The arrival of the rainy season in Japan means one thing: umbrella mania. The other day, I participated in Japan’s favorite rainy season ritual for the first time: I rushed into a convenience store and armed myself with a cheap vinyl umbrella—known as kasa in Japanese.

Feeling quite happy with my purchase, I commuted through Tokyo, joining the endless ranks of umbrella-sporting pedestrians on their way to work. When I clocked out later that day, however, the rain was still coming down—but my umbrella was gone.

I stood there, socks getting soggier by the second, realizing I’d made a fatal mistake: I’d assumed that the umbrella I left in the rack would be there when I got back. Rookie mistake.

If you’ve lived in Japan even for a short time, you’ve probably noticed the country’s somewhat obsessive relationship with umbrellas. They’re everywhere: hanging from fences, stuffed in convenience store racks, leaning at odd angles outside restaurants like forgotten canes.

In fact, according to a recent survey by Weathernews.jp, Japan has the highest number of umbrellas per person (4.2) in the world, with Tokyoites owning an average of around 4.9 each. This extraordinary abundance has come at a cost, however, creating a peculiar system of disposable, semi-communal use where your kasa is never truly your own.

Why so many Umbrellas?

Japan’s tsuyu (rainy season) kicks in around early June, and can last up to six weeks—especially in places like Tokyo and Osaka. According to the Japan Meteorological Agency, most major cities see rainfall on over 50% of days during this period. That’s a lot of soggy socks to contend with.

So, it makes sense that Japan has developed a hyper-efficient, hyper-convenient umbrella economy. You can grab a plastic umbrella at any convenience store for less than ¥1,000. They’re sturdy enough for a single downpour, and cheap enough not to feel too bad about forgetting (or losing) them.

But here’s the issue: everyone has the exact same umbrella, meaning that the konbini umbrella you thought was yours for a mere ¥500? In reality, it’s more like public property.

The (Semi) Communal Umbrella System in Japan

This is because, despite being famed for its low crime and relative safety, there does seem to be a kasa-sized loophole in Japanese social norms when it comes to “borrowing” an umbrella.

After leaving work umbrella-less the other day, I confided in a colleague about the theft I had just fallen victim to, hoping for a bit of sympathy. Instead, I was met with a shrug. “Just take another one!,” he said matter-of-factly, before handing me a near-identical umbrella from the rack. And so the cycle continues.

It’s not that theft is accepted here, but more that umbrella ownership exists in this vague moral grey zone. Unless it’s a designer model, your umbrella is certainly at risk of being “borrowed.”

Whilst I personally enjoy this silent swap culture, happy in the knowledge that I too could potentially “borrow” an umbrella the next time I’m in a pinch, not everyone is on board. A quick scour of an online discussion board titled “The Umbrella Exception” reveals hundreds of disgruntled citizens airing their grievances on the issue.

“It just pisses me off that people do this, but it seems to be a given,” writes one user. “I went through literally nine umbrellas while I lived in Japan for one year,” adds another. “My Japanese friends said I could ‘borrow’ one and no one would really care. But I kept buying them…over…and over…and over.”

Creative (and Gross) Anti-Theft Measures

To combat what they see as theft, these involuntary lenders have taken to all sorts of ingenious methods to protect their property. Perhaps the easiest is the wet tissue method: scrunching up a tissue and placing it on the umbrella in its stand, making it gross enough to ward off casual thieves who see it as a used one. So far, so simple. Some have taken it much further, however, permanently customizing their umbrellas with threats, rude messages and even fake GPS chips.

For those willing to go one better and spend to modify their prized kasa, Twitter user @kozeni_shkt has just the thing. The leatherworker has crafted a special strap for your umbrella, complete with an opening and closing eye to watch out for any potential parasol pilferers. Genius.

However, despite all of these creative solutions, frustration still simmers online. On “The Umbrella Exception,” some still believe more drastic action is the only way to deal with Japan’s umbrella pinchers.

One particularly aggrieved commenter writes: “If I were an old lady, I would make it a personal crusade of mine to hunt down and compel these miscreants to seppuku [a form of Japanese ritualistic suicide by disembowelment] for the shame that they bring upon their community and the environment.”

A bit extreme, but you get the point.

The Environmental Downpour

Of course, aside from the occasional annoyance that comes with petty theft, there is also a much greater cost to the convenience of single-use umbrellas. According to the Japan Umbrella Promotion Association, of the approximately 120-130 million umbrellas sold in Japan every year, around 80 million are disposable. In 2023 alone, around 300,000 umbrellas ended up in the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Lost and Found Center, with only a fraction (around 3,700) being returned.

As a significant number of umbrellas in Japan are made from plastic and mixed materials, they are difficult to recycle and are often incinerated or sent to landfills. This throwaway culture is a symptom of Japan’s broader issue with single-use plastics. From excessive packaging at supermarkets to individually wrapped bananas, convenience often trumps sustainability.

But there’s hope. Enter companies like iKasa, an umbrella-sharing platform with the aim of eradicating disposable umbrellas by 2030. Think of it as the Uber of staying dry. You rent an umbrella via the app. Pay a small fee (around ¥140 a day), and return it when you’re done. It’s already been trialed in 950 locations across the country. With over 300,000 signups, the tide already seems to be turning.

Some train stations and public spaces have also introduced designated “share stands,” where you can leave or take an umbrella as needed. It’s not a perfect system, but it’s a step toward a more circular economy.

So, Is the Umbrella Thing a Problem or Just Japan Being Japan?

Honestly, it’s hard to say. On one hand, there’s a low-level chaos and annoyance that comes with everyone carrying and misplacing identical umbrellas. On the other, it is quite charming. There’s something oddly communal about how people deal with umbrellas here. It’s like an honor system that works—until it doesn’t.

The bigger question is whether this style of convenience-driven consumption can evolve. Can companies like iKasa scale up? Will people shift from continually buying and semi-owning umbrellas to voluntarily sharing them?

If they do, then maybe vigilante grannies and seppuku won’t be necessary just yet.

metropolisjapan.com

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