Let me tell you something, folks—I’ve done a lot of popup shops. Military bases, street fairs, festivals, you name it. I’ve sold enough Okinawa keychains to populate an entire keychain-based civilization. But nothing—nothing—prepared me for the endurance test known as the Japanese market.
I just got back from Tokyo after four days of Haisai Festa—a big Okinawan-themed celebration in the land of vending machines and bowing. I came. I stood. I lost all feeling in my legs. And now I’m here to share my story before my spine files for divorce.
🧍♂️ Japan: Where Chairs Go to Die
Here’s a fun fact they don’t tell you in the vendor guidebook: Japanese popups are secretly the Hunger Games.
On U.S. bases, you get a chair. Maybe two if the event organizer likes you. You can sit, chat, sip a lukewarm coffee, and talk shop. In Japan? Oh, no. Chairs are an insult. You sit, you die. You stand, you smile, you pretend your hamstrings aren’t turning into tempura.
And it’s not just about standing—it’s about theater. You must look busy, even when you’re just organizing the same five pouches for the seventeenth time. Gotta keep that illusion alive, like a magician who lost the rabbit and is now just hoping nobody notices.
🎯 Sales Strategy: Be Invisible, but Present
Now, in America, if someone walks near your booth, you pounce—”Hey! Looking for a gift? Want to hear the tragic backstory of this fridge magnet?”
In Japan, doing that would get you excommunicated from society. The goal here is to act like you’re not selling anything while somehow still making a sale. It’s retail quantum mechanics.
You say things like “どうぞご覧ください” (“Please take a look”) from 15 feet away while fake-dusting shelves like you’re auditioning for Retail Kabuki Theater. The customer? They’re doing their best to ignore you. But don’t be fooled—they see you. They feel you. They just don’t want to be approached unless they’re ready to buy—or need emotional support.
🗣️ Small Talk: Proceed With Cautio
In the States, small talk is part of the sale. “Hey, nice weather, huh? That’s a cool shirt! What’s your favorite kind of bear?” Boom—you’re in.
In Japan? Say the wrong thing and the customer turns into vapor. Puff. Gone. Too much friendliness too soon and you’re the human version of a pop-up ad.
So I’ve learned to keep it simple. Talk about the product. Slowly build rapport. And if they’re still around after 10 minutes, then they might tell you about their mother-in-law or their cat’s anxiety. It’s like dating, but with tote bags.
🧿 But Here’s the Beautiful Part…
Despite the cultural acrobatics and the standing-induced numbness, there’s one thing that cuts across all that noise: connection.
No one needs another keychain with “Okinawa” on it. No one needs a $20 poster that, let’s be honest, is just a glorified piece of paper. But people don’t buy the thing—they buy the meaning. The story. The fact that someone—me—sat down, drew this, got it printed, packed it, schlepped it across the country, and stood for eight hours pretending not to limp… all to share a little slice of Okinawa.
Americans, Japanese—we’re not that different. We all want to feel something. Even if it’s just for five minutes at a popup shop in a crowded train station while holding a magnet shaped like taco rice.
🎉 Oki Social Is Turning 10… Somehow
So yeah—next year, Oki Social turns 10. That’s a whole decade of drawing, designing, shipping, and shouting “Irasshaimase!” like I’m calling sheep home.
To celebrate, I’ve put together a new Okinawa collection. It’s colorful, it’s personal, and it’s probably got more heart than sense. The prices? Same as what you’d pay in Okinawa. We even ship to the U.S. Because what’s a global connection without international shipping, am I right?
Thanks for sticking around. Thanks for the laughs. And thanks for buying things you don’t technically need because you believe in the story.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go soak my knees and apologize to my sciatic nerve.
—
Desmond,
Expat Business Owner
Legs: 70% recovered. Dignity: Pending.