In early 2008, a 39-year-old Japanese man was arrested for trespassing at an all-girls high school in Tokyo. He was dressed in a girl’s school uniform—complete with a wig—in an attempt to blend in, which obviously failed.
Confession: Um, I kind of want to be that man.
Not in the sense that I want to be arrested. I just understand his need to dress up in a school uniform and go prancing around random school grounds—though mine may be less related to my libido.
I like uniforms. Not in the French maid or Catholic school girl way that about 64 percent of my male friends do, but in the sense that seeing someone in uniform makes me happy for absolutely no reason. It’s somewhat similar to the feeling one might experience after seeing a cute puppy sneeze. The reason I enjoyed the movie Valkyrie so much was not because Tom Cruise was missing an eye or that I am a history major, but because all the characters spent the whole movie in uniform. It brings a bit of indescribable contentment.
Although I’m more than 9,000 miles away now, I still miss internship-interview season at Duke and was always secretly giddy whenever the Career Fair rolled around. I loved the fact that all the males on campus wore suits (which I still consider to be the closest thing I can get to uniforms at Duke), so if you caught some small Asian girl staring at you that day—sorry, it was just what you were wearing. One plus of being in Japan is that I get to be a happy, giddy and slightly creepy person every day because school uniforms are everywhere. Thus, I’ve particularly become an expert on the Japanese school uniform.
In Japan, school uniforms are usually mandatory from middle school on, regardless of whether you go to a public or private school. Some elementary schools also require uniforms, which usually results in death-by-cuteness scenes on the subway involving clusters of tiny barely-to-my-waist girls running around waving “bye-bye” to each other.
If you can imagine a pleated skirt or trousers in navy or plaid with white dress shirts, blazers, sweater vests, knee-high socks (for girls) and a ribbon bow or tie around the neck, then you can imagine the basic Japanese school uniform. So awesome.
Then there are the variations. A female school uniform might be a sailor fuku (literally meaning sailor clothing) style, with a large nautical-striped collar hanging at the back. Boys might wear a gakuran—a high collared all-black uniform inspired by the Prussian military. Seasonal changes will bring in short-sleeved shirts and a standard-issue pea coat.
Though the uniform’s style and color will vary from school to school, all in all, they are pretty standard. They encourage conformity by suppressing creativity and expression, but in my opinion are the ultimate kind of cool. I love them.
When I was in high school, a very influential factor in my desire to learn Japanese and go to Japan was my hankering to wear a school uniform and take some sort of public transportation to school with fellow girlfriends—all the while gossiping about the coolest boy in school. Something about that way of life attracted me more than cruising around in my beat-up Toyota Corolla to high school and skipping last period to buy Cook-Out milkshakes. Sadly, my chance for that has long gone.
As much as I aspire to “kind of” be like Mr. School-Uniform-in-Tokyo, I’m not sure I’ll be found frolicking on random school grounds anytime soon. Though I see Japanese students everyday, I have actually yet to walk by a Japanese school. (This might be a good thing, as I’d probably have an aneurysm from sheer glee.) I simply consider the overall abundance of school uniforms to be another reason why this country understands my needs so well. So thanks Japan, for the daily dose of happiness.
Lisa Du is a Trinity junior. Her column runs every other Friday.
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