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Paris Syndrome |
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The Japanese have an expression, 'Okyaku-sama wa kami desu', which translates roughly as 'The customer is God'. For a country that embraces three religions, this is no mean deal. And for the most part, the service industry lives up to its reputation. If you have ever been to Japan, you will surely have been struck, nay assaulted, by the vigour with which the Japanese shop assistant, taxi driver, hotel porter will go out of his or her way to cater to your every need no matter how trivial or tiresome it may be. Deific indeed.
The French also have an expression, Le client est roi, which translates roughly as 'The customer is King'. For a country whose last regal head (literally) bounced across Place de la Concorde in 1793, this is pretty apt. Whilst the stereotype of the haughty French waiter balking at your fledgling attempt to pout Oon cafay oh lay see voo play is slightly over-hyped, the cultural polarity between Japan's service industry and that of the Gauls is clear. So much so in fact that a phenomenon known as 'Paris Syndrome' is causing a stir in the Franco-Japanese sphere.
France, and particularly Paris, has been revered by the Japanese ever since the nineteenth century: a city not only of culture, history and architecture; but also one of food, fine art and fashion. From the Meiji restoration of the 1860s to the pre-war early 1900s, students travelled to the French capital to assimilate European culture and inform the new ways of Japan. Furthermore, the expedition was seen as a symbol of wealth. From the late 1940s, a trip to France was a way of absorbing the cultural heritage and western values of the newly-resident America, but still remained the preserve of the moneyed. In the 1970s however, a democratisation of the travel industry saw businessmen and women, families, and eventually individuals throng to the capital.
Currently around one million Japanese of all ages travel to France every year. Not only for tourism either - an increasing number are choosing to settle in their romantic idyll. But the reality of coming to terms with the profound culture shock after realising that their ideals about the French capital are unrealistic sees around 100 Japanese expatriates a year consulting a psychiatrist, and a quarter of that number hospitalised.
The victims are more often than not young women besotted by Paris' chic, romantic image. Media in Japan is of course partly to blame for this - peddling images of Vuitton-clad top models treading tree-lined boulevards - but the fact that several Japanese television and large screen celebrities have settled in the French capital has also contributed to the wannabe factor. Setting off with daddy's money and a handful of French phrases, the search for an Eiffel Tower Hello Kitty mobile phone strap is soon offset by the harsh realities of everyday life.
Dr. Hiroaki Ota of the Hôpital Sainte-Anne is the first point of contact for the Japanese Embassy when a case of Paris Syndrome is detected. He describes the progression of the disorder as an initial mild anxiety then a growing persecution complex followed by a fear of leaving home, despair and sometimes worse.
Part of the cause of the culture shock is down to the inherent difference in social expectations. The group spirit of the Japanese contrasts sharply with the individualist attitude of the western upbringing, and where in Japan people are expected to communicate with as few words as possible, Europeans are openly vocal, sometimes to a fault. Dr. Ota testifies to this fact when he says of Parisian interaction, "If you don't answer yes or no immediately, you are accused of being slow and nobody listens to you."
This extends to the service industry. One of the golden rules of playing the French service game according to veteran French expat and author, Stephen Clarke, is to act immediately and unflinchingly, "As soon as he [the waiter] blinks in your direction, you have to blurt out your order before he can get away." Even then you aren't guaranteed service because, God forbid, you may well be sitting at a table that is not within his particular remit. Other rules include not taking no for an answer and shifting the moral onus on the salesman to prioritize you over the next, perhaps more lucrative, customer. Manipulative tools they may be, but survival is the name of the game here.
In contrast, Japanese customer relations are taken to their zenith. As you enter any restaurant in Japan, you will be hit by a verbal barrage of 'Irrashaimase', or 'Welcome', by every staff member and his dog. As you leave you'll be sent on your way with a gust of Arigato gozaimashita, mata okoshi kudasai, or 'Thank you very much, please come again'. If in a shop you look even vaguely like you've thought for a millisecond about purchasing a product, you will be attended to immediately. It is even not unheard of that, mistaking him for a salesman, a fellow customer will show you to the product you're looking for. Helpful, attentive service is in the nature.
For the uninitiated Japanese therefore, the Parisian service game is a perilous one to play and more often than not results in failure. In order to avoid Paris Syndrome knowing the rules is key, and the rules are very different to those in Japan. Rather than a god or a king, the best you can hope for is to be treated as an equal. Vive la revolution! Perhaps the French maxim should be changed then to one that is a favourite of German shopkeepers, 'The customer may be King, but the monarchy has been abolished'.
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