Paying for a date had a surprising effect.
Text and photos by Josephine Bowman
I’ve been single for almost four years now. I’m somewhere between being okay with it and dreaming of suffocating under my silk pillowcase at night. But on one recent date, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time. The moment he held an umbrella over my head to protect my bleached blonde hair from getting rained on, those loud, lonely moments went away. Even though I was paying for it, it didn’t make it any less special.
Growing up in Los Angeles, it was easy to feel like prey in a concrete forest. I had “bloomed” earlier than some girls in my grade, making me susceptible to unwarranted attention. Often from boys older than me.
Japan has felt different. Into week three of my study abroad program, I rented a boyfriend. The hour I spent with this stranger felt closer to a real date than any back home.
I had heard about the rent-a-boyfriend market from a friend I met in my first week. The idea of it was so bizarre to me. Back home, the only things “rentable” are along the lines of cars, houses and prostitutes. I laughed, thinking, “Who would even?” But it got less funny once I realized I am the target market.
Rental boyfriend services have been around in Japan for years, following the rental girlfriend craze of the 2010s. People visiting or living in Japan go to the rental websites and pick through profiles and photos, deciding who they want to go on a date with.
All rental partners have different terms of pricing and rules, except for one: The dates are not sexual. Paying for sex is illegal in Japan. The Anti-Prostitution Law, set in 1956, prohibits “penis in vagina” penetrative sex. This boundary is set early in the process for any rental-relationship.
I don’t need to have sex with a stranger. That wouldn’t fill the void that’s been gaping under my heart, waiting for my ribs to break from the pressure in my chest.
So I withdrew 8,500 yen ($52.50) with my debit card and rented a boyfriend. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen. Oftentimes, I avoid doing things I’m not in charge of. I prefer being involved in planning. It’s easier than being disappointed.
My date was 22-year-old Kazuki Haruda. We met at a train station near my hotel. I never told him where I was staying, though. I’ve had enough men in my life think they can show up at my door, unannounced.
It was raining on our date, which I would typically take as a sign from god that this date would lead me home crying. But why was I even thinking about the date as if real emotions would be involved?
It’s hard to consider a dating pool when I’ve been on more flights than dates this year. The guys at my college can be grimy and sticky, but Haruda felt different. He dressed in a button-down with well-groomed hair. He came across instantly as a gentleman, leaning in for a hug.
“You’re so beautiful,” said Haruda. I don’t take compliments well. Most of my experiences with being complimented in the past feel manipulative. The praise isn’t to make me blush, but in an attempt to make my pants unbutton faster. In this case, the realization that I was paying him to adore me gave me pause.
“Thank you – I try,” I joked back. I figure if I turn someone’s compliment into self-deprecation, they will stop.
But when he said, “You don’t have to try,” I felt my barriers lower. He can’t have sex with me, so he has to mean it.
Sometimes it feels like sex is all men think I have to offer. Men back home tend to be more interested in how I will perceive them, rather than in me. They throw around cliches that my “clothes would look better on their bedroom floor,” or that my natural stare is seducing them.
Haruda maintained eye contact, and it felt sincere. He was listening to my responses to his questions. He was interested in my job and goals as a journalist, requesting links to websites where I’ve been published.
The date gave me a glimpse of what I should be accepting into my life. I can be beautiful to someone, not just sexy. My longing for a relationship doesn’t have to be treacherous; it can be meaningful. Under his umbrella and the warmth of his hug, I paid for more than a boyfriend. I paid for a revelation.
