Lifestyle
A growing number of gamers are LGBTQ+, so why is representation still lacking?
Two of the main characters from the 2015 game Life is Strange, Max Caulfield and Chloe Price.
Dontnod Entertainment
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Dontnod Entertainment
Two of the main characters from the 2015 game Life is Strange, Max Caulfield and Chloe Price.
Dontnod Entertainment
Close to 1 in 5 American gamers identify as LGBTQ+, according to new research from GLAAD. But LGBTQ+ gamers often face harassment in gaming communities and games with voice chats that anybody can join — common in multiplayer, team-based games.
The research indicates that 52% of LGBTQ+ gamers faced harassment while playing online, and 42% have avoided a game due to anticipated harassment.
“It’s difficult when you’re trans to hop on voice chat with random people because you open yourself up to criticism or potential harassment,” said Veronica Ripley, also known as Nikatine, a full-time Twitch streamer and founder of the Discord community Transmission Gaming for trans gamers.
Selfie of Twitch streamer Veronica Ripley, aka Nikatine, taken in front of her green screen.
Veronica Ripley
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Veronica Ripley
Selfie of Twitch streamer Veronica Ripley, aka Nikatine, taken in front of her green screen.
Veronica Ripley
Ripley says that when she goes live, she opens herself up to criticism or harassment for being trans. Her moderators now swiftly remove hate comments and ban offenders almost daily. She says things have improved over time, but one incident from when she first started streaming in 2016 stands out.
“One day somebody showed up with like a thousand people, like a hate raid, all saying the worst possible things they could think of,” Ripley told NPR’s Morning Edition.
So she started to make fun of them a little bit, and some of those people stuck around and became viewers.
“The point of streaming at all is to show the world that there’s more to trans people than just our identity. We’re people… and I think a lot of people can lose sight of that,” she said.
Despite these challenges, video games are important to her partly because they were critical to her understanding of gender. As a kid, she gravitated towards games where she didn’t have to play as “the same gritty dude protagonist” typical of video games.
“The Sims was a big one when I was a kid. It’s still a big game for queer people to this day. You can make an avatar and explore what it’s like to try on a different gender for a little while. Games that allow people to do that are some of the best games for queer folks,” Ripley said.
The Sims official YouTube channel
YouTube
“A lot of folks in our community use video gaming to see that representation and want to see themselves in characters,” said Ray Lancione, president of Qweerty Gamers, streamer, and former video game community manager. “Our community [uses] it to find each other … finding people that are like-minded or similar sexualities, genders.”
American gamers are actually diverse
There has been an idea for decades in the video game industry that gamers are made up of a core group of teenage, white, heterosexual boys. But that hasn’t been true for a long time.
In 2022, research from The Entertainment Software Association indicated that 48% of American gamers were female and 52% were male. The same report noted that 71% of American gamers were white, while 29% were people of color.
Until recently, there was little data tracking how many gamers identify as LGBTQ+. In 2020, Nielsen released a report indicating that 10% of gamers identified as such. Adrienne Shaw, a seasoned video game researcher and associate professor in media studies and production at Temple University, said there weren’t good data points beyond that. And that there’s not much data to break down what the LGBTQ+ audience looks like and what kind of games they’re playing.
Shaw collaborated on a study with GLAAD, assisted by Nielsen, surveying over 1500 American gamers. The findings revealed that 17% of individuals who game an hour or more per week and 19% of those who game 10+ hours per week identify as LGBTQ+.
“We do have some data that we’ve shared for a number of years, but really nothing to this extent,” said Stacie de Armas, senior vice president of diverse insights and innovation at Nielsen.
Younger generations are more open about identity
De Armas says that this jump from 10 to 17 percent represents the evolution of society. Recent studies have shown that nearly 30% of Gen Z adults in the U.S. identify as LGBTQ+.
“We have a younger generation of gamers now… the data and research shows [they] are more inclusive about their personal identities. They are perhaps in an environment where they can be more open,” said de Armas.
Tristan Marra, GLAAD’s head of research, says the 17% number shows how much the LGBTQ+ gaming community has grown in just three years.
“That 70% growth in three years is something that gaming developers and the gaming industry at large should take very seriously,” she said.
Real representation is still hard to find in games
GLAAD’s research reveals that despite LGBTQ+ gamers comprising a significant portion of America’s gaming audience, less than 2% of all games include LGBTQ+ characters or storylines. They arrived at this figure by examining games tagged with LGBTQ+ content on PC and console stores such as Steam, the PlayStation Store, and the Xbox Store — stores where the average person typically finds their games.
Only a small fraction of that 2% feature LGBTQ+ main or playable characters, although some games lack romance or human characters altogether. There are a few examples from major studios in recent years. For example, Ellie from The Last of Us serves as a lesbian protagonist, and the game turned into a major, award-winning HBO show.
Ellie and Dina from Naughty Dog’s The Last of Us 2.
Naughty Dog
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Ellie and Dina from Naughty Dog’s The Last of Us 2.
Naughty Dog
The Life is Strange series features several LGBTQ+ protagonists, like Max, who can end up with her best friend Chloe if players choose. Baldur’s Gate 3, which won Game of the Year at The Game Awards, includes LGBTQ+ characters and offers a lot of flexibility in character creation for someone to be whoever they want.
The character creation screen in Larian Studios’ Baldur’s Gate 3.
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The character creation screen in Larian Studios’ Baldur’s Gate 3.
Larian Studios
But Shaw says the vast majority of LGBTQ+ representation is in the form of optional romances. This means the main player character can have relationships with non-player characters that are a variety of genders, like teammates, villagers or merchants.
GLAAD researchers also collected data on people’s attitudes towards LGBTQ+ content in games, something they said there was no data on before. They found that at least 70% of non-LGBTQ+ gamers are either indifferent or more inclined to play or purchase games with LGBTQ+ representation.
Why game studios hesitate to include LGBTQ+ characters
Shaw says there’s a lot of LGBTQ+ representation in video games from independent companies. “But getting big companies to take a chance on a title that’s going to reach billions of people is very different,” she said.
Concerns about backlash, including negative reviews and social media uproar, complicate things more. Studios may struggle to justify improving representation or not know how.
Life is Strange, developed by Dontnod Entertainment and published by Square Enix, benefited from Dontnod’s origins as an independent game studio. This allowed them creative freedom to craft the desired story and characters, as explained by Michel Koch, the co-creator and art director, in an NPR interview.
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Max Caulfield and Chloe Price from the video game Life is Strange.
Dontnod Entertainment
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Max Caulfield and Chloe Price from the video game Life is Strange.
Dontnod Entertainment
“I feel like each time we start a new story or a new game, we are really trying to find and write the best characters for this story. To make sure that who they are is aligned with the themes of the story,” said Koch.
As they were advancing in development, they started to need funding. So they started to meet with publishers.
“We got some feedback from some publisher that ‘oh no, this won’t sell. We cannot publish this game, even if it looks cool,’” Koch said. “And we found Square Enix who loved the project as it was. They didn’t ask us to change anything… I would say that it was a lot of luck.”
Koch says he hasn’t seen any data like what GLAAD has released, and only knows the reactions Dontnod got after Life is Strange was released. There were players who loved it, and they also saw some who disliked it.
“We know that our core audience are very positive about the games we are making. But there is always this vocal minority that pushes very strongly to say this game is too woke,” he said. “We should make sure that we are not listening too much to the vocal minorities.”
Koch says he also knows that video games are a business — particularly the risk of game bans in certain international markets if certain scenes are included.
“If we were to release the game in Russia, for example, we wouldn’t have been able to include this romance, this arc. And Square Enix … they accepted that we didn’t release the game in Russia at all, which meant that we could keep the game the way we wanted [it] to be,” Koch said.
But Koch says he could see some bigger games or other companies that don’t want to miss out on a market like Russia. And they may end up removing those storylines or characters because it wouldn’t be allowed to be published in that country.
How can game studios improve representation?
Marra says it’s important to be able to put a stake in the ground and measure how much representation is currently available in all forms of media, so the number can start to be moved up to where it should be.
Shaw thinks the report shows “a really strong case you can take to your executives or take to your team and say ‘hey, we have good numbers and a good reason to increase this representation.’”
The GLAAD report, making it clear that LGBTQ+ gamers prefer games with LGBTQ+ content, provided recommendations for the industry and developers. They suggest having a proportionate representation of LGBTQ+ characters in games, making gaming communities more inclusive, consulting LGBTQ+ media experts like GLAAD and hiring LGBTQ+ individuals for leadership roles in the gaming industry.
Phil Harrell edited the audio story, and Majd Al-Waheidi edited it for digital.
When John Lantigua, a retired journalist in Miami Beach, checked his email one recent morning, he was glad to see an invitation.
“It was like, ‘Come and share an evening with me. Click here for details,’” Mr. Lantigua said.
It appeared to be a Paperless Post invitation from someone he once worked with at The Palm Beach Post, a man who had left Florida for Mississippi and liked to arrange dinners when he was back in town.
Mr. Lantigua, 78, clicked the link. It didn’t open.
He clicked a second time. Still nothing.
He didn’t realize what was going on until a mutual friend who had received the same email told him it wasn’t an invitation at all. It was a scam.
Phishing scams have long tried to frighten people into clicking on links with emails claiming that their bank accounts have been hacked, or that they owe thousands of dollars in fines, or that their pornography viewing habits have been tracked.
The invitation scam is a little more subtle: It preys on the all-too-human desire to be included in social gatherings.
The phishy invitations mimic emails from Paperless Post, Evite and Punchbowl. What appears to be a friendly overture from someone you know is really a digital Trojan horse that gives scammers access to your personal information.
“I thought it was diabolical that they would choose somebody who has sent me a legitimate invitation before,” Mr. Lantigua said. “He’s a friend of mine. If he’s coming to town, I want to see him.”
Rachel Tobac, the chief executive of SocialProof Security, a cybersecurity firm, said she noticed the scam last holiday season.
“Phishing emails are not a new thing,” Ms. Tobac said, “but every six months, we get a new lure that hijacks our amygdala in new ways. There’s such a desire for folks to get together that this lure is interesting to people. They want to go to a party.”
Phishing scams involve “two distinct paths,” Ms. Tobac added. In one, the recipient is served a link that turns out to be dead, or so it seems. A click activates malware that runs silently as it gleans passwords and other bits of personal information. In all likelihood, this is what happened when Mr. Lantigua clicked on the ersatz invitation link.
Another scam offers a working link. Potential victims who click on it are asked to provide a password. Those who take that next step are a boon to hackers.
“They have complete control of your email and, in turn, your entire digital life,” Ms. Tobac said. “They can reset your password for your dog’s Instagram account. They can take over your bank account. Change your health insurance.”
Digital invitation platforms are trying to combat the scam by publishing guides on how to spot fake invitations. Paperless Post has also set up an email account — phishing@paperlesspost.com — for users to submit messages for verification. The company sends suspicious links to the Anti-Phishing Working Group, a nonprofit that maintains a database monitored by cybersecurity firms. Flagged links are rendered ineffective.
The scammers’ new strategy of exploiting the desire for connection is infuriating, said Alexa Hirschfeld, a founder of Paperless Post. “Life can be isolating,” Ms. Hirschfeld said. “When it looks like you’re getting an invitation from someone you know, your first instinct is excitement, not skepticism.”
Olivia Pollock, the vice president of brand for Evite, said that fake invitations tended to be generic, promising a birthday party or a celebration of life. Most invitations these days tend to have a specific focus — mahjong gatherings or book club talks, for instance. “The devil is in the details,” Ms. Pollock said.
Because scammers don’t know how close you are with the people in your contact list, fake invitations may also seem random. “They could be from your business school roommate you haven’t spoken to in 10 years,” Ms. Hirschfeld said.
Alyssa Williamson, who works in public relations in New York, was leaving a yoga class recently when she checked her phone and saw an invitation from a college classmate.
“I assumed it was an alumni event,” Ms. Williamson, 30, said. “I clicked on it, and it was like, ‘Enter your email.’ I didn’t even think about it.”
Later that day, she received texts from friends asking her about the party invitation she had just sent out. Her response: What party?
“The thing is, I host a lot of events,” she said. “Some knew it was fake. Others were like, ‘What’s this? I can’t open it.’”
Andrew Smith, a graduate student in finance who lives in Manhattan, received what looked like a Punchbowl invitation to “a memory making celebration.” It appeared to have come from a woman he had dated in college. He received it when he was having drinks at a bar on a Friday night — “a pretty insidious piece of timing,” he said.
“The choice of sender was super clever,” Mr. Smith, 29, noted. “This was somebody that would probably get a reaction from me.”
Mr. Smith seized on the phrase “memory making celebration” and filled in the blanks. He imagined that someone in his ex-girlfriend’s immediate family had died. Perhaps she wanted to restart contact at this difficult moment.
Something saved him when he clicked a link and tried to tap out his personal information — his inability to remember the password to his email account. The next day, he reached out to his ex, who confirmed that the invitation was fake.
“It didn’t trigger any alarm bells,” Mr. Smith said. “I went right for the click. I went completely animal brain.”
The new scam comes with an unfortunate side effect, a suspicion of invitations altogether. It’s enough to make a person antisocial.
“Don’t invite me to anything,” Mr. Lantigua, the retired journalist, said, only half-joking. “I’m not coming.”
You want to know where men’s fashion is heading? Follow the geeks.
These are the obsessives, fixated, with a NASA technician’s precision, on how their pants fit or on which pair of Paraboot shoes is the correct pair. These are the obsessives who in the aughts were early to selvage denim (now available at a Uniqlo near you!) and soft-shouldered Italian tailoring in the mode that, eventually, trickled down to your local J. Crew.
And where has the attention of this cohort landed now? On a vanguard of newish-to-the-West labels from Japan, like A.Presse, Comoli, Auralee and T.T.
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A.Presse is probably the most hyped of this cohort. What other label is worn by the French soccer player Pierre Kalulu and the actor Cooper Hoffman and has men paying a premium for a hoodie on the resale market? Kazuma Shigematsu, the founder, is not into attention. When we spoke, he wouldn’t allow me to record the conversation. Notes only.
“You mean a better-fitting denim jacket that’s based on an old Levi’s thing? Yeah, OK, sold,” said Jeremy Kirkland, host of the “Blamo!” podcast and the textbook definition of a latter-day Japanese men’s wear guy. Mr. Kirkland, once someone who would allocate his budget to Italian suits, admitted that, recently, over the course of two weeks, he bought four (yes, four) jackets from A.Presse1.
“I’m not really experimenting with my style anymore,” Mr. Kirkland said. “I’m just wanting really good, basic stuff.”
Basic though these clothes appear, their hook is that they’re opulent to the touch, elevated in their fabrication.
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Over the years, the designer Ryota Iwai has told me repeatedly that he is inspired by nothing more than the people he sees on his commute to the Auralee offices in Tokyo. When asked recently if he collected anything, he said nothing — just his bicycle.
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The true somber tale of this wave. The brand’s founder, Taiga Takahashi, died of an arrhythmia in 2022 at 27. The label has continued to plumb history for inspiration. The latest collection had pieces that drew on bygone American postal-worker uniforms.
An Auralee2 bomber looks pedestrian until you touch it and realize its silk. Labels like T.T3 make clothes that echo the specs of a vintage relic yet come factory fresh, notched up, made … well, better. They bestow upon the wearer a certain in-the-know authority.
And so there is a hobbyist giddiness present on Discord channels where 30- and 40-something men trade tips on how to size moleskin trousers by the Japanese label Comoli; at boutiques like Neighbour in Vancouver, British Columbia, where items like a $628 dusty pink trucker jacket from Yoko Sakamoto and an $820 T.T sweater sell out soon after hitting the sales floor.
What’s notable is how swiftly these geeky preferences have wiggled into the broader fashion community. While I was in Paris for the men’s fashion shows a year ago January, all anyone wanted to talk about were things with a “Made in Japan” tag. I would speak with editors who were carving out room in their suitcases for Auralee’s $3,000 leather jackets.
But these were clothes being shown away from the fashion week hordes. The A.Presse showroom was on a Marais side street in a space about as long as a bowling lane and scarcely wider that was crammed with racks of canvas, silk and denim jackets with Pollock-like paint splatters. There were leather jackets as plush as Roche Bobois sofas and hoodies based on sweatshirts made in America a half-century ago.
I got the hype. After 10 days of puzzling over newfangled stuff on the runways, the display of simple, understandable shapes we’ve known our whole lives, but redone with extra care, couldn’t have felt more welcome.
Kazuma Shigematsu, the A.Presse designer, said he had collected a trove of vintage pieces that he housed in a separate space to plumb for inspiration. He made new clothes based on old clothes that benefited from a century of small design tweaks.
By this January, A.Presse had upgraded to a regal maison facing the Place des Vosges, with giant windows and even more reverent hoodies, even more tender leathers. Back in America, I asked an online department store executive what his favorite thing from Paris was. He took out his phone to show me photos of himself trying on a zip-up leather jacket in A.Presse’s high-ceilinged showroom.
On Their Own Terms
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“We never think about trendiness or popular design details,” Ms. Sakamoto said through a translator. “It’s more like functionality, everyday use.” The label has a thing for natural dyes: pants stained with persimmon tannin, yellow ochre and sumi ink, shirts colored with mugwort and adzuki beans.
The sudden popularity of these labels outside Japan can make it feel as if they are new. Yet each label has built a respectable business within Japan, some for more than a decade. Auralee was founded in 2015. A year later, Yoko Sakamoto4 started its line. A.Presse is the relative baby of this cohort at five years old.
“A couple years ago, we would have to buy off the line sheet or go to Japan and see everything,” said Saager Dilawri, the owner of Neighbour, who has an instinct for what spendy, creative types lust after. “Now I think everyone from Japan is trying to go to Paris to get into the international market.”
This movement’s “Beatles on Ed Sullivan” moment occurred in 2018, when Auralee won the Fashion Prize of Tokyo, granting the designer, Ryota Iwai, financial support. Soon after, Auralee was given a slot on the Paris Fashion Week calendar.
“I had never seen a show before, never thought to do it,” Mr. Iwai said through a translator in February, days after his latest runway show. He has now done five.
As we talked, buyers speaking different languages entered his storefront showroom and ventured upstairs to scrutinize items like a trench coat that looked as if it was made of corduroy but was actually made from cashmere and wool and an MA-1 bomber jacket with a feathery merino wool lining peeking out along the placket.
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The Cale designer Yuki Sato travels throughout Japan to find textiles. Unusually, the company manufactures everything, including leather and denim, in one factory.
At Cale’s5 display off Place Vendôme, the designer Yuki Sato described denim trousers and pocketed work jackets as “modest, but perfectionist.” On the other side of the city, at Soshi Otsuki, whose 11-year-old label Soshiotsuki has gained attention for its warped vision of salary-man suits, I encountered buyers from Kith, a New York streetwear emporium better known for selling logoed hoodies and sell-out sneakers than for tailoring.
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Nearly a decade into its existence, Soshiotsuki has hit a hot streak. Soshi Otsuki won the LVMH Prize in 2025, and he already has a Zara collaboration under his belt. An Asics collaboration is set to arrive in stores soon.
Talking through translators with these designers, I began to worry that it might be unfair to group them together simply because they were all from Japan. Auralee simmers with colors as lush as a Matisse canvas, while Comoli’s brightest shade is brown. Soshiotsuki6 has mastered tailoring, while Orslow is known for its faded-at-the-knee jeans channeling decades-old Levi’s.
Rather, as with the Antwerp Six design clique that sprung out of Belgium in the early 1980s, it is these labels’ origin stories that thread them together.
“They’re being encountered on their own terms and respected on their own account, and they happen to be Japanese,” said W. David Marx, the author of “Ametora: How Japan Saved American Style” and a cultural critic who has lived in Tokyo for more than two decades.
“It is a new era of Japanese fashion on the global stage,” Mr. Marx said.
A Love Affair With Japan
Western shoppers have a history of falling hard for clothes from Japan. In 1981, when Rei Kawakubo of Comme des Garçons and Yohji Yamamoto crashed onto the Paris fashion scene, buyers swooned for their brainy, body-shrouding creations.
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Recently reintroduced as Number(N)ine by Takahiro Miyashita.
Years later, Number(N)ine7 and A Bathing Ape synthesized trends we would call American — grunge, streetwear and hip-hop — polished them up and sold them back to the West.
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Years before American men were trawling the internet for A.Presse, they would scour forums for deals on Visvim’s jeans and sneakers. Today, Visvim has stores in Santa Fe, N.M.; Carmel, Calif.; and Los Angeles.
Into the 2000s, clothing geeks were swapping tips on forums like Superfuture and Hypebeast about how to use a Japanese proxy service to buy Visvim’s8 seven-eyelet leather work boots or SugarCane’s brick-thick jeans.
Along the way, “Made in Japan” became a shorthand for “made well.” This was more than fetishization. As America’s clothing factories became empty carcasses pockmarking the heartland, Japan’s apparel industry grew steroidal.
“Japan still has an incredible manufacturing base for apparel that goes all the way from the textiles to the sewing to the postproduction,” Mr. Marx said.
Today, many Japanese labels produce most of their garments and, crucially, their textiles in Japan. When I first met Mr. Iwai years ago, I asked how he managed to create such lush colors. He answered, as if noting that the sky was blue, that he worked with the factories that developed his fabrics. As I spoke with Mr. Sato in January, he shared that Cale’s factory had been in his family for generations and also produced for other Japanese brands that I would know.
Chris Green, the owner of Ven. Space, a boutique in the Carroll Gardens neighborhood of Brooklyn that has helped to introduce a number of these labels to an American market, suggested that because Japan is a small country with a fervent fashion culture, a competitive spirit has been stoked.
“They have to be able to cut through the noise,” Mr. Green said, with brands trying to prove that their cashmere sweater can outclass their peers’, that their silks are sourced from finer factories. What’s more, he said, once these brands have nailed a design, they stick with it. That is something that is important to men, in particular, who hate when a brand abandons its favored pants after a season.
Before he opened Ven. Space in 2024, Mr. Green was an admirer of many of these labels, purchasing them during trips to Japan. As we spoke, he was wearing a pair of Comoli belted jeans that he bought five or so years ago. A similar style is still available.
Primed for What They Were Pitching
At the close of the 2010s, streetwear was running on fumes. Quiet luxury was entering at stage left. If the Row and Loro Piana were expert at subtle, fine-to-the-touch clothes, so, too, were the likes of T.T, Graphpaper and Yoko Sakamoto.
“I went from this guy that wears pear-shaped pants to just wearing, like, a denim jacket,” said Chris Maradiaga, a tech worker and freelance writer in Vancouver. His wardrobe today consists of Comoli’s black-as-night trousers and a purple-tinged coat by Ssstein. His kaleidoscopic Bode jackets gather dust.
That Ssstein clothes have landed in the closets of men on the other side of the world defies the early guidance relayed to Kiichiro Asakawa, the label’s bushy-haired designer. His “senpais,” or mentors, warned him that his reduced designs might leave Western audiences cold. “You need something powerful,” they told him.
He tried, but it wasn’t necessary. It’s the most minimal designs — his cotton gabardine zip-ups, his “easy” pleated trousers — that people are most interested in now. “It actually makes me very happy,” he said through a translator. “My instincts were right.” Mr. Asakawa won the Fashion Prize of Tokyo in 2024.
Adapting to North American Markets (and Men)
Several Japanese designers noted that they had modified their sizing to accommodate larger, American bodies.
“I’ll ask them, Can you lengthen the pants by three centimeters? Because you need that for the Western market,” Mr. Dilawri of Neighbour said, noting that the designers were receptive to those requests.
A number of labels, like Comoli and Soshiotsuki, are already oversize. That’s the look.
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Kiichiro Asakawa ran a Tokyo boutique, Carol, before starting Ssstein in 2016. It’s still there. He, too, said he found inspiration in the everyday, for example when watching an elderly couple have dinner across a restaurant.
There is also the matter of price. On the whole, these clothes are not cheap. See Auralee’s silk bomber jacket, which could be military surplus but feels stolen from a sultan’s palace. It’s roughly $1,700. Ssstein’s9 Carhartt cousin chore jacket with a cowhide collar and a factory-massaged fade? About $1,000. Anyone who has traveled recently in Japan, where the yen is tantalizingly weak, will tell you that these Japanese-made clothes, after being imported, are far pricier in North America.
Yet, as luxury fashion labels continue to price out the aspirational middle-class shopper, many of those same shoppers have convinced themselves that the Japanese labels are a better value. A cashmere coat at Prada is $10,000, and you’ll need $1,690 to own a cotton-blend cardigan from Margiela. Similar pieces from Japanese labels can be half that price, or less.
“Brands like Bottega, Balenciaga, the Row — all that stuff — are so unobtainable,” said Mr. Kirkland, whose clothing budget has shifted to A.Presse. “I will never be in that price bracket,” he added, “but I’m wealthy enough to buy a chore coat for $800.”
Of course, Mr. Kirkland and all of the fans of these labels could own a chore coat for far less — but then it wouldn’t be “Made in Japan.”
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