The Pressure to Be Normal — And Why Games Matter in Japan

In Japan, nobody tells you directly to be normal.

That would be too direct.

Instead, you learn it slowly.

You learn it when the class laughs at the same joke.
You learn it when silence feels safer than disagreement.
You learn it when the air in the room shifts, and you realize you are slightly out of sync.

Japan is often described as harmonious.
But harmony requires constant adjustment.

And adjustment can be exhausting.

I did not grow up thinking about this consciously. It was simply how things were. You read the atmosphere. You avoided standing out too much. You found a rhythm that did not disturb others.

But not everyone finds that rhythm easily.

Some withdraw.
Some become quiet.
Some disappear into hobbies.

And many of those hobbies involve games.

The Fantasy of the Chosen Party
The Silent Relief of Virtual Worlds
Otaku Culture as Buffer
I Am Not an Otaku — But I Understand the Need
Not Escape — Calibration

The Fantasy of the Chosen Party

If you look closely at Japanese games, a pattern appears.

In ペルソナ5, teenagers who feel alienated from society form a hidden group. They operate outside the official system. They are misunderstood — even judged — by adults. Yet within their circle, they are accepted without question.

In ファイナルファンタジー, strangers from different backgrounds unite because the world demands it. Their differences are not erased. They become strengths.

In モンスターハンター, cooperation is not optional. You cannot defeat the monster alone. Skill matters, but coordination matters more.

These games do not just entertain. They simulate an ideal form of belonging.

A small group.
Clear roles.
Mutual recognition.

Contrast this with everyday life in Japan.

Belonging in school or work often requires subtle conformity. The rules are rarely written, but they are deeply understood. You adapt your tone. Your clothing. Your opinions. Even your laughter.

Games offer a different model.

In games, you are not accepted because you blend in.
You are accepted because you contribute.

That difference is enormous.

The Silent Relief of Virtual Worlds

When people outside Japan see long gaming sessions or devotion to fictional characters, they sometimes interpret it as avoidance of reality.

But I think that explanation is too simple.

Consider どうぶつの森.

Nothing dramatic happens there. No apocalyptic war. No grand destiny. You pay off a loan. You plant trees. You talk to animal neighbors who never judge you.

During times of social stress, this series becomes immensely popular.

Why?

Because it removes evaluation.

No one measures your productivity.
No one compares you to classmates.
No one asks about your future plans.

You exist, and that is enough.

In a society where performance — academic, social, professional — quietly defines worth, that absence of pressure is powerful.

It is not that players reject society.
It is that they need intervals from it.

Otaku Culture as Buffer

From the outside, districts like 秋葉原 appear extreme — colorful, excessive, overstimulating.

But what strikes me most when I visit is not intensity. It is neutrality.

No one looks at you twice.

In most parts of Japan, subtle judgment is constant. Not aggressive — just ambient. You sense how you are being read.

In Akihabara, that reading softens. You are simply another person browsing.

That kind of anonymity is rare in a socially attentive culture.

Otaku culture creates buffers:

Events like コミックマーケット
Online communities
Game guilds
Fan spaces

These are not revolutions. They are pressure valves.

They do not destroy the expectation of normality.
They make it survivable.

I Am Not an Otaku — But I Understand the Need

I still do not call myself an otaku.

I go to work. I move within ordinary expectations. I understand how to adjust.

But when I play a long RPG at night, I feel something shift.

In that space, rules are explicit. Goals are clear. Loyalty is rewarded. Effort is visible.

There is comfort in that clarity.

Perhaps that is why Japanese game design often emphasizes bonds — “nakama,” companions who fight alongside you. The word itself carries warmth that is difficult to translate.

In reality, belonging can be ambiguous.

In games, belonging is coded into the system.