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Thread: How to Hire Fake Friends and Family

  1. #1

    How to Hire Fake Friends and Family

    https://www.theatlantic.com/health/a...family/545060/

    ROC MORIN NOV 7, 2017

    In Japan, you can pay an actor to impersonate your relative, spouse, coworker, or any kind of acquaintance.




    Money may not be able to buy love, but here in Japan, it can certainly buy the appearance of love—and appearance, as the dapper Ishii Yuichi insists, is everything. As a man whose business involves becoming other people, Yuichi would know. The handsome and charming 36-year-old is on call to be your best friend, your husband, your father, or even a mourner at your funeral.

    His 8-year-old company, Family Romance, provides professional actors to fill any role in the personal lives of clients. With a burgeoning staff of 800 or so actors, ranging from infants to the elderly, the organization prides itself on being able to provide a surrogate for almost any conceivable situation.

    Yuichi believes that Family Romance helps people cope with unbearable absences or perceived deficiencies in their lives. In an increasingly isolated and entitled society, the CEO predicts the exponential growth of his business and others like it, as à la carte human interaction becomes the new norm.

    I sat down recently with Yuichi in a café on the outskirts of Tokyo, to discuss his business and what it means to be, in the words of his company motto, “more than real.”

    Roc Morin: Just to be perfectly clear, you’ve come as yourself today, haven’t you?

    Ishii Yuichi: Yes, at this moment I am only myself.

    Morin: What was your very first role?

    Yuichi: I had a single-mother friend, and she had a son. He was trying to enter a private school, but they denied him solely because he had no father. I wanted to challenge the unfairness of Japanese society, so I posed as his father.

    Morin: Were you successful?

    Yuichi: Not in that situation. But, it inspired the idea for this business.

    Morin: When was your first success?

    Yuichi: I played a father for a 12-year-old with a single mother. The girl was bullied because she didn’t have a dad, so the mother rented me. I’ve acted as the girl’s father ever since. I am the only real father that she knows.

    Morin: And this is ongoing?

    Yuichi: Yes, I’ve been seeing her for eight years. She just graduated high school.

    Morin: Does she understand that you’re not her real father?

    Yuichi: No, the mother hasn’t told her.

    Morin: How do you think she would feel if she discovered the truth?

    Yuichi: I think she would be shocked. If the client never reveals the truth, I must continue the role indefinitely. If the daughter gets married, I have to act as a father in that wedding, and then I have to be the grandfather. So, I always ask every client, “Are you prepared to sustain this lie?” It’s the most significant problem our company has.

    Morin: So, you could be involved with her for the rest of your life?

    Yuichi: It’s risky that she might discover the truth someday. In this company, one person can only have five families at a time. That’s the rule. It’s not only about secrecy. The client always asks for the ideal husband, the ideal father. That’s a very difficult role to maintain.


    Ishii Yuichi (Roc Morin)

    Morin: How do you determine what the ideal husband or father is?

    Yuichi: There’s an order form where every possible preference is listed: hairstyle, glasses, beard, fashion sense ... Do you like classy or casual? Is he affectionate or stern? When he arrives, should he be talkative or tired from a long day at work?

    Morin: What did the mother you mentioned earlier request on her form?

    Yuichi: She wanted the father to be kind, very kind. He would never yell. She wanted the kind of father that would be able to deliver wise advice.

    Morin: How did you create that persona?

    Yuichi: I’m not married in real life. I have no kids. At first, I couldn’t really find in myself the kind of father that she wanted me to be. So, I watched a lot of movies about fathers, and I cultivated my persona through the movies.

    Morin: Can you describe the sessions with your fake daughter?

    Yuichi: Sometimes we dine together. We’ve been to theme parks, like Disneyland. We go shopping in Harajuku once a month. The mother pays about 20,000 yen per four hours, plus expenses. That’s about $200.

    Morin: What’s your cover story?

    Yuichi: I told her I have my own family now, and that’s why I can’t see her often.

    Morin: What happened to the real father?

    Yuichi: Even the mother doesn’t know. There was a lot of physical violence. They divorced, and that was the end of it.

    Morin: Did you take his name?

    Yuichi: Yes, I use the father’s name—first and last.

    Morin: How do you handle it when the daughter gets angry or sad?

    Yuichi: I never yell, no matter what. That was in the order-form description. The girl was bullied also, if you remember, so her feelings can be very unsettling. There was also a rebellious time, in her teens. She was having difficulties with her mother. When she’s with me, though, she always asks, “Why do you have to leave now?” It’s unpleasant, but it is a reasonable emotion.

    Morin: Does she love you?

    Yuichi: She does. It’s easy to feel her love. She talks about her relationship with her mother, she shares sensitive feelings, she opens up to me.

    Morin: Does any aspect of your real self seep in?

    Yuichi: I don’t allow it to, otherwise I would become self-conscious.

    Morin: Do you feel like you have a responsibility to the daughter, because of your connection to her now?

    Yuichi: Depending on the situation, it’s different. The heaviness is different, but everywhere I go, I feel it—the responsibility.

    Morin: When you’re working, is it purely acting, or do the feelings ever become real?

    Yuichi: It’s a business. I’m not going to be her father for 24 hours. It’s a set time. When I am acting with her, I don't really feel that I love her, but when the session is over and I have to go, I do feel a little sad. The kids cry sometimes. They say, “Why do you have to leave?” In those instances, I feel very sorry that I’m faking it—very guilty. There are times, when I’m done with the work and I come back home, where I sit and watch TV. I find myself wondering, “Is this, now, the real me, or the actor?”

    Morin: How do you answer that question?

    Yuichi: I don’t think I have an answer. The person that used to be me—is he me now? I know that it’s common for actors to feel that way. If you’re a really good actor—if you’re in it all the time—it feels very unsettling.

    Morin: When do you feel the most like yourself?

    Yuichi: When I’m with my family, my real family. It’s agonizing to be alone and just think, “Is this really me, right now?” The inner monologues are tough.

    Morin: How do you know that your family hasn’t been hired?

    Yuichi: That’s a good question! No one knows.

    Morin: I have a project collecting dreams, and often work is a common theme. Do you dream about your work?

    Yuichi: I dream about my client—when she cries because I have to leave. It’s a very emotional situation.

    Morin: How is the dream different from reality?

    Yuichi: Sometimes, in the dream, I tell her the truth.

    Morin: What do you say?

    Yuichi: I say, “I’m very sorry. I’m a member of the Family Romance corporation. I’m not your true father.” Right before she can respond—just as she opens her mouth to speak, I wake up. I am terrified of the answer, so I just wake up.

    Morin: Are you ever someone else in your dreams?

    Yuichi: In Japanese business culture, there is a situation where you have to visit a company and say I’m deeply sorry for what I did and just bow and bow. Occasionally, I dream about that.

    Morin: How does that work when you’re hired to do that in real life?

    Yuichi: Usually, I accompany a salaryman who made a mistake. I take the identity of the salaryman myself, then I apologize profusely for his mistake. Have you seen the way we say sorry? You go have to down on your hands and knees on the floor. Your hands have to tremble. So, my client is there standing off to the side—the one who actually made the mistake—and I’m prostrate on the floor writhing around, and the boss is there red-faced as he hurls down abuse from above. Sometimes, I wonder to myself, “Am I actually doing this?”

    Morin: What do you feel?

    Yuichi: I feel extremely uncomfortable. I’m just thinking, “I’m innocent!” I want to point at the actual culprit and shout, “He did it!”

    Morin: Are you ever hired to apologize in other situations?

    Yuichi: Yes, sometimes in relationships. Imagine there’s a married couple, and the wife cheats on the husband. When that happens, the husband often demands a confrontation with the other man. Naturally, this can be difficult to arrange, because the man usually runs away. In that case, they bring me instead.

    Morin: What happens then?

    Yuichi: There’s a manual for everything in this company. We use psychology to determine the optimal outcome. In this case, the standard tactic is to make me look like a yakuza [gangster]. Typically, I arrive with the wife, and the husband is there, and suddenly I will just bow then deeply apologize. Usually, the husband will berate me, but because I appear to be a yakuza, he won’t pursue the matter further.

    Morin: I understand you work as a boyfriend too. Can you describe that experience?

    Yuichi: Those clients are usually older ladies. It used to be primarily women in their 50s, but now there are even more women in their 30s.

    Morin: Is this sexual or just platonic?

    Yuichi: It’s a dating situation. It’s not about having sexual relations, although some women have expected that. Generally, the women just want to have fun with a younger man. They want to feel young again.

    Morin: Why do you think these women hire you?

    Yuichi: The women typically say that in a real relationship, you’re slowly building trust. It takes years to create a strong connection. For them, it’s a lot of hassle and disappointment. Imagine investing five years with someone and then they break up with you. It’s just easier to schedule two hours per week to interact with an ideal boyfriend. There’s no conflict, no jealousy, no bad habits. Everything is perfect.

    Morin: You’ve been on so many fake dates—what is it like for you, in your own personal life, to go on an actual date?

    Yuichi: I don’t have a real girlfriend right now. Real dating feels like work. It feels like work to care for a real person.

    Morin: Do you plan on having a family someday?

    Yuichi: Honestly, I’m full. I’m full of family, and I feel like it’s a lot to manage. Sometimes, a client asks me to be there in the room when she gives birth. One time, the client was a pregnant woman, and rather than ask her parents, she wanted me to be there. So, I went. Some women propose to me, and I say no, but it’s very hard for me to say no.

    Morin: Why?

    Yuichi: Many women say, “I want to marry you.” I say, “You’re in love with an order form. It’s not me—it’s the acting that you love.” If I married her, I’d have to keep acting. And, there are certain women who are wonderful, but the soul I have with them is not my real soul. So, I cannot and I would not.

    Morin: Do you ever prefer playing a role to being yourself?

    Yuichi: I like playing the caring father. I play with the kids, even when I’m tired. It’s very tough when you're exhausted, but you still show up, and you try to create happiness. That’s the kind of father I admire, even when it’s me.

    Morin: What is your favorite role?

    Yuichi: It doesn’t happen often, but there are cases when I have to be a groom. There are situations where parents pressure a daughter to marry—if she’s a lesbian, for example. So, they have an entire wedding, and it’s a fake wedding, except for the client’s family. The friends, and everyone else are fake. My side is all fake. Fifty fake people all pretending it’s real. The cost is 2 million yen, for everyone.

    Morin: How many times have you been married?

    Yuichi: Three times.

    Morin: And the brides—they never see you again?

    Yuichi: We never meet again.

    Morin: Do the brides get emotional—having to marry a stranger?

    Yuichi: The women usually don’t like showing emotion to me, but sometimes I feel emotional. Everyone on my side is a coworker, and they’re all celebrating me. So, there is a moment when it does seem very real.

    Morin: Why do you think this kind of business thrives in Japan specifically?

    Yuichi: The Japanese are not expressive people. There is a communication deficit. In conversation, we do not express ourselves, our opinions, our emotions. Others come first, before our own desires. The family size is diminishing too. Families used to be larger. Now, you eat alone.

    Morin: What do you predict for the future of your business?

    Yuichi: The demand is increasing. More people, for example, want help to appear popular on social media. We had one man recently who paid a huge sum just to fly with five employees to Las Vegas and take pictures for Facebook.

    Morin: Have you or any of your employees hired other actors for your own lives?

    Yuichi: It happens. For instance, some employees hire actors to praise them in the presence of people they want to impress. Personally, when I throw speaking seminars, I often bring extras to bolster the crowd.

    Morin: Is everyone in the world replaceable?

    Yuichi: That’s a very good question. I’m not sure. There was one case of a man in his 60s. His wife died, and he wanted to order another copy of her. We provided that.

    Morin: And he called the new woman by his wife’s old name?

    Yuichi: Yes, the same name, and he wanted her to call him what his wife had. She called him Otōsan—it means father. In Japan, it’s pretty common to say father, even if you’re the wife.

    Morin: Did she have the same memories as the wife?

    Yuichi: There are certain memories, yes. There’s a blank sheet, and the client writes the memories that he wants the wife to remember.

    Morin: When your employees mimic a strong emotional connection like that—is it ever a problem that they become too emotionally attached to their clients?

    Yuichi: Attachment is a problem. So, there are rules. They cannot share personal contact information. If it’s a boyfriend or girlfriend scenario, they cannot be alone in a room. They can hold hands, but they cannot hug. No kissing. No sex.

    Morin: What makes your company different from competitors?

    Yuichi: We have a huge variation of employees and the dedication to create an experience that surpasses reality. That’s why our motto is “more than real.” We had a case recently where a dying man wanted to see his grandchild, but it would not have been born in time. His daughter was able to rent an infant for the day.

    Morin: What does it mean to be “more than real”?

    Yuichi: There are less concerns. There is less misunderstanding and conflict. Our clients can expect better results.

    Morin: You’re offering a more perfect form of reality?

    Yuichi: More ideal. More clean.

    Morin: Are there any requests that you’ve rejected?

    Yuichi: Unless it’s a crime, we will accept any request. Some people with anorexia, for example, want to see people who are willing to eat in front of them. They just find relief in watching a person who eats a lot. We will even do that.

    Morin: What does the word “real” mean to you?

    Yuichi: I believe the term “real” is misguided. Take Facebook, for example. Is that real? Even if the people in the pictures haven’t been paid, everything is curated to such an extent that it hardly matters.

    Morin: Do you believe that the concept of “realness” has become invalid?

    Yuichi: I believe that the world is always unfair, and my business exists because of that unfairness.

    Morin: So, you are correcting injustice?

    Yuichi: A woman with a boyfriend doesn’t need to hire a boyfriend. A man with a father doesn’t need to hire a father. It's about bringing balance to society.

    Morin: Is it possible to avoid the truth forever?

    Yuichi: The truth does have to come out eventually. The happiness is not endless, but that doesn’t mean that it’s without value. The child had a father when she needed him most. It might have been a brief period, and she might know the truth now, but she had a meaningful experience at that time.

    Morin: In your own personal life, what do you want that you don't have?

    Yuichi: There is nothing more that I want. I've met so many clients. I've played so many roles with them. By doing my job, their dreams come true. In that way, my dreams come true as well. I feel fulfilled, just being needed.



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  3. #2
    Japan went insane when we destroyed their culture.
    Never attempt to teach a pig to sing; it wastes your time and annoys the pig.

    Robert Heinlein

    Give a man an inch and right away he thinks he's a ruler

    Groucho Marx

    I love mankind…it’s people I can’t stand.

    Linus, from the Peanuts comic

    You cannot have liberty without morality and morality without faith

    Alexis de Torqueville

    Those who fail to learn from the past are condemned to repeat it.
    Those who learn from the past are condemned to watch everybody else repeat it

    A Zero Hedge comment

  4. #3
    Quote Originally Posted by Swordsmyth View Post
    Japan went insane when we destroyed their culture.
    He makes a good point about Facebag.

  5. #4
    Quote Originally Posted by timosman View Post
    He makes a good point about Facebag.
    Choosing one insanity over another is not a sign of mental health.
    Never attempt to teach a pig to sing; it wastes your time and annoys the pig.

    Robert Heinlein

    Give a man an inch and right away he thinks he's a ruler

    Groucho Marx

    I love mankind…it’s people I can’t stand.

    Linus, from the Peanuts comic

    You cannot have liberty without morality and morality without faith

    Alexis de Torqueville

    Those who fail to learn from the past are condemned to repeat it.
    Those who learn from the past are condemned to watch everybody else repeat it

    A Zero Hedge comment

  6. #5
    I wonder if all my children have pretend fathers...
    Pfizer Macht Frei!

    Openly Straight Man, Danke, Awarded Top Rated Influencer. Community Standards Enforcer.


    Quiz: Test Your "Income" Tax IQ!

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    The Federalist Papers, No. 15:

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  7. #6
    Quote Originally Posted by Danke View Post
    I wonder if all my children have pretend fathers...
    You should hire someone if they don't.

  8. #7

    “A Theory of Relativity."

    https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2...amily-industry

    April 30, 2018

    Two years ago, Kazushige Nishida, a Tokyo salaryman in his sixties, started renting a part-time wife and daughter. His real wife had recently died. Six months before that, their daughter, who was twenty-two, had left home after an argument and never returned.

    “I thought I was a strong person,” Nishida told me, when we met one night in February, at a restaurant near a train station in the suburbs. “But when you end up alone you feel very lonely.” Tall and slightly stooped, Nishida was wearing a suit and a gray tie. He had a deep voice and a gentle, self-deprecating demeanor.

    Of course, he said, he still went to work every day, in the sales division of a manufacturing company, and he had friends with whom he could go out for drinks or play golf. But at night he was completely alone. He thought he would feel better over time. Instead, he felt worse. He tried going to hostess clubs. Talking to the ladies was fun, but at the end of the night you were alone again, feeling stupid for having spent so much money.

    Then he remembered a television program he had seen, about a company called Family Romance, one of a number of agencies in Japan that rent out replacement relatives. One client, an elderly woman, had spoken enthusiastically about going shopping with her rental grandchild. “The grandchild was just a rental, but the woman was still really happy,” Nishida recalled.

    Nishida contacted Family Romance and placed an order for a wife and a daughter to join him for dinner. On the order form, he noted his daughter’s age, and his wife’s physique: five feet tall and a little plump. The cost was forty thousand yen, about three hundred and seventy dollars. The first meeting took place at a café. The rental daughter was more fashionable than Nishida’s real daughter—he used the English word “sharp”—but the wife immediately impressed him as “an ordinary, generic middle-aged woman.” He added, “Unlike, for example, Ms. Matsumoto”—he nodded toward my interpreter, Chie Matsumoto—“who might look like a career woman.” Chie, a journalist, teacher, and activist, who has spiky salt-and-pepper hair and wears plastic-framed glasses, laughed as she translated this qualification.


    The wife asked Nishida for details about how she and the daughter should act. Nishida demonstrated the characteristic toss of the head with which his late wife had rearranged her hair, and his daughter’s playful way of poking him in the ribs. Then the women started acting. The rental wife called him Kazu, just as his real wife had, and tossed her head to shake back her hair. The rental daughter playfully poked him in the ribs. An observer would have taken them for a real family.

    Nishida booked a second meeting. This time, the wife and daughter came to his house. The wife cooked okonomiyaki, a kind of pancake that Nishida’s late wife had made, while Nishida chatted with the daughter. Then they ate dinner together and watched television.

    More family dinners followed, usually at Nishida’s house, though one time they went out for monjayaki, another variety of pancake beloved by the late Mrs. Nishida. It hadn’t been a fancy meal, and Nishida wondered whether he should have taken the women, who were, after all, his guests, to a nicer place. Then again, in real life, the Nishidas hadn’t gone to any of those nicer places.

    Before another meeting, it occurred to Nishida to send Family Romance a copy of his house key. When he came home from work that night, the lights were on, the house was warm, and a wife and daughter were there to say, “Welcome home.”

    “That was very nice,” Nishida recalled, smiling slightly. He said he didn’t miss the women when they left—not with any sense of urgency or longing. But he did think, “It would be nice to spend some time like that with them again.”

    Nishida said that, although he still calls them by the names of his wife and daughter, and the meetings still take the form of family dinners, the women have, to some extent, stopped acting and “turned into their own selves.” The rental wife sometimes “breaks out of the shell of the rental family” enough to complain about her real husband, and Nishida gives her advice. With this loosening of the roles, he realized that he, too, had been acting, playing the part of “a good husband and father,” trying not to seem too miserable, telling his daughter how to hold her rice bowl. Now he felt lighter, able for the first time to talk about his real daughter, about how shocked he had been when she announced her decision to move in with a boyfriend he had never met, and how they had argued and broken off contact.

    On the subject of the real daughter, the rental daughter had a lot to say: as someone in her early twenties, she could tell that Nishida hadn’t spoken correctly, or expressed himself in the right way. He’d made it hard for his daughter to apologize and it was up to him to create an opening. “Your daughter is waiting for you to call her,” she told him. To me, this sentence had the eerie ring of something uttered at a séance. Nishida himself seemed uncertain about how and for whom the rental daughter had spoken. “She was acting as a rental daughter, but at the same time she was telling me how she felt as a real daughter,” he said. “And yet, if it was a real father-daughter relationship, maybe she wouldn’t have spoken this honestly.”

    Eventually, Nishida called his daughter—something he says he wouldn’t have done if the rental substitute hadn’t helped him see her point of view. It took a few tries to get through, but they were eventually able to talk. One day, he came home from work to find fresh flowers for his wife on the family altar, and he understood that his daughter had been at the house while he was gone.

    “I’ve been telling her to come home,” he said carefully, folding and refolding a hand towel that the waitress had brought him. “I’m hoping to meet her again soon.”

    Yūichi Ishii, the founder of Family Romance, told me that he and his “cast” actively strategize in order to engineer outcomes like Nishida’s, in which the rental family makes itself redundant in the client’s life. His goal, he said, is “to bring about a society where no one needs our service.” A handsome man in his mid-thirties, he came to one of our meetings straight from a TV interview, wearing a pin-striped suit and matching cufflinks and tie pin that featured a blue cameo with a horse. His business card has a cartoon of his face on it, and a slogan that translates as “More pleasure than the pleasure reality can provide.”

    Born in Tokyo, Ishii grew up on the Chiba coast, where his father was a fruit dealer and his mother taught swimming. When he was in elementary school, his friends would gather around a pay phone to listen to him make prank calls, disguising his voice as a grownup’s; only he could make such calls without laughing. At twenty, he was scouted by a talent agency, and got a few jobs as a model and a movie extra. He also had regular work as a caregiver for the elderly. He showed me pictures on his phone of his younger self at different senior-home festivities, dressed variously as Marilyn Manson or in drag, surrounded by delighted residents. He loved the feeling of helping people, and was proud of being the most requested caregiver, even when residents were transferred to different facilities. In effect, he was already a rental grandson.

    Eleven years ago, a friend of Ishii’s, a single mother, told him that she was having trouble getting her daughter into a competitive kindergarten, because schools favored children whose parents were married. Ishii volunteered to impersonate the child’s father at a school interview. The interview was not a success—the daughter wasn’t used to him and their interaction was stilted—but it filled him with the desire to do better, and to “correct injustice” by helping other women in his friend’s situation. Looking around to see whether anyone had thought to start a professional service of this kind, he came across the Web site of a rental-relative agency called Hagemashi-tai.

    Hagemashi-tai, which can be translated as “I want to cheer you up,” was started in 2006 by Ryūichi Ichinokawa, a middle-aged former salaryman with a wife and two sons. Five years earlier, Ichinokawa had been deeply shaken by news of a stabbing at a private elementary school in a suburb of Osaka, in which eight children around his sons’ age were killed. Such incidents are rare in Japan, and schools weren’t equipped with appropriate counselling services, so Ichinokawa enrolled in a psychology course, hoping to become a school counsellor. Instead, he ended up launching a Web site that offered counselling by e-mail. From there, he branched out into renting relatives. A lot of problems, it seemed, were caused by some missing person, and often the simplest solution was to find a substitute.

    Ishii registered with Hagemashi-tai, but, at twenty-six, he was considered too young for husband and father roles, and his only jobs were as a wedding guest. Weddings are the bread and butter of the rental-relative business, perhaps because traditions that dictate the number of guests haven’t changed to reflect increasing urbanization and migration, shrinking families, and decreased job security. Laid-off grooms rent replacements for co-workers and supervisors. People who changed schools a lot rent childhood friends. The newly affianced, reluctant to trouble one another with family problems, may rent substitutes for parents who are divorced, incarcerated, or mentally ill. One Hagemashi-tai client simply didn’t want to tell his fiancée that his parents were dead, so he rented replacements.


    ...



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