, momentum is building. Rumors swirl that next year’s ceremony will introduce a “Best Use of Tentacle Props in a Non-SFX Performance” award, with early buzz suggesting Japanese entrants are already frontrunners due to their ability to react authentically to imaginary cephalopods.
For now, though, the JAV industry is savoring its moment in the spotlight. As director Bunpitsu Saseta put it while accepting a lifetime achievement statuette shaped like a tastefully blurred snatch: “We used to be the quirky cousins everyone laughed at. Now we’re just the cousins, but close cousins… who are rivals… with an innate yearning to prove something to each other… Hmm… perhaps there’s a kernel of an idea here.”
What’s this woman hiding behind that close-lipped smile?
Suginami ward resident Angus Voss has a new girlfriend and she’s beautiful, engaging, and well-bosomed. She ticks all the important boxes. Well, just about all of them.
Voss, a 30 year old Canadian, dumped his last girlfriend after only a month. “She was porn-star beautiful, but her top lip was paper-thin,” he explains. “I didn’t know how to kiss her without things getting awkward. She was very attentive, but… the lips… . What can I say? I’m a guy who likes kissing passionately, even aggressively. A thin lip represents an obstacle to my sexual fulfilment.”
Perhaps this young lady’s mother needs to tell her that her go-to smile should be kept close-lipped.
Bouncing back from the thin-lipped hottie, the buffed ice-hockey enthusiast has hooked up with Kayo, another attractive young lady from western Tokyo who comes with a good set of lips, yet comes with another kind of oral complication. “She’s got the body and the lips, but it’d be good if she brushed her teeth a little more often,” says Voss unempathetically. “Her teeth definitely need a bit of work done, and I wish her well in paying for that. That’s not all though. Throughout the day she seems to put some nasty stuff into that mouth; stuff like cup ramen or soba, and she’s washing that down with some of that bottom-of-the-barrel coffee or green tea that they have in her office. I don’t think she’s eating natto prior to seeing me, but it’s bad enough as it is.”
Little cultural differences can become bigger very quickly in intimate relationships, as Ushigome University’s Adjunct Professor Kasei Houkei pointed out while providing an insight into the difficulties young couples may experience. “It’s tough for a young Japanese woman when she’s hooking up with her first western boyfriend.
She’s probably got a credit card, a hair salon loyalty card, and an insurance card in her purse, but does she have a recently stamped dental clinic card?
“A Japanese hottie will spend her formative years being complimented non-stop. She’s worshipped to the point of having foul-minded creeps spurt their seed onto her skirt when she’s gormlessly staring at her phone on the train. Then she’ll run head-first into an unforgiving relationship with a western man who will expect various things such as more sex, more everyday general knowledge which extends to some historical awareness of what happened at Pearl Harbor (and which side Japan fought on), and western standards for oral hygiene.
“Your average western man will happily go down on a woman immediately after she’s played in a squash tournament, but will hesitate to kiss her with an open mouth if she’s eaten a few garlic prawns. It can be hard for the woman to know where to stand. It’s like a game of soccer being refereed by a South American in the first half, and then by a European in the second half. The rules are the same, but the interpretation can change drastically. It can be harrowing for the Japanese girl, who may only be able to adjust to all of this during her relationship with her third or even fourth western boyfriend.”
This is a gorgeous diamond smile that could melt hearts. The average young man’s attention would next turn to her breast size.
Voss’s woes aren’t unique in Tokyo’s expat dating jungle, where apps like Tinder and Pairs churn out results faster than a gyudon shop at lunch hour. According to local dating coach Miki Shiru, hygiene quirks top the list of dealbreakers for Western men in Japan. “I’ve had clients dump dates over bad breath, funky cologne, even the way someone chews,” she says. “One guy swore he’d never date another girl who drank matcha lattes – he claimed they stain teeth.”
Meanwhile, Kayo might have her own gripes. Sources close to the couple say she’s less than thrilled with Voss’s post-hockey protein shakes, which she describes as “like kissing a sweaty gym sock.” Clearly, love in Suginami ward requires a strong stomach, and maybe a stronger toothpaste.
“Look. I know that I fit the demographic who is out for action, but I can assure you that I’m a happily married woman who just happens to have an interest in French culture,” says Seisekisakuragaoka resident, Kiyomi Hatanai.
I’ve asked Hatanai whether it’s true that every female French language student longs to get down to business with her teacher. In my defence, she fits the bill. Married with two children in junior high school, she now has time on her hands to do what she wants. She’s still attractive, and she still has the desire to improve her pretty impressive language skills.
If there’s an odd number of students, the teacher will team up with the babe.
“It seems that every role play involves me standing up and moving around the room. I know these lecherous French guys just want to check me out and I guess I’m a fool for going along with it. They’re all married to bunny boilers who saw France as a kind of magical place where sophistication reigned and accordion music was played ever so gracefully.
“These kind of women will see their bubble burst when they realise that their husband was just an overeating lazy guy with nothing to offer, who sweats garlic in his sleep. I feel the sadness and desperation in the male teachers’ disposition. They don’t get any respect at home. I guess if I can’t excite them with some lingering eye-contact and a smile, then I’ll lose my sense of femininity. That’s all I’ll give them though. Let me make myself clear; my husband is a rock climber, so he’s far more masculine than any of those X-box addicted teachers.
Don’t freak out! This guy’s creepy, but he’s promised to wait until after graduation.
“I like Sylvie Vartan, Bridget Bardot, and Beatrice Dahl. I never got excited over Alan Delon or John-Paul Belmondo, so these run-of-the-mill French guys aren’t going to get me wet. My teachers don’t seem to get that, unfortunately. Sometimes I’ll deliberately frustrate them by discussing Tintin or Baa Baa the Elephant, because I know the French man is much more comfortable gently caressing the conversation towards anything sexual.”
Emmanuel Benaud, a teacher who is employed at the school which Hatanai attends (although he is yet to teach her formally), sat down with me at a well-known bakery in Suginami ku which features a stylish, yet small, dine-in area. The 44 year old from Lyon showed concern over the image of all French language teachers being a bunch of pants men giving female students a jolly good rogering in secluded areas of the school during seasonal parties. “Let’s ask ourselves; what exactly happens in a French language classroom?” asked the dashing grammar expert.
Just try to be professional and remember to include the male student in the activities.
“What comes out of my classroom? Let me tell you the answer; French speakers emerge from my classroom. It makes my job a joy rather than a drudgery. This is something objectively good, seeing a different spirit emerge out of the same soul. It’s something that simply cannot be reduced to numbers and data. Every sentence begins with a thought. Just like if you want to build a house; you must first imagine that house in your mind. A thought is a spiritual reality. And then you manifest it in another language, and not just any language.
“We’re talking about the language of the auteurs, the revolutionaries, and the raconteurs. It’s a way of bringing cultures and worlds together. This is the original glory of the vocal arts and, when you see the flower in the garden bloom, it is only natural to become incredibly aroused simply from the satisfaction of observing the achievement. It’s a biblical experience, and you must never judge a language teacher for overstepping the line once you are aware of such context.”
