A Weighty Topic

It's funny but it's not.  Everywhere I go in Japan, my weight becomes a subject of much discussion and debate.  I'm big.  I'm tall.  I've lost weight.  I've gotten fat.  I have a small face.  I have "impressive" breasts.  I'm well proportioned.  How nice it must be to be me.

The commentators are not all men.  Just yesterday, I received a detailed commentary on my size from a 93-year old woman who analyzed my body in front of me, concluding with the following:  I looked good for my age, I'm lucky I have a small face, my breasts-waist-hip ratio works for my body-type.  These are compliments, I'm told.  The fact this analysis took place in front of me, hands reaching out towards my body but not touching, her finger resting on her lips as she looked me up and down is not the point.  Evidently I should have taken notes, suitably grateful to be assigned the lead.

Why the obsession with my weight?  Why do Japanese feel the need to comment on my weight and size?  Why the interest?

I am not alone.  Tall foreign men receive comments about their height, the conclusion they are impressive specimens.  Men with a gut are told point blank "you have a gut" as if they were in denial, unaware of their girth.  Women slender and with fewer protruding bumps are asked why they have "no butt" and/or if their ethnicity is to blame for the missing cleavage.

It's funny because the Japanese, often seen as reserved and polite do not project themselves as a whole where such bluntness would be forthcoming, especially about a topic of such sensitivity.  It's ironic.  Funny, sort of, but more ironic.  Where does this politeness disappear to when it comes to matters of size?

The same comments I received yesterday, had I heard them from a 93-year old American woman would have been met with a snappy comeback showing my displeasure.  Those standing around her would have attempted to shut grandma down, saying, "Grandma!  That's not polite!"  There would have been an open reprimand.  Grandma needs to be excused.  I would have received a private "I'm sorry she said that" later as the embarrassed daughter pulled me aside.

Yesterday, the two women with the 93-year old nodded as I received the analysis of my body.  This was a study.  This was a necessary critique of the only foreigner in the room.  Was it inappropriate for the matriarch to make these comments?  The two women did not think so.  Nay.  Nay nay nay.  It was an honor to have been the recipient of such detailed observation.  I was a flower, an elegant tree, a mountain painted with graceful brushstrokes.  I was a work of art.

Which is, of course, crap.  The comments about my size are entirely acceptable as it means I'm the focus.  This, too, is crap.  When "you got fat" is the observation made the at-least-you're-being-discussed line doesn't work.  Not for this American.

Let me be more specific.  The conclusion of this obviously very important analysis was that I was round.  This is the exact word used.  Now, being called "round" in English is not a good thing.  "You're so round" is code for "you're fat" which is when we get to assume the speaker is begging for a fist to meet a cheek.  In some cases, at least.  Yesterday I was not allowed to hit (not that I would).  Indeed, my "roundness" was evidently something these three women coveted.  Huh.  So, round is good?  Rather, fat is good?

I have no print-worthy conclusion to offer.  I will surely continue to be the recipient of what I'd be okay with as private thoughts.  Maybe we just all spend the rest of the day telling ourselves round is good and those who offer up these words really do mean well.

On Seat Mates Who Read Girlie Magazines

Never have I woken up and wished to be seated next to a man reading porn on a train.  Evidently, and I'm learning this the hard way, not wishing for something specific has nothing to do with the universe and it's ... sense of humor? ...

As in, just because you don't want it doesn't mean you won't get it.

My seat mate is reading porn.  A girlie magazine.  There are photos.  There are cartoon descriptions of kinkiness. 

Porn in your bedroom?  Fine. 
Porn in public?  On the train?  Next to me?  Not fine. 

Do I say something? 
What would I say? 
"Is that interesting?"
"Do you have a hard-on?"
"How much does a magazine like this cost?"
"What's the attraction?"  Scratch that.  I'd have to add "other than the obvious" and dumb questions usually get dumb answers.

Do I get to say something?
Just because in my world it's in poor taste to look at naked women on a crowded train does not mean it is in Japan.  Whose morals rule in such a case?  Japan is not my country.  He's Japanese, I'm a foreigner.  Japanese social norms trump my definition of public decency.  Right?  Really?

What if I read it with him?  Is that being passive-aggressive?  If that were the case, would that be so bad? 

What if I--oh, I'm so sorry--spill coffee on his magazine when I reach for the cup from the young food-selling woman?  Is that kind of passive-aggressive behavior better?  It's certainly less passive and more aggressive.

What if I break the rules and make a phone call in Japanese right here, right now?  I'm supposed to go stand on the deck to take or make calls.  Sorry.  Dumb foreigner.  I don't know the rules.  Do I dare?  Then again, if he knew I could read what he was reading would that change his mind?  Would he care?

So far I have no answers.  Perhaps by the time he gets through to the end I'll have thought up some witty and biting comment that may or may not make him think.  I'm open for suggestions.