MASKED AND CONFUSED

It’s flu season. And Covid is also still doing the rounds. At this point, I’m beginning to suspect we’re not getting rid of it anytime soon.

Walking around Japan at this time of year, it can sometimes feel as if the pandemic never really left. Masks everywhere. On trains. In shops. On the street. Sometimes even outdoors – alone, in wide‑open spaces. Or worn by drivers sitting solo in their car, presumably protecting themselves from… themselves.

Shop and restaurant staff are masked almost across the board, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon. Whether it’s a formal rule or quietly framed as a 'personal choice' hardly matters – in reality, no one wants to be the only uncovered face serving the customers.

The upside is that your barista is probably the least likely person to give you a virus.

Of course, Japan didn’t suddenly discover face masks when Covid turned up - and turned the world upside down. Masks have been a thing here for as long as I can remember.

One of my earliest observations was the sheer number of people wearing masks in winter. My automatic assumption was simple: 'They must be sick and don’t want to infect others.'

And yes, that was part of it.

But I soon learnt there was another, altogether less altruistic reason: many people were wearing masks to protect themselves from catching something in the first place. Not because they were ill, but because they very much did not wish to be.

Some women also wear masks so they don’t have to put on makeup. Essentially the socially accepted equivalent of turning off your camera in a Teams meeting.

And some people wear them because they don’t want to be recognised. Mind you, in some other countries that might get you arrested. In Japan, it just means you’re having a low‑key day.

When people hear how long I’ve lived in Japan, they often comment that I must have 'turned Japanese' by now. Picked up the habits. Absorbed the mindset. Fully assimilated.

Not quite.

Although I do try to blend in as much as possible, the fact remains that I was born Swiss, I grew up Swiss, and, in my heart, I will almost certainly always remain Swiss.

And as a Swiss person, you do not voluntarily put on a face mask unless:

• you are legally required to, or

• there is an actual global pandemic unfolding in real time.

So when the Japanese authorities stopped actively requesting people to wear masks, I felt a little thrill of freedom. No more mask. Ever again. Or at least until the next once-in-a-century public health crisis.

Even if that meant running the risk of catching a cold or flu from someone nearby.

That said, Japan has seen unusually high influenza numbers early this winter. Whether mask-wearing genuinely prevents that or not, I honestly couldn’t say. But it does say something about how differently illness itself is approached here.

If you feel a cold coming on in Switzerland, nobody would consider seeing a doctor. Doctors are for serious matters. You don’t clog up a waiting room just because of a runny nose – or even a full‑blown flu. You pop down to your local pharmacy, buy something strong‑sounding, and then spend a few days in bed. Simple.

Not so in Japan, where even a modest fever often triggers a visit to the clinic. Thermometer readings are taken very seriously, symptoms are documented with impressive precision, and a diagnosis is generally expected – preferably in writing. This probably also has something to do with the healthcare system: access is easy, costs are predictable, and seeing a doctor is very much a normal, everyday thing.

Which brings me neatly to another seasonal cultural contrast: calling in sick:

Email from a non-Japanese with 37.5c

Hello Team. I'm under the weather today. I've decided to take leave, so I won't be in the office.

Email from a Japanese with 40.0c

I have been feeling unwell since last night and, regrettably, I do not believe I will be able to attend work today. Please accept my sincerest apologies for the short notice, and I kindly ask for your understanding regarding my absence. As I am currently experiencing a fever, I will be visiting a hospital shortly for a medical consultation. I will inform you of the results as soon as they become available. Should there be any urgent matter requiring immediate attention, I would appreciate it if you could contact me via my mobile phone. Once again, I sincerely apologise for the inconvenience and thank you very much for your kind understanding.

Thankfully, with home office now part of everyday life for many of us, the lines have blurred somewhat.

But the rule itself hasn’t changed: if you call in sick in Japan, you’d better be seriously ill. Otherwise, you’d never forgive yourself for the inconvenience you’ve caused.

Different countries. Same viruses. Very different emails.