Daniel Robson: Japan's marketers -- just tell me what I'm buying!
Who would ever guess that a Lettuce Sandwich was in fact ham, cheese and lettuce in a croissant?
What exactly is mixed into a Mixed Sandwich? Is it OK to call a drink Chardonnay when it’s made with just 5 percent grape juice, purely because it sounds classy?
And it's not just food either, as anyone who’s ever bought a “luxury” this or a “revitalizing” that will attest.
Whimsy is one thing, but please, marketers of Japan: we just want to know what we're paying for.
Culture built on trust
Japan’s culture is one built on trust. To the common citizen, the idea that someone might deliberately mislead them is utterly alien.
That’s why a bank’s security guard may desert his post to show you to your destination when you ask for directions, which could never happen in the paranoid West.
Or on the flipside why an old lady will happily give her bank details to a young man on the phone claiming to be her grandson and later find her account empty.
Many companies here take full advantage of this overflowing well of trust to exploit the public.
Dishonest marketers
A cafe near me has “organic” in its title but not a single item on its menu is organic. Items use “eco” in their name despite being made from unrecyclable plastic.
And how many times have you ordered 100 percent orange juice or a 100 percent fruit smoothie only to discover it’s diluted with water or made from concentrate?
Collagen is marketed as a health product but on false pretenses.
While manufacturers, restaurants and the media alike allege that eating collagen in dishes such as nabe or as a supplement is good for your complexion, there is no medical evidence to support this.
In the case of some collagen candies, scientists have found that the high sugar content actually makes them bad for your skin.
Lack of information
Of course, the mislabeling of products is not always malicious. It’s sometimes just dumb.
A bakery in Shimotakaido sells what it calls a “Square Danish,” drawing attention to the image of the product -- that is its shape -- without giving any indication of how it tastes or what might be inside.
Similarly, I once ate a doria in a family restaurant whose description in the menu failed to mention an entire sausage buried at the bottom.
Entire national cuisines go misrepresented -- I’m British, but I have no idea what “English bread” is supposed to be.
And don't even get me started on the masses of Indian, Italian or Chinese restaurants whose Japanese chefs have never set foot in those countries.
The producer vs. the consumer
Sometimes the marketing is ludicrous.
Rose Of Heaven hair-care products claim to “soothe your hair and your spirit,” while S&B boil-in-the-bag curry claims to be a “replica from the menu of a very famous restaurant,” but oddly doesn’t say which one.
Are we to assume S&B copied the recipe without permission? Or is it just a hollow slogan?
Of course, there are times when we should be thankful that an item’s description is misleading.
You wouldn't want to take a swig of Pocari Sweat to discover that the name is in fact accurate. Nor would you much relish any prizes you’d won from a UFO Colon arcade machine.
As long as Japan’s consumer laws favor the producer over the consumer, vegetarians will continue to be served meals with bits of bacon sprinkled proudly on the top and packets of “cheddar cheese” will continue to contain nothing but processed plastic slices.
In a country where trust is everything, let’s demand a little honesty from the companies that shape our consumer world.
