Naked Man Festival – Weirdest Event Ever

After learning that the JET Program had placed me in a town called Urasa, I did precisely what I tell my students NOT to do. I googled “Urasa, Niigata” and clicked on the first link – Wikipedia. I expected some fairly detailed history of the area, maybe a list of restaurants or fun activities in the area, but much to my chagrin there was no such information. “Urasa is a subdivision of the city of Minamiuonuma, Niigata, Japan. It was formerly a village. Urasa Station plays a major role in transportation for the local people in modern times. Urasa is a home for enthusiasts of the local naked festival” (Wikipedia). [DISCLAIMER: Students, if you are reading this, remember: NEVER, EVER, EVER cite Wikipedia in a research paper. Do as I say, not as I do.] Gee, thanks Wikipedia, you really came through this time! I found the absence of any useful information about my future place of residence slightly disturbing, but tried to approach it with a bit of humor. After all, is there anything else a guy needs? Transportation and a naked festival. All the necessities!

The thought of actually participating in the naked festival sounded a smidge extreme, but I tucked it in the back of my mind with a “highly doubtful but we’ll consider it when the time comes” tag and left it on the back burner for several months. Fast forward to freezing cold January. Excited murmurs about “Hadaka Matsuri” (naked festival) could be heard in the teachers’ room, in line at the grocery store and around town. Urasa was indeed gearing up for its marquee event, the infamous Naked Man Festival.

As I started learning more specific details about the festival, I experienced many “Why, Japan? Why?” moments. That question comes up occasionally when you encounter something strange, but learning more about the naked man festival only magnified the weirdness of the whys. As the whys multiplied, I asked myself another question. “Why not?” I’m living in Urasa. The people are giddy about it. Why shouldn’t I give it a whirl? That was that. Hadaka Matsuri 2016, bring it on.

Before I share a little about the history of naked man festivals in Japan and the tale of my participation, please watch this clip from the festival a few years ago. (Start watching from the 1:15 mark.)

Now that you are thoroughly confused and questioning my sanity as to why I would ever participate in something so weird, let me share a bit about the origins of this bizarre event. Naked man festivals in Japan date back over 1200 years. Generations ago, people actually participated completely naked. Luckily, now participants are required to wear fundoshi (a small loincloth) and tabi (straw sandals).  Dressed in this skimpy outfit, men of all ages push and shove each other, trying to reach the front of the shrine to receive a blessing for the upcoming year.

Most naked men festivals are held in southern Japan where the winters are much milder. Alas, Urasa is not in southern Japan or home to mild winters. As you can imagine, braving these elements in a scanty loincloth and straw sandals sounds like a surefire way to catch hypothermia. Centuries ago, Urasa’s most innovative citizens invented the perfect coping mechanism to stay warm. Niigata Prefecture is famous for some of the finest sake in Japan, so many festival-goers indulge themselves in thick blankets of liquid courage before the festival begins.

Every March 3, regardless what day of the week it falls on, Urasa hosts its marquee event. This year, it fell on a Thursday, which is better than Monday or Tuesday, but still a far cry from Friday or Saturday. Ironically enough, March 3 in Japan is “Girls Festival”, a holiday when grandmas, moms, aunts and daughters all come together for a girls party. Apparently Urasa didn’t get the memo, because here, it is the day when men rally together to demonstrate their masculinity.

Japanese work culture is very intense and affords workers few opportunities to blow off steam. The naked man festival serves as the perfect forum to release some of that pent up stress. 364 days a year, the men are expected to be responsible, polite and professional. Once a year, they can let loose, behave like unleashed wild beasts and avoid all judgment and scrutiny.

I joined about 15 of my fellow teachers in the late afternoon to fill our stomachs with delicious food (fuel) and hot sake (warm blanket).  After a couple hours, my Japanese colleagues were speaking excellent English, my Japanese had mysteriously improved substantially and everyone was prepared for the festival. We marched across town to the locker room and changed into in our fundoshi and tabi. After finally overcoming my struggles to put my uniform on, I received the final piece of my outfit, the famous hachimaki (a Japanese bandana), to wrap around my head.

We exited the locker room to find Urasa’s only thoroughfare, usually vacant and lifeless, bustling with vendors, food trucks and spectators. We walked, talked and posed for a few pictures while waiting for the festival officially to commence. Fortunately, to the best of my knowledge, minimal photographical evidence exists so the potential of my pursuing a career in politics has not been ruined yet.

Colleagues and I amidst the chaos

As we approached the shrine, I braced myself for the pushing and shoving, but I forgot about one essential step on the journey to a blessed year. You must cleanse yourself in a tub of freezing cold water before entering the sacred Bishamondo Shrine (1:45 mark in the video). After what seemed like an eternity (in actuality only a few seconds), I had been cleansed sufficiently and was finally deemed ready to enter the shrine. I jumped out of the freezing tub into the (slightly less) freezing air and sprinted towards the shrine. Crammed with hundreds of men chanting “Sanyo! Sanyo!” (Bless me! in Japanese) and pushing and shoving each other towards the front of the shrine. Festival officials periodically grab rice balls and then the masses scream “Makeyo! Makeyo!” (Throw me a darn rice ball! in Japanese). Apparently you receive some other blessing for catching rice balls, so I was content lightly pushing and shoving from the back and snagging as many rice balls as possible.

After a while, grabbing flying rice balls got boring and it seemed like the testosterone levels were dying down a bit. It was time to make my move to receive the most heralded and exclusive blessing available. While I never felt like my life was in danger, I definitely was cognizant that it would be very easy to break a rib or dislocate a shoulder amidst the chaos, so I took extra caution to protect my core. It took me about 20 minutes or so to maneuver my way to the front of the chaos and another 10 minutes to climb up the stage. Yes, you interpreted it correctly, it took a half hour to move maybe 5 meters. At long last, I reached the most sacred area of the temple and received the highly sought after blessing. With an aura of victory glowing from my nearly bare body, I exited the shrine and reentered the mortal world.

You may ask why I subjected myself to such a peculiar and potentially dangerous event, but I stand by my original rationale. I came to Japan to explore a totally different part of the world, make new friends and engage in unique cultural experiences. If pushing and shoving 1,000 nearly naked strangers doesn’t qualify as a unique cultural experience, I have no idea what does. Naked Man Festival is probably the most outrageous thing I have ever done, but approaching it with an open mind and a desire to have fun enabled me to walk away with countless funny stories and zero regrets.