As the Japanese workplace undergoes a drastic, and in most cases stressful, cultural shift, pressured employees are seeking peculiarly Japanese ways of re-equilibrating their inner balance. So take a deep breath and join us as we take a look at Japan's bourgeoning 'healing industry'.

Yoshi is a company employee, one of the ubiquitous Tokyo suits sucked in from college to a hierarchical rat race of Japanese productivity, a sarariman. He is also a father.

It's 05:00 in the morning, on a drizzly Friday bearing the last remnants of the rainy season's stifling humidity, Yoshi is brutally woken by his electronic alarm clock. Somehow his wife, curled up on the neighbouring futon, remains unstirred.

The 06:15 commuter train that takes Yoshi into the capital from his ever so slightly more suburban Odawara is packed full of jostling bodies - an image not far removed from contemporary Japan's corporate culture. Ever since the economic bubble burst in the early 90s and the good old days of seniority-based promotion were replaced by a cut-throat meritocracy, the Japanese sarariman has witnessed increased overtime and a rising pressure to outperform his co-workers. Meritocracy means uncertainty, and uncertainty means pressure.

In 2004, Japanese employees logged an incredible average of 43.5 hours a week, second only to the South Koreans. What would the French civil servants have to say about that? Furthermore, whilst this figure incorporates paid and unpaid overtime, it does not include the many hours of culturally-compulsory socializing with colleagues and clients. No wonder then that around two thirds of the Japanese population admit to experiencing fatigue and stress associated with their extended working hours.

Relief for the likes of Yoshi is to be found in the rapidly expanding, "healing industry". That is, an assortment of services aimed at reducing stress levels and generally countering the negative effects of today's demanding lifestyles. Services range from the conventional to the progressive, where massages and yoga classes fall in with 'rent-a-pet' services and nights spent sleeping beneath tanks of bio fluorescent jellyfish.

But it is not just the stereotypical sarariman that forms the consumer base. The bursting of the bubble meant that Japanese women have entered the workforce in record numbers over the last decade, and so the country has entered the era of the sarariwoman. No concessions are made either. "My mother's generation never had to deal with the work pressures I face," says Eiko Watanabe, a 36 year-old data processor. Eiko spends $150 a month on healing services and she is by no means the exception.

As one would expect, male and female stress-relief comes in different packages, the first centred on physical and mental rejuvenation, and the second around pampering and beautification. But both are about escapism - escaping one's tasks and chores for however little time is possible.

Apart from her usual aromatherapy-centred sessions, Eiko might choose to evade her daily pressures by becoming a nun for a day in Kyoto's Ryugenji Temple - a privilege that comes with an $80 price tag. Or, if she is feeling less chaste, she might join Enoshima Aquarium's overnight relaxation program, where she will experience leg and arm massages in a room lit by the natural glow of slow-moving, hypnotic jellyfish.

Healing has become such an important part of Japanese life that the industry has doubled in size over the last decade and is now raking in a whopping $30 billion a year. With more money to spend thanks to the resurgent economy, and less time to spend it in, high-priced aromatherapy or Hawaiian Lomi Lomi massage spa treatments, some at well over $300 per hour; do not faze the Japanese consumers. As a result, luxury day spas and high-end massage clinics have grown 11-fold over the last four years into a $1 billion business.

Yoshi's preferences fit into the more masculine demographic though. Far from meterosexual manicures, massages and other bodily manipulations, Yoshi follows his company-endorsed drinking sessions with a visit to an oxygen bar in the business district, Ginza. The late evening brings a gaggle of sararimen like Yoshi, each paying $6 for a 10 minute blast of 95% pure oxygen. "It is relaxing, but most importantly it breaks down the alcohol quickly and means I can cancel out the effects of the previous few hours," Yoshi enthuses.

Oxygen bars are not the only way of reaping the purported benefits of the highly concentrated gas. Convenience stores in Japan have started stocking canned oxygen that delivers 35 shots of 2 second sprays. And several drinks manufacturers have brought out bottled "oxygen water" - water which is said to have oxygen content over 5 times normal levels. Paying to breathe seems like yet another overly gung-ho salesman�fs maxim, similar to selling ice to Eskimos. But in Japan the maxim is fast becoming an everyday reality.

As the clock ticks towards midnight, Yoshi has to make a dash for his last train. He will arrive back home in time to catch a few hours sleep before taking his wife and seven year-old son to 'Oedo onsen' in the morning, an Edo-era themed, $40-a-ticket hot spring village on the reclaimed island of Odaiba. Thoroughly refreshed, Yoshi will once again board his 06:15 commuter train on Monday to return to the rat race, and the cycle will begin again.

If you want to know more about Japan�Es healing industry, please contact:

Mark Rushworth
Japan Market Intelligence
+81-3-6230-0970