Japan’s baby name law reflects anxiety about modernity

What’s in a name? In Japan, until recently not much. Traditional Japanese names — such as Taro, Yoko, Kyoko, Aki, Akari — are phonetically similar and often bland. And that’s the whole point: the Japanese have always been perfectly happy with fairly forgettable names in a society where blending in, to the point of invisibility, was seen as a great virtue. Thus, just like one’s clothes, one’s name should make little impression. The Japanese royal family, in the supreme act of self-sacrificial modesty, has no surname at all.

But all that started to change about 30 years ago with the emergence of kira-kira or “glittery names”, unorthodox readings of Japanese kanji characters — which are adapted from Chinese script — to produce rather outré forenames. The most high-profile case came in 1993, when a couple chose to lumber their son with the name Akuma, or “Devil”. They defended the decision on the grounds that it would make their boy unique. The trend has become more widespread in recent years, including children named after popular brands and foodstuffs. A 2021 study from the Tokyo University of Science professor found a sharp increase in unusual names in the preceding 20 years, a trend the author ascribed to a desire for “uniqueness” and “individualism”.

Clearly, this trend is in danger of getting out of hand — and the authorities are fighting back. The government has this week introduced revisions to the Family Register Act, placing limitations on how kanji characters can be read when registering a baby’s name. From now on, eccentric readings will be challenged. A bizarre example on the government website, which shows how bad things have become, displays the kanji for Taro and the reading “George Michael” which, it is explained, is forthwith considered unreasonable.

The official reason for the clampdown is that kira-kira have become an administrative problem for the authorities, as deciphering bizarre names on state documents can lead to errors and additional work for officials. Under the new dispensation, parents may have to provide a reason for their choice and explain it to a judge. This, the government clearly hopes, will dissuade people from going through with it.

To some extent, this exemplifies the difficulty Japan is experiencing in maintaining its identity in an ever more globalised world. There was a time when the idea of making your offspring an object of attention would have been considered profoundly un-Japanese. But with ever greater knowledge of the world and its eccentricities — noted Japanophile Elon Musk’s children have bizarre names such as Tau Techno Mechanicus — staying loyal to staid and stifling conventions has a rapidly diminishing appeal.

There is also a parallel with the UK and the long, slow decline of religious belief and consequent disappearance of Biblical names in favour of flashier monikers, such as Ferrari or Sienna. In Japan, it has been observed that the true religion is the country itself — Nihonjinron, or the study of Japaneseness. The abandonment of traditional names is perhaps therefore a symptom of a similar decline in the national belief system.

Will the new system work? It is a typically Japanese response: rather than banning something outright, just subtly dissuade people by dropping a heavy hint that they are inconveniencing others and letting the side down. The country may have experienced peak glitter. But if at least some Japanese have had enough of blending in and are truly determined to stand out, then, like whack-a-mole, the tendency for eccentricity and individuality will simply manifest itself in other, and perhaps more problematic ways.

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