In Japanese schools, there are many so-called “black school rules”—unreasonable regulations imposed not for the sake of learning or safety, but to enforce uniformity and control.
For example, only straight black hair is officially permitted. If your natural hair isn’t pitch black or happens to be wavy, you are required to submit a “natural hair certificate” to prove that you haven’t dyed or permed it.
The rules don’t stop there. Underwear must be plain white or beige. Only one small charm is allowed on your school bag. Makeup is strictly forbidden, and even sunscreen counts as “cosmetics” and is therefore banned. Drinking water in class was once considered “disrespectful” to teachers and prohibited. And tying your hair back in a ponytail was outlawed for the bizarre reason that “boys might be aroused by seeing the nape of your neck.”
When I was in junior high school, I struggled because my natural hair was slightly lighter and loosely wavy. Several teachers would interrogate me with questions like, “Did you dye your hair?” or “Did you get a perm?” In winter my curls were manageable, but during Japan’s humid rainy season they always intensified. Even if I straightened my hair in the morning, by midday my bangs would already start curling again. I was constantly anxious, afraid that teachers might scold me at any moment.
The philosophy of my junior high school was to enforce absolute homogeneity: everyone should have the same hairstyle, wear the same clothes, and do the same things at the same time. Even the slightest deviation was punished. The nail that sticks out gets hammered down. I felt so suffocated that one summer vacation I rebelled by bleaching my hair blonde and spending days hanging around in smoky arcades.
At that time, Japanese TV often aired footage of North Korea’s mass games—thousands of people performing synchronized gymnastics and dances. My classmates found those scenes surreal and a little strange, but I couldn’t help feeling uneasy. After all, weren’t we ourselves receiving a similar kind of uniform education, albeit to a lesser degree?
Fortunately, the high school I later attended—about the equivalent of a 3.7–3.9 GPA level school in the U.S.—had much looser rules. Nobody cared if my hair was a shade of dark brown. Looking back, it wasn’t my high school that was unusual, but rather my junior high that was extreme. The sense of release was exhilarating, as if the sky had suddenly opened up wide above me.
Since the beginning of Japan’s Reiwa era (which started in 2019), school regulations have gradually been reviewed, and campaigns like “Let’s Abolish Black School Rules” have gained traction. As someone who was a student during the Heisei era, I can only feel envious. Yet even now, many of these bizarre rules remain stubbornly entrenched across Japan.
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