Walking through a supermarket the other day, I noticed a large figurine from a Japanese anime that had been hugely popular when I was a child.
Out of nostalgia, I picked up the box—and was surprised by how light it felt.
Inside was what seemed to be a large molded plastic object.
It wasn’t made in Japan, so I put it back.
That small moment stayed with me longer than I expected.
When I was a child, toys like that were usually heavy—often made of die-cast metal, solid and reassuring in the hand.
Looking back now, those lightweight plastic products feel somehow misleading, as if something essential has been quietly removed.
Some time ago, I asked someone in the automotive industry why inexpensive electric vehicles sell so well.
His answer was simple.
“They’re like home appliances,” he said.
“You buy a cheap refrigerator or washing machine, and when it breaks, you replace it. Cars are becoming the same—buy, break, replace. Over and over.”
That made sense.
If the price feels right, people will keep buying.
A car powered by a motor is relatively easy and inexpensive to manufacture compared with one built around a complex internal combustion engine, so the cycle of production and consumption accelerates.
I once heard a former Toyota executive say that the internal combustion engine is a concentration of technology—and that such technology must be preserved.
I believe he was right.
About six months ago, I bought a phone charger.
It broke after a short while, so I replaced it.
That one broke too.
In half a year, I’ve bought three chargers; including my wife’s, probably five or six in total.
All that remains is a growing pile of waste.
You rarely see products like this made in Japan.
Even brands with Japanese-sounding names often turn out, on closer inspection, not to be Japanese at all.
When products are not made in Japan, their quality is often too low to be truly usable.
Japanese products are known for high quality—and for not breaking.
But because they do not break, they do not need to be replaced, and therefore they do not sell as well.
No matter how good the quality is, if products are not replaced, the business model struggles.
Still, we consumers are not blameless.
We buy inexpensive products online with a single click, without ever touching them, guided by price rather than substance.
What worries me most is not the decline of Japanese products themselves, but the decline of the global standard of quality that Japan has long helped to uphold.
If that global standard falls, there is no easy recovery.
Consider what it means for the world to lose the quality standards once carried by the world’s second-largest economic power.
The answer does not take long to reach.
What is most frightening is that Japan itself may begin to accept this lower level as normal.
The world is quietly losing a precious asset called Japan.
If we continue to be driven only by price, the world may lose that standard of quality forever.
We must recognize this—because for now, at least, it may still be possible to stop it.
