Sharing What I’ve Gained HereA Special Interview with Masakazu Shigeta on the Second Anniversary of the Idealism Series.

This November marked the second anniversary of the Idealism series.
Over the past year, we welcomed twelve guests in total — including some unpublished episodes — each offering their own perspectives on what an ideal society might look like, and what would be required to move closer to that vision. In this era of upheaval, we remain committed to dialogue, believing that conversation can foster empathy and hope for the future.

So, what did the second year of Idealism represent? We look back together with Masakazu Shigeta, founder of OSAJI and host of this series.

“Everyone was seriously trying to re-examine the world from their own unique perspective.”

— There’s something interesting here — when you looked back on the first year of Idealism, you remarked that “although each guest came from a different field, it seemed to me that everyone I talked with was climbing the same mountain, and the view from the summit felt closely connected to their own answers about what happiness and abundance mean.” Coincidentally, the final guest of the second year was Mr. Kotaro Anzai (Vol. 22), a wood creator who makes mountain climbing his life’s work. To readers, this might have felt like foreshadowing.

Masakazu Shigeta: The second year also featured people with truly diverse and compelling qualities. Looking back, what left the strongest impression on me is that everyone was trying to break free from fixed ideas and social conformity, and desperately trying to re-examine the world from their own unique perspective.

— In your conversations with Mr. Anzai, you repeatedly mentioned that “we are living in a difficult time.” Under such circumstances, what new thoughts have you developed about this platform as a place to talk about ideals?

Shigeta: Over these past two years, I feel my resolution — or level of understanding — of what “ideals” truly means has sharpened significantly. Last year, I approached each conversation with the desire to sharpen that understanding even further. But this year, it felt as though that resolution had reached its peak — and paradoxically, that’s also when I began to feel confusion and dissonance about the gap between those ideals and reality.

— Would you tell us more specifically about the gap you’ve been feeling?

Shigeta: By continuing the Idealism series, I expected the articles to gradually shift how readers think and for the content to spread and move people. But at this moment, we’re not there yet, and the gap between me and the people around me hasn’t yet been bridged. There are several reasons — for one, I’m afraid many people may not read the articles all the way through because this medium is text-based and articles are relatively long — it might be time to move to the next stage, including how we present the content. Of course, simply changing how we present things won’t be enough, and there must be many other ways to address these challenges. That’s what I’ve come to think about recently.

“If asked to sum up this year’s Idealism series in a single word, I’d say ‘Pride’ — or more precisely, self-respect.”

Shigeta: Actually, until just the day before yesterday, I wasn’t really in the right mindset to join today’s conversation. I had lost motivation because I felt completely stuck.

— Is that because of the gap with the people around you?

Shigeta: It’s more about disappointment that people and things don’t change, rather than the gap itself. I must have been expecting the people around me to change along with me, just because I’d changed so much. The dilemma of others not changing at the same pace as me had probably been a source of stress.

— Have you moved past that stress now?

Shigeta: It might sound weird, but something lifted last night. After coming back from a business trip, I had dinner for the first time in a while with the staff who were still at the office. They told me very directly, “You’re not doing enough to ‘educate’ and pass things on to people here,” and “You need to send more messages and guide people.” I thought, “Ah, that makes sense.”

Simply put, I have to go back to my roots. Not just being satisfied with running a medium, but remembering the time when I used to say that a company is like a terakoya — a traditional Japanese community school where people learn together. Realizing that meant a lot to me.

— If you were to choose one keyword that captures the second year of this series, what would it be?

Shigeta: If I had to sum up this year’s Idealism series in a single word, I’d say “Pride” — or more precisely, self-respect. It feels as though people today have lost their sense of pride. Symbolically, Mr. Anzai, who closed out the second year, also opened the conversation by saying that, “I’ve lost my sense of self-respect.”

And it’s not just him — Japan as a country has lost pride in its own craftsmanship, partly because of the weak yen. Despite the surge in inbound tourism, Japanese people themselves seem unable to recognize the value of Japan. When asked if Japan is still globally competitive, it feels as if we’re the ones labeling ourselves “no.” That’s precisely why it’s so important for Japan to reclaim its self-respect.

— Are there any particular conversations that left a lasting impression on you?

Shigeta: Every guest gave me different insights and discoveries. But the most powerful one was, although it hasn’t been published yet, the one with Ms. yurinasia and Mr. ayumugugu, a married couple who host a dance spot based out of a community center in Mizumaki, Fukuoka.

The two are, quite literally, embodiments of self-respect. At the same time, they’re geniuses at instilling that self-respect in others. In many ways, that’s exactly the quality being asked of me right now. It also feels like a possible answer to something I was told by the staff: “People around you will never change unless you teach them in your own voice.”

— We watched a dance battle the day before the conversation. What was striking was the atmosphere there — everyone seemed free to express themselves fully, without worrying about how others might judge them.

Shigeta: It was just incredible. I was almost crying watching it. I also love their style. They’re not overly earnest, and they have a genuine rebellious edge in the best way.

I’ve always been drawn to rebellious culture, and I’ve wanted to maintain a slightly rebellious, skeptical, sideways stance toward the world. In that sense too, I really admire their approach.

“What matters is how I should share what I’ve gained here. It’s critical to think about how I convey it to the people around me.”

Shigeta: Every business leader around me shares the same sense of crisis. We share similar thoughts — not only in what we think, but also in our attitude toward how we should move forward. That’s why business leaders these days tend to flock together. But recently, I’ve been wondering if that’s really a good thing, because the people we should be gathering with are our own staff.

No matter how many leaders who understand each other’s pain get together, it can easily end up with nothing more than licking each other’s wounds. Moreover, while we’re doing that, our staff are being left behind. With deep self-reflection, I’ve come to feel this acutely over the past year.

— So, there’s a sense of reflection that this Idealism series may have unintentionally reinforced such a tendency?

Shigeta: For me, the Idealism series is undoubtedly exciting as a platform where I can talk with critically-minded business leaders who are genuinely trying to drive social change. However, the stronger that focus becomes, the more easily our staff get left behind.

To avoid that situation, what matters is how I should share what I’ve gained here. It’s critical to think about how I convey it to the people who I should actually be standing together with. This is something that business leaders of companies in their startup or growth phase must recognize.

— We welcomed many guests this year, including those who are not business leaders. Among them, were there any conversations or remarks that left a lasting impression on you?

Shigeta: Yes, the conversations about style-free — working without a fixed style — with architect Ms. Yuko Nagayama (Vol. 20). I think the job of architects sits somewhere between business and art. Because of that, it’s challenging to grasp what it really means to create something that can only take shape through collaboration with a client. If I were to teach someone, that would be the first thing I would have to convey properly.

— Ms. Nagayama also seemed to resonate strongly with your remarks that “we must never create products that select their users.”

Shigeta: When you’re in the process of making something, there are often cases where priorities get turned upside down without you even realizing it.

Just a few days ago, an acquaintance invited me to take a look at a whole-building vacation rental they’d just started. When I visited, I noticed there was no television in the room. I told them that they might want to think carefully about whether that would be the right decision.

There used to be a lodging facility in Nasu, Tochigi Prefecture, called Niki Club, often described as a pioneer of the auberge concept in Japan. When it was owned by a woman named Ms. Hitomi Kitayama, smoking in the guest room was allowed. Even when the hospitality industry rapidly shifted toward smoke-free policies, she didn’t change that stance. One reason, perhaps, was that many of their guests were famous novelists, musicians, and artists.

What stayed with me most were her words about that decision: “Whether or not customers smoke is the customer’s decision, not ours. As hospitality professionals, it’s our fundamental responsibility to thoroughly clean up the room on the assumption that the next guests may not smoke.”

The same logic applies to the matter of television. I understand they want guests to fully enjoy the experience of staying surrounded by nature. But that doesn’t justify denying them an option to watch a program they want to watch. While the standard of comfort differs person by person, it feels fundamentally misguided for the service provider to unilaterally decide not to include a TV.

— You’re pointing out that, although service businesses should put the customers first, the provider’s intention itself often ends up becoming the main focus before they know it.

Shigeta: We initially think about products and services from customers’ viewpoints — about how to please them and how to enrich their experience. But before long, budget and deadline take over as top priorities. Of course, you can’t ignore the budget or timelines. But they never should be the subjects — they should merely be adverbs that modify how we achieve the real goal, not the goal itself.

Sacrificing the most important thing — making people happy — because of budget and deadlines fundamentally makes no sense. But when I point that out, the response is often something like “But it would cause trouble for our business partners.”

— That mindset itself probably calls for a certain kind of “education,” right?

Shigeta: When you truly share the desire to provide something good for customers, people around you are often willing to indulge what might otherwise seem like pure ego. I myself have experienced this many times, and I’ve caused trouble for those around me countless times. Still, people would smile wryly and say, “Well, if that’s what Shigeta wants to do…” and indulge me anyway.

Worrying excessively about inconveniencing collaborators is really a sign of weakness — it means you haven’t truly shared your passion and commitment. That’s something I want people around me to understand. Creating something without fully committing to it as a professional should never be acceptable. I felt that Ms. Nagayama demonstrated exactly that kind of professional commitment.

“I feel like I could finally internalize what it means to philosophize beauty.”

— The conversations with wellness producer Ms. Beniko Kishi (Vol. 15), held around the theme of “what beauty is?” — a question closely related to your own work, Mr. Shigeta — were also full of insights. In particular, her remarks that “the act of pursuing health extends beyond the self, linking to the health of the global environment and regeneration of nature” left a strong impression.

Shigeta: Absolutely. Her observation — that human beauty and health are inseparable from the beauty and health of nature — really stays with me. Borrowing a phrase that came up in our conversation with Mr. Anzai, I’d describe it as confronting comfort.

What is true comfort? For human beings who live in harmony with nature, facing that question inevitably leads to considering the comfort of the Earth itself. Personally, this year made me especially delighted to be working in the beauty industry. I feel something has finally clicked — an understanding of what it means to philosophize beauty.

— Another memorable guest was Mr. Takeaki Miura (Vol. 16), a pioneer of craft gin in Japan, who you call your “master of romanticism.”

Shigeta: He’s someone who has always supported me wholeheartedly. When I gave a lecture to elementary school students in my hometown, he said, “Shige-chan is amazing.” His presence has always felt significant to me.

— Mr. Miura’s idea of Think locally, act globally really resonated with me. Starting from the local and then expanding outward to the world feels like a crucial approach to restoring the world’s diverse richness.

Shigeta: If you want to make craft gin, it’s essential to understand the land deeply. His definition of craft gin is “capturing the landscape of the place.”

That said, while a region’s unique characteristics are a source of appeal, they can also become constraints. You weigh both aspects — the appeal and the constraints — while pushing your creativity to its fullest. That process itself is an embodiment of self-respect — accepting things as they are, including both strengths and weaknesses.

What kind of resources and value exist where you are standing right now? What makes the world of local gastronomy and craft gin so fascinating is that at their core lies a profound respect for the region and its land.

The restaurant NOMA is a perfect example. Denmark was never known for cutting-edge cuisine. Yet by committing to local ingredients and focusing strictly on what was seasonal and available nearby, NOMA discovered new value and redefined Nordic cuisine entirely.

“It’s important to recognize the fact that there are people whose ways of thinking are completely different from your own.”

Shigeta: Lately, there are two things I tell almost everyone I meet that they absolutely should see. One is the exhibition HOKUSAI: The Artist Mad About Painting. The other is the 2020 adaptation of Tokyo Love Story.

The former is precisely a story about the self-respect of Japanese culture. The exhibition makes it clear why Hokusai is often referred to as the oldest graphic designer in history, why the world became so fascinated with him, and how his works even influenced decorative painting on European tableware. You can understand these connections intuitively by viewing the exhibition.

It also shows how Hokusai’s acclaim isn’t based solely on whether his works are “beautiful,” but on his relentless curiosity toward techniques and modes of expression. That deep appreciation for technical process may well be something that runs through Japanese art as a whole.

— May I ask why the 2020 version of Tokyo Love Story struck such a chord with you?

Shigeta: This is my own interpretation, but in the original 90s version, there was very little detailed portrayal of the process — why Rika Akana, played by Honami Suzuki, left Kanji Nagao, played by Yuji Oda, or how Kanji ended up with his childhood friend Satomi Sekiguchi. Those transitions were left largely unspoken.

In the 2020 version, on the other hand, the processes are clearly depicted. Watching it, it suddenly clicked for me that “Oh, this was a story about human diversity.” It was a story about the sadness and loneliness of people who think creatively and those who don’t — two types of people who may never truly be able to understand each other.

As the new version carefully portrays those psychological nuances, I finally understand, nearly thirty years later, why Rika left Kanji. At the same time, it made me realize how little I myself had understood the feelings of people who aren’t creatively inclined. In that sense too, it was a revealing experience.

— What kind of change did that realization bring about for you?

Shigeta: It made me want to stop pretending that I easily understand human diversity. Forcibly connecting the two extremes of diversity doesn’t necessarily lead to happiness.

— It was a sense of unease toward the recent “boom” around the idea of respecting diversity that led us to visit Mr. Yoshiyuki Harada (Vol. 21), director of PICFA, a welfare service facility for people with disabilities.

Shigeta: As I wrote in the editor’s note for Mr. Harada’s volume, I had been feeling a strong discomfort with the idea that diversity has increasingly come to be treated as synonymous with helping the vulnerable. I believe that’s not what diversity originally means. At its core, it’s something much simpler — learning about people who are different from yourself. That’s exactly the message the 2020 version of Tokyo Love Story is trying to convey as well.

Recognizing the fact that there are people whose ways of thinking are completely different from your own — that’s the starting point for respecting diversity. I know that’s not easy, because it means understanding sensibilities you don’t possess yourself. The 2020 adaptation of Tokyo Love Story beautifully portrayed that difficulty, including the reality that people are often drawn to one another precisely because of these differences.

Ultimately, company management and team building are about understanding and handling diversity. In that context, Mr. Harada shared an episode about a person at PICFA who, despite not having completed a single drawing for years, acts as the facility’s mood-maker. In company management, people like that are often the hardest to evaluate.

— Even when we speak of teams, performance evaluation inevitably comes down to evaluating individuals. However, Mr. Harada recognized and properly valued that person’s talent as a mood-maker as something indispensable. It felt like an evaluation that’s only possible when you truly acknowledge the person as a member of the community.

Shigeta: Those involved in management tend to think that mixing “outliers” into a team will create risk or instability. But I believe this kind of judgment creates division in the name of diversity.

In my own company, we have people who work creatively every day and others who diligently focus on counting numbers and managing finances. If we think they shouldn’t be mixed because it’s dangerous, we’ll never reach our highest level of performance.

There’s no need to fully understand each other, but it’s important to recognize that we’re all different. You’ll get frustrated by failing to understand each other precisely because you assume we are all the same. Once you clearly understand that we’re all different, you’ll realize that not being able to fully understand each other isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Mr. Harada has always been the embodiment of that spirit.

“I want to convey that science itself is actually very romantic.”

Shigeta: As I mentioned earlier, one of my personal themes for 2026 is to create a place like Shigeta’s Terakoya — a kind of traditional Japanese community learning space — in an engaging and entertaining way.

If you want to study marketing, finance, or management, there are endless resources available. In fact, I have the sense that young people these days are surprisingly literate in those areas. What Japanese education lacks most, however, is a deeper exploration of the question: “What does it mean to live?”

Not “What is happiness?” but “What does it mean to live?” There are very few people who can teach that.

Like last year, I’ll be giving lectures at an elementary school. Today’s children have so much knowledge packed into them, but they lack learning related to wisdom and intelligence. Knowledge, depending on how it’s used, can become a weapon.

— And wisdom and intelligence are what keep that in check?

Shigeta: Exactly. And it’s not only about knowledge. Human resources and financial resources can hurt people if we misuse them.

What’s missing today is any kind of program that teaches how to use knowledge and resources beautifully — with care, intention, and responsibility. I don’t think such a program really exists anywhere right now.

— Are you going to talk about things like that with elementary students?

Shigeta: I’ve been told I’ll have a few minutes of free talk, so I’m planning to talk about something related to that. If I start talking about the current inflation and possible countermeasures, it’d just turn into an endless discussion about problems that don’t really have clear answers, and I don’t find much meaning in that.

Take the recent rice shortage, the Japanese government decided to release stockpiled rice, but very little attention was given to the reality of farmers, who had long been forced to sell their crops at extremely low prices. If rice prices drop again, even more farmers will quit, which eventually leads to another surge in rice prices. It’s a classic case of a vicious cycle — it’s like trying to prove a negative.

So, the real question is: how do we break out of that infinite loop? What’s missing there? What’s lacking in today’s education is teaching people how to think about questions like that.

And, I believe what’s most important is knowing what is enough. If you understand it, even if rice becomes somewhat more expensive, your life won’t fall into hardship. In fact, I often see people who have a certain amount of savings still getting angry about higher rice prices. That is also the result of insufficient education.

People tend to think too strongly that money should only be used for themselves or for the continuation of their own family line. But we need to realize that we exist as a part of a larger whole. If the whole deteriorates, then your money becomes meaningless, no matter how much you have.

That awareness directly connects to the fundamental questions of “What does it mean to live?” How do I convey this to the people around me, including those whom I work with — that’s something I feel I personally need to take responsibility for now.

— In the middle of this year, you said something to the effect that, “The work in beauty is to philosophize beauty.” Does that connect to the theme of “Neuroesthetics,” the research focus of our December guest, Dr. Tomohiro Ishizu?

Shigeta: I sometimes wonder whether the equation is Beauty x Science = Philosophy or Beauty x Philosophy = Science. Probably science plays the role of the variable — the “x” — in this equation. In a way, I feel like I’m trying to unravel that “x.” So, I’m really looking forward to talking with Dr. Ishizu.

As a scientist, his work is about showing phenomena as evidence. That can also be described as the pursuit of reproducibility. If something is reproducible, it can be shared with many people.

Conversely, things without reproducibility are, while they may be shared temporarily, once values shift, they can’t be shared anymore.

In the world of science, where reproducibility is indispensable, people can still share and resonate with one another even if they have different values. In that sense, scientifying something gives it tremendous value as something that can be shared universally. That’s why I deliberately use the word “science” even in seminars on skin and beauty.

— When you say scientifying, do you mean quantifying things or turning them into data?

Shigeta: I think it means making something highly reproducible and evidence-based. That’s what I want to value most.

There are many people who think deeply about beauty, but at some point, they tend to drift toward spiritual or purely mental explanations. I believe there’s something there that people can empathize with. Still, what I want to convey is that science itself is actually very romantic.

— When you hear it in words, the concept of proto-science, which Dr. Toshiro Inaba (Vol. 14), a medical doctor who has profound knowledge of art, shared with us, sounds even more romantic.

Shigeta: I think the process where something turns from proto-science into science is truly romantic to me.

— Let’s explore that further next December, before we enter the third year of this series. Thank you very much for today.