Fernando Lira did not move to Japan with an interest in fashion. A native of the Netherlands, Lira arrived a decade ago with a focused objective: master the Japanese language and carve out a career in logistics. However, as he navigated the transition from a foreign student to the CEO of an import business, he discovered that the most profound lessons in professional credibility were not found in textbooks, but in the mirror.
For Lira, now 35, the process of adapting to the unspoken dress code in Japanese offices became a masterclass in cultural assimilation. In a society where harmony and collective identity often supersede individual expression, the clothes one wears serve as a silent signal of role, seniority, and respect for the group.
Lira’s journey began ten years ago when he was 25. He intentionally bypassed the international bubble of Tokyo, enrolling in a program in Fukuoka, a city roughly 550 miles southwest of the capital. He chose the region specifically because it offered a more challenging linguistic environment where English was less likely to serve as a crutch. It was here that he began to realize that in Japan, professional belonging is often visually codified.
The hidden boundaries of ‘casual’
Lira’s early professional experiences highlighted the gap between stated rules and actual expectations. At a tech startup where he worked shortly after graduation, the atmosphere appeared relaxed. On the surface, the company lacked a rigid dress code, leading many to believe that attire was a matter of personal preference.
That perception shifted abruptly when a colleague arrived at the office wearing flip-flops. Despite the casual vibe of the startup, the engineer received a formal warning. The incident served as a pivotal lesson for Lira: even in the most modern or “relaxed” Japanese workplaces, there is a baseline of decorum that cannot be breached without risking one’s professional standing.
This rigidity became even more apparent in Lira’s subsequent role as a driver for a transportation company. Here, the dress code was no longer unspoken; it was mandated. Lira was issued a full uniform and given strict instructions, including a prohibition on wearing sunglasses while driving.
Within that organization, clothing functioned as a map of the company’s hierarchy. Administrative staff wore uniform jackets layered over dress shirts and ties, while warehouse employees wore safety vests, and helmets. Crucially, the color of the helmets indicated the wearer’s specific role and level of seniority, making the corporate structure visible at a glance.
Defining the CEO’s uniform
In 2020, Lira launched JML Group, an import business designed to help international food and beverage brands penetrate the Japanese market. As a CEO, he faced a new challenge: creating a personal brand that commanded respect while remaining functional. Having previously served in the Royal Netherlands Marine Corps, Lira was comfortable with the concept of a uniform, but the civilian version required more nuance.
Lira developed a dual-track approach to his wardrobe. Inside the office, he opts for cargo pants and a worker shirt—practical attire that allows him to enter a warehouse and handle shipments without hesitation. However, the moment he meets with clients or vendors, he switches to a full suit. This transition is not merely about fashion; it is about signaling the appropriate level of respect for the client’s status and the formality of the business encounter.
Lira noted that as a foreigner running a business in Japanese, he is already a point of interest. In a culture that prizes collective success and views loud displays of individuality as potential signs of ego, he keeps his personal touches subtle. He recognizes that overstepping these boundaries can be interpreted as a lack of humility, which is frowned upon in traditional Japanese business circles.
The psychology of the ‘Salaryman’
The unspoken dress code in Japanese offices is an extension of a broader work culture defined by shared responsibility. During his time as a traditional “salaryman,” Lira adhered to the expectation of arriving before his colleagues and departing only after them, regardless of whether his tasks were complete.
This ethos of collective discipline manifested in unexpected ways once Lira became an employer. He discovered that his staff would clean toilets or scrub floors in his absence—not because they were asked to, but because they believed the environment should be maintained to a high standard for the benefit of the group. While initially shocking to him, Lira came to view this as a reflection of the deep-seated commitment to group standards that defines the Japanese workplace.
Lira has similarly adopted a personal trademark: he keeps his sleeves rolled up year-round, even during the winter. While partly a practical response to the fact that standard dress shirts rarely fit his height, the habit has become psychological. For Lira, rolled sleeves are a symbol of freedom and a mindset of readiness. In a business environment that can often experience restrictive, this compact act of defiance allows him to project confidence and focus entirely on the outcome of his work.
Lira believes there is no single “golden rule” for succeeding in Japan. Instead, he argues that the key lies in the balance between hard work, linguistic proficiency, and the ability to coexist within local boundaries. While he admits that “fitting in” remains a challenge for many Westerners, he maintains that the reward is a unique professional experience grounded in mutual respect.
As Japan continues to grapple with labor shortages and a shifting demographic, the rigid nature of corporate attire and the “salaryman” lifestyle are seeing gradual shifts in some sectors. However, for entrepreneurs like Lira, understanding the traditional codes remains essential for building lasting trust with local partners.
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