Is MUJI Really Zen? Do Japanese People Actually Love Minimalism That Much?

MUJI is now known around the world. Here in Japan, where it is called Mujirushi Ryohin, it has been part of everyday life for decades.

Occasionally, I hear its simple designs and muted colors described as an expression of the Japanese Zen spirit.

As a Japanese person, this comes as something of a surprise.

Apparently, we’ve been reaching spiritual enlightenment while buying storage boxes.

People certainly like MUJI because its simplicity looks good and feels calming. But I don’t hear many people around me talking about Zen when they shop there.

You’re more likely to hear, “Zen… that’s the sitting-cross-legged thing, right?”

From abroad, we seem considerably more spiritually sophisticated than we feel at home.

“You Can’t Really Go Wrong with MUJI”

I think there’s another, more everyday reason people choose MUJI:

You can’t really go wrong with it.

It fits with the furniture you already own. The clothes are easy to combine. You don’t have to chase every trend.

You’d like things to look nice, but having your personal taste put to the test with every purchase gets tiring.

MUJI offers a little relief. Buy a few things there, and the colors and shapes are unlikely to start an argument in your living room.

The same reassurance makes MUJI a useful place to buy gifts.

As the giver, you can reasonably hope nobody will question your taste.

As the recipient, you’re unlikely to feel that someone has handed you a cheap, thoughtless gift.

You might not leap into the air with joy. But it usually lands somewhere comfortably above the point where your grateful smile has to be entirely fictional.

The giver can relax. The recipient can smile sincerely.

A small win-win that protects everyone’s taste—and everyone’s feelings. That’s MUJI.

Whether this qualifies as Zen enlightenment is debatable. It does seem quite good for keeping the peace.

Sometimes, “Safe” Includes What Other People Think

I suspect there’s a little of this in the way people choose iPhones in Japan, too.

Of course, plenty of people love the features. But there’s also comfort in knowing that other people use the same device, someone can help if you get stuck, and you’re making a familiar choice.

Here, “going wrong” doesn’t just mean buying something that doesn’t work properly.

It can also mean hearing:

“Why did you choose that?”

“Isn’t that a bit… unfashionable?”

If we can avoid those conversations, all the better.

What we personally like matters. But how our choice might look to other people can find its way into the decision, too.

Less spiritual enlightenment, perhaps. More avoiding unnecessary damage while shopping.

That feels rather more familiar to me.

Naturally, some people choose MUJI because they actively love its design. But explaining its appeal entirely as “Japanese people love minimalism” makes the story a little too neat.

A simple-looking choice doesn’t necessarily have a simple reason behind it.

A Beautiful Website Still Has Questions to Answer

This desire to avoid a bad choice also shows up when we design websites for Japanese customers.

Take online English lessons.

A great photograph of the teacher. A stylish headline. A “Book Now” button.

Lovely atmosphere.

But we still have questions.

Am I welcome if I barely speak English? How long is each lesson? How much does it cost? Do we use Zoom? Can I book just a trial? Will someone suddenly call me and start speaking English?

I want to learn English. I wasn’t planning to take an entrance exam just to make a booking.

“This looks fun” doesn’t always get someone to press the button.

“I think I could actually do this” gets them closer.

That’s why a photograph of someone like them enjoying a lesson may sometimes do more than a beautifully styled portrait of the teacher.

One shows who teaches the lesson. The other helps the customer imagine taking it.

Prices, lesson steps, what to prepare, and what happens after booking can help, too.

These aren’t necessarily awkward details that spoil the mood. They may be the details that make booking possible.

Storage Boxes and Booking Websites Are Different Things

Just because someone likes a simple storage box doesn’t mean they want an equally sparse booking website.

A storage box is fairly self-explanatory.

An unfamiliar service from an overseas business is rather less so.

This doesn’t mean covering every available pixel with information. It means making the right answers easy to find, before the customer has to go looking for them—or gives up.

And Japanese customers aren’t all alike. A confident, experienced customer may need very little explanation. Someone trying something for the first time may appreciate considerably more.

Before designing around an imagined Japanese Zen spirit, try imagining where your particular customer might feel uncertain.

If you’re building a website for Japanese customers who aren’t quite ready to move on vibes alone, you may need to explain things a little more clearly—and a little more kindly—than you expected.

But hey, what do I know?