"Once Upon a Tipsy Night: The Struggles of Rescuing Your Friends from Drunken Women – Just Innocent Fun, of Course"

 

***CAUTION** *** some inapt words are used*****

Please indulge me in this anecdote as a tale of bygone days.

The events I recount took place in the latter half of the previous century, during the 1980s. At the time, my family was living in London due to a work-related relocation. During this period, I experienced an unsettling episode involving a stalker. I was seventeen back then.The man had first approached me on the Underground, discovered the school I attended, and loitered outside its gates. His presence even caused trouble for other Japanese students at the school. Ultimately, I had to enlist the help of a local police officer to act as a bodyguard.

After the incident, I overheard a peculiar remark from my classmates. Referring to the stalker’s blond hair, they asked, “Do Japanese people like blondes?” Their curiosity stemmed from a half-understood cultural observation: in Japan, there existed a niche fascination with blond hair—whether on men or women. It seemed the stalker, with his vivid, golden locks, had once basked in the admiration of certain Japanese women. This cultural nuance, though rare, was puzzling my British peers.

To explain, I invoked the American slang term "jungle fever", which originally refers to a tropical illness but, in the US, had gained a colloquial meaning related to interracial attraction—specifically white men obsessing over Black women. My British classmates, unfamiliar with the term, relied on another student with an American background to interpret my explanation. The idea of a “blonde fetish” was new and bewildered them.

A few days later, while walking through Leicester Square with my family, I stumbled upon a horrible scene. There, in the bustling heart of London, were three of my male classmates - some are sixteen, some were seventeen -  surrounded by several Japanese women. Among them was the aforementioned blonde friend, who appeared particularly uncomfortable as the women clung to him, their voices loud with flirtatious exclamations: “Cute blondie!” and “Why don't you have some fun with me, cutie!”

The scene was perplexing. Were they flirting, or was this harassment? I turned to my father for clarity. With a wry glance, he replied, “They’re being harassed.”

Determined to intervene, I approached the group, summoning what courage I could. These women, though visibly drunk and intoxicated, bore the unmistakable look of certain Japanese fashion trends of the era: heavy white foundation, thick black brows, voluminous curled bangs, and strikingly bright outfits. with micor-mini skirts and pinwheel shoes. They practucally looked like prostuitute. The contrast between their bold appearance and my classmates' discomfited expressions was stark.

As I drew closer, the blonde classmate's strained smile met my gaze, silently pleading for escape. Other friends were also showing their stif smile. However, this was crazy scene you can sometimes spot in Leicester Square, where lots of bars and pubs were around.

 Summoning my best Japanese, I said, “Could you let these boys go? They’re just high school students.” My words startled the women into silence. Seizing the moment, I ushered my classmates towards the nearest Tube station. One of them muttered, “Anna, it’s fine now,” as they slipped into the crowd, eager to leave the incident behind.

The following school day, I crossed paths with the blonde classmate in the library. His usual easy-going demeanour was replaced with a sullen silence. I hesitated before asking, “Are you okay? You didn’t seem alright yesterday.”

He frowned. “Why did you interfere?”

I stammered, “I thought it’d be quicker to resolve things if I spoke in Japanese.”

His terse response was cutting: “We could’ve handled it ourselves.”

Perhaps he was right. Perhaps my intervention had been unnecessary, even unwelcome. But as I watched those intoxicated women that night, I couldn’t bear to stand idly by. Seeing my friends, particularly a 16-year-old boy, grapple with unwanted advances from adults was unbearable.

Reflecting now, I wonder whether my actions made any difference. Did I overstep? Did I underestimate my classmates’ ability to handle the situation? Perhaps. Yet, I couldn’t ignore the distress on their faces.

A few days later, one of the boys who had been there at the time came up to me with a rather unexpected comment.

“Do you think I’m not attractive to Japanese women? I mean, they didn’t bother with me at all.”

I was momentarily at a loss for words. Of all the things I’d imagined, hearing someone lament about not being accosted by those Japanese women hadn’t even crossed my mind. And I was also annoyed that he regarded these women as typical Japanese women.

“Well,” I said after a pause, “if you really want to meet that old tarts, why not try hanging around outside a language school? Chances are, that’s where they’re headed.”

With that, I made my exit, leaving him to ponder his newfound dilemma.

Perhaps they thought dropping the line, “I have Japanese friends at school" would help them charm their way into conversations with these women. For boys like them, who had grown up alongside plenty of Japanese classmates in our integrated middle and high school, it must have seemed like the perfect icebreaker to approach unfamiliar Japanese women. And, in fairness, it probably worked more often than not.

A few days later, on the weekend, I was out in the city with my family, driving along in our car, when I spotted the same friends from before, once again surrounded by a group of Japanese women. As we came to a stop at a red light, I rolled down the window for a closer look. This time, the scene was even more chaotic than before—the women seemed to have him firmly in their sights.

Trusting his earlier bravado of  “We could’ve handled it ourselves.”I decided not to intervene and rolled the window back up. My friends had noticed me, though, and one was waving his arms around, trying to get my attention. But the light turned green, and we drove on, leaving them to their predicament.

When the new week began and I returned to school, I ran into the same friends who’d been at the centre of all that attention from the Japanese women. Naturally, my curiosity got the better of me, and I couldn’t resist teasing him.

“Well then,” I began with a mischievous grin, “how were the tarts? Did you end up sweetening them, or was it the other way around?”

The blondest of the lot, who had clearly borne the brunt of the women’s antics, went beet-red and practically exploded, snapping back, “Don’t say stuff like that!”

Ah, it was worth it just to see his reaction.

I was also rather annoyed that he seemed to regard these women as typical Japanese women.

Of course, the word tart quickly made its way to the teachers, and before long, I found myself being summone by a teacher for questioning about what had happened in Leicester Square.

I explained what I had seen—our classmates being practically draped in the arms of women dressed in what was unmistakably the attire of sllut girls. I also translated what the women had been saying in Japanese. One of them had called the blond boy Blondie Cutie and had come within inches of kissing him, while another had stroked a different boy’s chest, cooing suteki—“How wonderful.”

The teacher listened calmly, nodding as I recounted the bizarre scene.

By lunchtime, I had relayed the story to the Japanese students in our school. Their reaction was unanimous: disgust. “That’s revolting!” someone exclaimed.

Word spread fast. Soon, Japanese students from other years were asking for details, curious about the commotion. Among them were the boys in question.

I laid it out plainly—how, in the heart of the city’s nightlife district, Japanese women dressed like over-the-top courtesans had swarmed them, purring “You Blondie Cutie, do you wanna have fun with me?” and how another had run her hands over one of the boys, sighing “How wonderful”

Everyone listening was dumbfounded. “That’s disgusting.”

One of the Japanese girls spoke up, her voice firm. “I don’t want people thinking that’s what Japanese women are like. At the very least, we’re nothing like them.”

With that, she and a few others walked off, leaving the boys standing there, completely lost for words.

Decades later, in today’s Reiwa era, blonde hair has lost its mystique in Japan. People are accustomed to diverse appearances, and foreign visitors are a common sight. However, the memory of those intoxicated women lingers as a cautionary tale. Harassment—especially when directed at minors—is never excusable. 

Though the boys were obviously stupid, venturing themselves towards drunken bunch of women, the result could be predictable - either get ignored or harrased in public. Although the Japanese adults were not behaving their age, the boys hadn't act their own age either.

As travel becomes increasingly accessible and cultures intertwine, I hope adults will be mindful of the harm they can inflict, whether knowingly or inebriated. A child, regardless of their appearance, deserves respect and protection. “What happens abroad stays abroad” should never justify actions that scar others. Adults must understand the weight of their actions, even in the haze of intoxication. For the sake of the vulnerable, we must do better.

The same goes for the young ones. Whether out of mere curiosity or other intent, they should have predict that drunken women could be carnivores - They should have been prepared for this, not expecting some friendly chat over their pretty British or European accented English. To some  Japanese, young European boys can appear mature. I am sure they must have laerned that from their encounter with Japanese "tarts". 

For me, it was just a disgusting experience what boys went for Japanese adult visitors or Japanese adult language school students to have little conversations - they should know that the students of language schools are looking for a chance to meet locals, and If they meet British people outside the language school, the joy of meeting boys who look older than they are can ruffle feathers.

In this digital era, some language school are offering on-site campus for language learning. I hope, boys nowadays will have better chnace of meeting decent Japanese adults and have better conversation : and avoid drunken women.