Michiko's America

“Please ask me any questions you may have.”

I reminded my client, although I had already told him several times over the phone interview.  Today’s client was a Japanese executive who moved to the U.S. for work several months ago.

“Any question is really Okay?”

He looked as if he was assessing my words.  I nodded and said to myself, “here we go.”

“Why are Americans plump?”

Once he’d said it, he couldn’t stop himself.

“I didn’t know a human could become that big.”

“There are many potential candidates for Sumo wrestlers.”

Even when I moved to the U.S. in 1992, I was surprised by the difference in Japanese and American physique.  People in the U.S. seem to have increased their size in the last 20 years, and that includes me.  And now when I visit Japan, I get a reverse culture shock.

“Are these for adults?  How do they fit into these small clothes?”

The more I spend time in the U.S. the more I become accustomed to American lifestyle.  When I lived in Japan, I couldn’t finish a small piece of steak.  Now I can easily finish one and then another half as well.  I couldn’t have more than two pieces of chocolate but now I can finish a whole box in one sitting.  My life in Japan seems far away, as if they were stories from my previous life.

So, I can talk about this forever, but I shouldn’t be talking too much about body shapes in business training.

“We drive everywhere in America, and don’t walk much.  Also, cheap foods have more calories.”

I cite mundane reasons that the clients have already figured out, and then when they say something like “The quantity people eat here is indeed different,” I close the book on that subject.

I used to see this subject as an icebreaker, and didn’t pay much attention to it.  However, at one point, I’d had similar conversations with several expats in a row.  This seemingly benign difference truly puzzled them.  They were sincerely trying to figure out what was behind the American body shapes, in order to understand their American colleagues and business partners.  So, I decided to take a more serious look at this peculiar and uncomfortable subject.

One of the English words that Japanese quickly become accustomed to is “share.”  They learn to use “share” when they use the same tool with others and when they eat the food ordered for the group.  It’s a very useful word.  The reason why most Japanese take no time to get used to this word is, I believe, that the meaning of this word matches the Japanese outlook on life in general.

However, I have observed that American’s feelings for “share,” are slightly different.

Right after Christmas, my family had house guests, a mother and her child.   She said,

“I don’t eat dairy products as I am allergic to lactose.  You may want to avoid it too.”

I responded with an “I see,” and then realized that I was hungry.  I was about to say, “How about a snack?” but the next thought that came into my mind was that the snack I was going to offer had dairy in it, and I ended up making a strange noise “Ughah!”

“Sorry, sorry.  There’s a tart that one of my friends made, but it has dairy.  Would you like something else?”

She replied calmly, “That’s okay.  I’ll have a teeny bit.”

I took out the 18-inch round pear tart from the fridge.   My husband and kids had enjoyed it for a few days before I came back from a business trip, and only a third of it was remaining. When I was going to cut a piece for her, my son called from the other room, so I left it on the kitchen counter.  When I returned to the kitchen, only the half of it remained.  I blinked, and blinked again.  But the shape of the tart didn’t change.  She had eaten 60 degrees of the giant tart.

Wasn’t she allergic to dairy?  What does “teeny bit” really mean in the U.S.?  I looked down, trying to conceal my bewilderment, and sighed.

I didn’t know what to say.

That day, we had three adults and three children in the house.  If we were all Japanese, we would divide it into three for the adults, or share it equally among six people.  It is unthinkable for one person to eat the half of it by oneself.  Back in college, I once had more than my share of curry while my three house mates were away.  That was some 30 years ago, and I still feel guilty about it.  But my house guest who ate 60 degrees after giving me a lecture on lactose not only showed no sign of guilt, but was as cheerful as ever.  This was the first culture shock I’d had in many years.

I told my husband about the tart dilemma, as he was really looking forward to an afternoon snack. So we decided to finish the rest.  It was my first and last piece, and I enjoyed it to the last crumb.  But I felt dizzy.  Let’s just say it wasn’t only because the tart was superbly delicious.

Why are Americans plump?  A possible answer to this question may be found by asking a question in the opposite direction: why don’t Japanese get plump.

The Japanese “share” is a kind consideration for others, and they want everyone to taste the same dish.  It’s about sharing an experience as a group.  That also creates an environment where eating whatever you want and as much as you want looks indecent and inconsiderate to others.  In the U.S. where individual choice triumphs, there’s no cultural brake for eating more than your share.