Tatami to Toilets- What Surprised Me Most About Japanese Living

Last month, I took a trip to Japan with my husband and our two teens. We spent half our time in Tokyo and the other half in Kyoto, and while it was our first big international trip as a family, each of us had our own reasons for wanting to go—whether it was anime, food, fashion, or culture.

For me, it was also a chance to see how Japanese environments compare to the ones I’ve spent years exploring and shaping here at home in the US. I’ve always been drawn to the idea of spaces that feel mindful and intentional, and Japan is often held up as the gold standard for that, from simple interior design to architecture to zen practices and Marie Kondo. Of course, experiencing something in person is completely different than reading about it.

So, today, I'm going to share what stood out to me (and my family) the most and what surprised us about Japanese living as an American.

They Prioritize the Floor Over Furniture

One of the first things we noticed when we stepped into our little house in Tokyo was the built-in shoe spot right by the door. No sign needed—it was clear from the setup that shoes stayed off, and slippers went on. That pattern repeated itself throughout our stay: hotels, some restaurants, bathhouses, and animal cafés all asked us to remove our shoes and use their slippers before entering. Even the flight over on Korean Air provided slippers to change into.

In Japan, the floor still holds a kind of status. You sit on it. You move across it barefoot or in slippers. You maintain it, and while traditional tatami mats aren’t as common as they once were, some places still offer the option of a tatami mat room. That's a type of flooring made from rush grass, which is soft to the touch, breathable, and temperature-regulating. It makes the floor more comfortable, which allows for a more flexible use of the space.

One room can shift from sleeping to eating to lounging with minimal furniture, as was the case with one of our VRBO rooms, where the futon mattress could be pulled off onto the tatami floor for added sleeping but otherwise sat on a small sofa accompanied by the only TV in the house.

Tatami mats are also a built-in measuring tool – rooms are often measured by how many tatami mats would fit (“6-mat room”). But these mats require extra care- spot cleaning and keeping dry and ventilated, which naturally comes with a more intentional relationship with that part of the space and no shoes.

Beds are lower, couches are often smaller—or nonexistent—and the whole design philosophy seems to say: move with your space, don’t sink into it.

There was limited seating in many places, and in most public areas, sitting on the street wasn’t permitted. I’ll be honest: the standing was harder than the walking.

They seem to value floor space over bed space. And while I definitely understand the benefits of a luxurious bed—especially when it comes to sleep quality—there are also practical reasons behind the design of less lavish furniture. Space is limited in Japan, but even more than that, people there seem to be generally more active.

And honestly, I think there’s something to that.

It struck me how many elderly people we saw moving around with ease. I’m talking 80s and 90s—getting around busy train stations, leaning down to remove their shoes at restaurants, no complaints, no drama. Meanwhile, in the U.S., it feels like we start talking about being “too old for that” by the time we hit our 50s.

A big part of it, I’m sure, is that their daily environments still require them to move. To get low. To get back up. To walk, climb, stretch, and stay flexible—because the space doesn’t cater to every bodily desire to lounge longer or sink deeper. The furniture doesn’t do all the work for you, which means your body doesn’t get to opt out of its role in your life.

It made me think differently about what comfort really is. Maybe it’s not just what feels good in the moment but what keeps us capable over time.

The Bathrooms Are… Next-Level

Credit where credit is due: Japan has the best restrooms I’ve ever experienced.

It didn’t matter if we were in a fancy hotel or a tiny convenience store—every bathroom we visited felt like a tiny spa. Built-in bidets with warm water for every toilet, often with oscillating options, and heated seats. Air dryers. Buttons for bird sounds and gentle background noise. Control panels with more features than most of our kitchen appliances. I found myself genuinely fascinated, taking photos and little videos just to document the setup.

And it wasn’t just the technology—it was the consistency. In the U.S., public restrooms are often where comfort goes to die. But in Japan, the experience of using the restroom felt… cared for. Protected. Upgraded. Even at a train station, you could count on a clean, well-equipped, thoughtfully designed bathroom.

At our modest little Vrbo in a Tokyo suburb—stacked on top of another unit like so many homes are—the kitchen was tiny. No dishwasher, no dryer, and very little cabinetry. But the toilet? It had its own designated room with a full bidet setup and a seat that stayed warm no matter how cold the floor was. It was one of the very first things we noticed, and honestly, it set the tone.

What struck me most was how different the values are. In the States, we often invest in big furniture and tech for our living rooms and bedrooms, while the bathroom is an afterthought. In Japan, the bathroom is a place of comfort and care. Even reverence. It's not just a functional pit stop—it's a part of daily life that deserves its own kind of softness.

Bathing Isn’t Just Hygiene—It’s a Whole Experience

Japan shares my love of a good bath. Not just the quick soak kind, but the deep, hot, melt-your-body kind—the kind of bathing that feels more like a ritual than a routine. Even in our tiny Vrbo, where the kitchen was small, and the bathroom barely had room for more than one person, there was a deep soaking tub. Short? Yes. But wonderfully hot and gloriously deep.

And then there were the bathhouses.
Before going to Japan, people kept asking me, “Are you going to try one of the onsens or sentos?” - which are Japan's communal bathhouses. I did. And no, it wasn’t weird. Yes, you do take your clothes off. And yes, you’re completely nude in the pools. But you realize quickly—everyone else is too. No one’s looking. It’s not awkward. It’s peaceful. There may be one or two that allow for men and women, but they're pretty much all separate unless you rent one out.

The one I visited with my daughter was called Soranoyu, up near the Narita airport, and it felt like stepping into a water-themed dream world. There were so many tub options—one with pink and purple water, a carbonated pool that gently bubbled against your skin, and then the bubbles rolled off, causing a tingling sensation, and a giant dark saltwater tub that was mineral-rich and healing. At one point, while sitting in the pink bath, an attendant came in with a wooden scooper and added something to the water that made my skin feel insanely soft. I didn’t ask what it was. I just basked in the magic.

There were cold plunge tubs (which I fully avoided) and shallow, body-shaped lying pools with a constant stream of hot water running over you. The water was so hot I didn’t even feel cold with part of my body out in the air. Another tub had jets. Each one had a different purpose, a different feeling—and all of them invited you to slow down and feel.

It’s not just about getting clean—it’s about resetting. Nourishing. Being in your body. And it’s everywhere. Bathhouses aren’t rare or hidden—they’re a normal part of life. I probably could’ve visited a dozen more if I’d had the time.

The only tricky part? Most bathhouses don’t allow tattoos, so we had to be choosy about where to go. But once we found one that welcomed us, I was all in. As someone who already loves baths and hot tubs, I felt completely at home in that world.

Built for People, Not Just Cars

Getting around in Japan felt completely different from anything I’ve experienced in the U.S. In Portland, we have the MAX—an above-ground rail system that’s helpful but pretty limited. It has a handful of lines and mostly runs to and from downtown. You still need a car for nearly everything else.

But in Japan, the transportation system is incredibly intricate. There are branches upon branches of train lines connecting every corner of the city. You can hop on one train, transfer to another, then another—and end up basically anywhere you need to go. You really only have to walk once you reach your destination. The rest of the time? You’re on foot or on public transit. It wasn't all rainbows; there were many occasions where we were sardined into a train car with people literally in our faces and very little to grab onto. I went and bought a mask after the first day of experiencing that.

And there were other, less popular areas where we could finally get off our feet and sit in the uncanny silence that exists on Tokyo transit. It was really nice to have that many people shoved into a car and still allow your ears to rest. Many of the trains had a theme- some with green velvet seats and a throwback to old royal times, some with Hello Kitty or anime decorations.

We took buses. We took trains. Bullet trains, which felt kind of like a land plane- but a bit more spacious.
We definitely walked a lot. But what we didn’t see much of? Cars. Sure, there were vehicles, especially in busier areas, but they weren’t the main act. In the suburb where we stayed, there were long stretches where we saw no cars at all. The roads were narrower, the sidewalks wider, and it felt like the whole infrastructure was built with walking and biking in mind.

We looked into calling an Uber once or twice—but after seeing that a single ride might cost $150 or more, we quickly settled into public transportation. It wasn’t just more affordable—it was faster and simpler (once we figured out how to read the train lines).

Much of our American infrastructure is built around the assumption that everyone will drive, and in most places, you kind of need a car.

One interesting part of public transit was the use of a SUICA card, which is something you'll 100% want to have if you ever go to Japan. This one little card covered everything. We used it for trains, buses, vending machines, convenience stores, and even restaurants. It's added to your phone's wallet, and you don't even have to unlock your phone- just tap and go (as long as you have money loaded on the card).

A different use of space

One thing that kind of surprised us was how space is used in Japan. While we often build outward in the U.S., in Japan, things tend to build up.

Especially in city centers, it’s common to see several completely unrelated businesses sharing one narrow building—each on its own floor. You might walk into a 7-Eleven at street level, then find a 99-yen shop above it, with a café or a clothing boutique a floor or two above that. It’s not one big multi-level store—it’s a different business on every level.

Most of the stores here in the States are laid out side-by-side. If you go to a Safeway—unless it’s part of a strip mall—there’s a good chance it’s surrounded by open space or a big parking lot. The buildings themselves tend to spread outward, not upward.

In Tokyo, especially, you can tell that they get really creative with the answer- What’s possible with the space we have?

Take, for example, the animal cafes. While pet ownership is increasing in Japan, 72% of Japanese respondents reported not currently raising any pets. For a variety of reasons—smaller homes, housing restrictions, a more mobile lifestyle—many people just don’t have the space for traditional pet ownership. I didn't see many, if any, yards in the suburbs we were in. Instead, pet cafés are everywhere, from owls to cats to micropigs. Some are questionable- I don't love the idea of owls being tethered in a cafe, but domestic cats are often indoors anyway, and had a pretty lavish setup.

We saw the most adorable pet shop with the cutest puppies, and they were VERY expensive- thousands of dollars.

Layers, Laundry, and Uniqlo

Another thing that stood out to me was the clothing. Not just the style, but the price, the practicality, and the quiet cultural differences in how people dress and care for what they own.

Let’s start with the obvious: clothing prices were amazing (at non-specialty places). I found so many quality pieces at Uniqlo (a super popular department store there) that I almost replaced my entire wardrobe on the spot.

But beyond the price, the style itself had a different rhythm. In the Tokyo suburbs, I noticed I was literally the only person at some train stations showing my arms. Downtown felt a little more relaxed, but overall, people tended to wear looser clothing, layered pieces, and higher necklines. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t skimpy, but it looked really Modern, Modest, and functional.

That same sense of intentionality showed up in how clothing was cared for, too. Dryers aren’t the norm in most homes—we didn’t have one in our VRBO. Everyone hangs their laundry to dry, which might sound inconvenient at first, but it’s just part of the rhythm of life there. You slow down. You air things out. It made me think about how quickly we move through our laundry in the States—wash, dry, toss, repeat—and how much less clothing we would probably collectively own if we had to hang dry everything.

And, of course, with smaller homes come smaller closets. There just isn’t space for 40 pairs of jeans and a dozen coats. Which, again, invites a different kind of relationship with your wardrobe that requires refinement. Wearing what fits your lifestyle. Choosing things that last.

Where’s the Trash Can?

Luckily, I knew to expect this, but there are basically no public trash cans in Japan. Yet Japan is spotless.

Seriously, we’d walk around for hours, tucking empty wrappers or drink bottles into our backpacks because there just wasn’t anywhere to toss them. At first, it was frustrating. But then it started to make sense. I saw no litter except near the 2 public trash cans we came into contact with.

In Japan, trash isn’t a city problem; it's a "you" problem, and you're expected to take care of it yourself. It’s your responsibility. Most people carry a little bag for their waste until they get home or find a designated spot. Think you'll have luck at a public restroom or a train station? Not likely. Just clean sidewalks, parks, and train platforms.

In the neighborhoods, trash disposal is just as structured. There are set pickup days, and everyone brings their bags to the designated corner and drops them off by 8 a.m. Recycling is separated and picked up on different days. No dumpsters, just piled bags because, again, the city doesn't store your trash; you do.

It made me realize how often we rely on convenience over care. Here in the U.S., we expect a trash can to be within arm’s reach at all times. We toss without thinking, often without sorting, and hope someone else takes care of the rest. But in Japan, you pause—because of the inconvenience of holding onto your own trash, whether in your home or in your backpack.

So, am I ready to move to Japan? There were definitely some drawbacks for my tastes, like the excessive above-ground cable lines that often blocked the scenery or the fact that I didn't come across one Mexican food restaurant the whole time (which was the first thing I ordered when coming back to the States).

As good as Japanese food is, it's not my favorite- I quickly got sick of anything soupy or saucy, and chicken was less popular than pork or beef at most of the places we went. And finding a delicious mattress was hit or miss. But there are 3 things that I 100% think we can and should learn from, and that's:
Respect (everywhere we went, customer service was gracious, and they acted genuinely happy to have you). I ran into zero sour customer service reps or rude people on the street.

• Respect: Respect is something that we've lost a LOT of as a culture here in the States. The people were genuinely friendly- not fake or patronizingly friendly- just friendly. The most heard phrase in all of Japan for our trip was "Arigato Gozaimasu" It was basically said on repeat no matter where you went. It means thank you very much.
• Transit: I don't know what was involved in creating the intricate train system that we found everywhere we went in Japan, but I think we could all learn something from it. It would be nice for the upkeep and cost of a car to not be a requirement, and for us to easily be able to travel anywhere in the country with no traffic concerns? Can you imagine? For less than the cost of gas? Financially and time-wise, it would be game-changing.
• Trash: As annoying as it was to not have convenient trash cans- I would 100% support that happening here to remove the trashiness of some areas. It seems to have been proven that a whole country can manage to do it. Of course, we probably don't have the culture to support success in this, unfortunately.