Can Japanese-Style Public Baths Go Global?

The rest area of the massive public bathhouse in a nondescript suburb of Chiba felt almost like a converted hotel lobby. Rows after rows of relaxing armchairs faced a massive ceiling-to-floor window, facing a cove and the open skies. The sea's waters felt tranquil at night, with occasional fishing boats bobbing on the surface. The cove is curiously flanked by shopping malls, parking lots, and a steel mill, all sprouting activities even as the evening winds down. Farther off in the distance are the skyscrapers of Tokyo, lit up in the night sky. A cloudless day brings bright moonlight that completes the whole picture.

Inside the rest area, the average weekday night suited the relaxing atmosphere that the bathhouse is trying to present. All customers, lounging around after a relaxing dip in the bath area, were whiling away time in the most relaxing of ways. Some were absorbed in the massive manga collection of the bathhouse, with four lengthy bookracks laden with various volumes covering leaving almost no bare walls. A large TV and a small eatery also flank the rest area, providing more visual and tasty distractions for those seeking something other than comics to read.

Away from the rest area, the real gems of the bathhouse reveal themselves. Four low-temperature saunas are good for silent beautification and naps. The second-floor indoor baths are good for washing up, while the third-floor offer multiple outdoor jacuzzis for soaking up while taking in an unobstructed view of the ocean and the cityscape. On the first floor, a full-scale restaurant operates until 11pm every night while vending machines scattered around the premises provide drinks and snacks that can hold customers over until the bathhouse close at 8 o'clock in the morning, before reopening again a mere hour later.

Yet, such grand bathhouses remain very much a Japan-only phenomenon, especially as a low-cost activity. While luxury spas, with massages and flavored tubs galore, exist in high-end resorts throughout the world, the bathhouse in Chiba cost a little more than 10 USD for entry, with just some minor extra charge for towel and bathrobe rental. This is a price point that I have seen no equivalent of anywhere else in the world. Similarly low-priced bathhouses in Korea and Taiwan, for instance, serve well as functional locales for taking baths, but few can match the bathhouse in Chiba for non-bath-related facilities.

Given the universal demand for relaxation, it is then a wonder that Japanese-style "super" bathhouses have not become more universal. As more and more Japanese lifestyle products, from manga to snacks, are exported around the world, the habit of taking a good soak and then whiling away some hours in the company of good manga and snacks should be the logical next step for the spread of Japanese culture. The fact that the bathhouse remains an ever-popular place for family and friends to gather in Japan, and ever more luxurious ones are built to cater to such demand, but has no foreign equivalent, is puzzling. 

Some argue that Japanese bathhouses' requirement to go nude and be segregated by sex remains a cultural obstacle in places where privacy is a greater concern and unisex activities more preferable. But the concept of a bathhouse does not necessarily need to be tied to nudity and segregation. Natural hot springs around the world, like the famed Blue Lagoon in Iceland, welcome people of all ages and genders if they are dressed in appropriate bathing suits. There is no reason that bathhouses cannot adopt a similar format for the "bath" part and still provide superb relaxation in the rest area part.

Others say that Japan, an island with little issues of water shortage so far, can provide a large amount of water necessary to keep bathhouses going. But this ignores the fact that many bathhouses in Japan, contrary to popular perception, are not powered by natural hot spring water, but by heated tap water. Constantly keeping a large amount of water hot, for a fuel importer like Japan, has been and will continue to be extremely costly. The willingness of bathhouses to finance such energy-intensive operations speaks to their confidence that customers will always come and revenues will stay high.

Ultimately, the exportability of the Japanese bathhouse to other countries is a question not of profit and loss, but of the lifestyle values behind the concept. Just like saunas in Finland, bathhouses in Japan exist as a concept of healthiness that one does not need to suffer to acquire. The added benefit of a public space that facilitates communication, if just among small groups of close acquaintances, makes it even more of a societal staple. How to replicate how the Japanese think about the merits of the bathhouse, in cultures with otherwise little commonalities with Japan, will be the chief question to answer before it can go global.