“Junjapa” vs “Kikokushijo” and “Hafu”

“Pure Japanese.” For some foreign commentators, the term 純ジャパ (junjapa) has become proof that Japan is obsessed with purity—another sign of its ethnocentrism. Online, the word is frequently translated and condemned as a linguistic cousin of “blood purity.”

It is easy to see why many see junjapa as an exclusionary term used to separate “ordinary” Japanese from hafu or kikokushijo.

But that reading deserves to be questioned. The reality of “junjapa” is tangled, ironic, and classed. In practice, the term is often used not by ethnonationalists but by internationally educated or mixed-heritage Japanese to mock those seen as “too local” or “native (and naive)”. People who grew up entirely in Japan, speak only Japanese, and lack the global polish expected in elite bilingual circles are “junjapa”. Far from being a badge of ethnic pride, junjapa is usually an insult—let’s dive in.

Lost in Translation

Much of the discomfort around “junjapa” starts with translation. When rendered as “pure Japanese,” the term sounds clearly wrong. Yet “純” in Japanese doesn’t always carry the same moral charge as “pure.” It’s closer to “simple” or “unmixed,” as in “単純” (tanjun, simple or gullible) or “純粋” (junsui, sincere or naive). Kanji work more like particles than standalone words.

Even English phrases like “full Japanese” risk similar traps. If someone isn’t “full,” the opposite is framed as lacking. Yes, xenophobia and exclusion of mixed-heritage people are real problems in Japan, but calling junjapa inherently purist misses the actual issue behind it.

It’s true that no one is entirely “pure” or “full” in a scientific sense, considering the long history of human migration. However, that argument can turn into another kind of blindness. It risks erasing the real, visible challenges that mixed people face in societies—for example, when discussions about hafu in Japan are dismissed with the phrase “no one is pure.”

The term itself is problematic, and it shouldn’t be defended. But the problem with it is not what many people assume.

“Junjapa” as a Derogatory Term

In Japan, being a kikokushijo (returnees or someone who has returned from studying abroad) or being hāfu (half, most often referring to those of mixed Japanese and Western heritage) is often seen as cool. People who speak English that naturally or have lived abroad tend to be admired, not only in international schools but across pop culture, advertising, and job markets that prize a “global” image. (They are often assumed to be Western and also English-speaking.)

Hence, in most cases, junjapa is not used to glorify purity at all. It often appears in international or bilingual spaces in Japan as an insult.

The word was first popularized in schools with a large kikokushijo or hāfu population. Among students at places like Sophia’s Faculty of Liberal Arts, Waseda’s SILS, or ICU, it describes someone who grew up entirely in Japan, speaks only Japanese, and is seen as less “global.” The divide is not only about language but also about class. Those who speak English or other Western languages fluently often do so because they studied abroad or attended international schools, opportunities that depend on money and access. By contrast, people who learned English in Japan or have never lived overseas are more likely to be labeled junjapa.

In this sense, junjapa becomes shorthand for a lack of international polish, a way of separating the cosmopolitan from the provincial. Some international schools even cap the number of Japanese students, despite being in Japan, to maintain a “diverse” image that often just means “more Western.” The logic is less about inclusion than about aesthetics, and it quietly reinforces the idea that Westernness equals sophistication.

Beauty Standards of Being “Un-Japanese”

In Japan, beauty is often coded as a negotiation between the familiarty and western influence.

Over recent decades, hafu (usually referring to those of mixed Japanese and white heritage) have become disproportionately visible in fashion, media, advertising, and entertainment.

Sayumi Gunji, editorial director of Numéro Tokyo, has said that “almost all top models in their twenties” in popular fashion magazines are not fully Asian (Japanese) but of mixed Caucasian descent, describing it as an unspoken requirement. Many models have also reported pay gaps, with brand and agency call sheets explicitly listing lower rates for junjapa models.

This overrepresentation helps shape what “beautiful” looks like in Japan. When the public sees mostly hafu faces on billboards and magazine covers, it reinforces the idea that to look beautiful is to look less like the native East Asian population.

This dynamic has consequences for mixed-race people as well. The hafu ideal overwhelmingly favors those of white and Japanese heritage, who dominate representation in fashion and media. Those with Black, brown, or other nonwhite backgrounds are often sidelined, sometimes described as the “other side” of hafu.

In public discourse, people may say “日本人離れしている” (“you look un-Japanese”) as a compliment, since the end of World War II. That phrase quietly suggests that typical Japanese features are less beautiful.

None of this is to claim that mixed people, have an easy relationship with identity. But white privilege and Western-centrism still shape beauty and aspiration in Japan. The fact that Japan is an Asian-majority country does not cancel those dynamics. Within its borders, white privilege remains white privilege.

Un-Japanese as Compliments

Junjapa is a small word loaded with big tensions. It reflects translation bias, class hierarchy, language privilege, Westernized beauty norms, identity politics, and a lingering colonial gaze, all at once.

In most cases, junjapa is used as an insult, and the same bias appears among Western foreigners too. Many of us, often without realizing it, tell Japanese people “you’re not really Japanese” or “you don’t seem Japanese,” meaning it as a compliment. It implies that being “Japanese” is to be less self-aware or somehow outside a more conscious circle.

Behind such remarks lies an old colonial gaze, one that divides people into those who “understand us” and those who do not, as if the “natives” were less conscious, less modern, or less capable of reflection. It happens simply because we are the ones stepping into the country, carrying our own assumptions and cultural standards. Praising someone for not being like the locals who supposedly “don’t get it” is still a way of making ourselves the measure of understanding.

These comments may sound harmless in casual conversation, yet they sustain the same hierarchy that makes Westernness the default setting for cosmopolitanism. We should not dismiss junjapa as proof of Japanese purism but instead ask where it is used, by whom, toward whom, and in what context. The task is not to defend the word but to understand the inequalities it reveals.

Japanese identity can include those born entirely in Japan, those raised abroad, those mixed, those monolingual, and those cosmopolitan—all valid ways of being Japanese.

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