Naked in Japan: What Public Baths Taught Me About French and Japanese Culture

Introduction

I’ve been to Japan three times since 2020, including a full year living there with my wife. Every trip taught me something about how differently the French and the Japanese handle two very human things: showing our bodies, and showing our feelings. Nowhere did that contrast hit me harder than the first time I walked into a public bath completely naked, surrounded by strangers.

Two Very Different Societies

The first thing that strikes any French visitor in Japan is how orderly public life is. People queue for the escalator. They queue to board the train. Nobody bumps into you on a crowded Tokyo street, and if they do, they turn around, bow, and apologize immediately — sumimasen, gomennasai. Compare that to the Paris metro, where commuters use their elbows to get on the train first, and you understand why the contrast feels so striking.

There’s also far less ethnic diversity in Japan than in France. As a white foreigner, I was never mistaken for Japanese, even after a year living there. In small towns like Kagoshima or Fukui, children would openly stare, restaurant staff assumed I couldn’t speak Japanese, and I always felt the quiet, curious weight of being “the foreigner.” It wasn’t hostile — just a reminder that Japan and France experience mixité (diversity) very differently.

The Concept of Pudeur

In French, we have a word — pudeur — that doesn’t translate perfectly into English. It’s not quite “shyness” and not quite “modesty.” It describes a discomfort with exposing something personal, whether that’s your body or your emotions. A person can have pudeur physique (physical modesty) or pudeur émotionnelle (emotional reserve).

What fascinated me in Japan is that the two cultures seem to have swapped which type of pudeur they carry. The French are relatively private about their bodies but very open about their emotions — a public declaration of love in the middle of a street isn’t shocking at all. In Japan, I found almost the opposite: emotional expression is often restrained (there’s even a word for the “public face” people show others, tatemae), but bathing naked with strangers is completely normal.

My First Sento

Japan’s bathing culture runs deep. There are natural onsen (hot springs), famous worldwide thanks to anime and manga, and sento, ordinary public bathhouses found in almost every neighborhood. France has nothing comparable — the closest cultural equivalent might be the sauna traditions of Germany or Scandinavia.

On my second trip, I finally worked up the courage to try one, in Kyoto, together with my brother-in-law. A few practical things surprised me:

• You store your shoes and clothes in lockers before entering.
• You must wash thoroughly at individual shower stations before getting into the communal bath — hygiene comes first.
• Towels stay outside the bathing area; you don’t bring them in with you.
• Tattoos are traditionally frowned upon in Japan and are far more restricted in onsen than in sento — always check with the front desk first if you have any.

Once inside, I found several pools: hot water, a bubble bath, a cold plunge (useful for avoiding lightheadedness after too much heat), and one unusual “electric bath” that gives you small, tingling shocks — an experience I can’t say I recommend.

Why It’s Worth Trying

The strangest part wasn’t the nudity itself — it was how quickly it stopped mattering. Once you get past that first moment of pudeur, sitting in a hot bath next to strangers becomes surprisingly relaxed. I’ve had elderly locals strike up conversations with me in the bath, and once even practiced my Japanese with someone in a sauna until the heat got the better of me.

If you’re planning a trip to Japan, don’t skip this experience out of nervousness. A few tips:

1. Look up the tattoo policy of any onsen or sento in advance if you have visible tattoos.
2. Choose a bathhouse in a touristy area for your first visit — signage and rules are more likely to be explained in English.
3. Wash first, always.

Conclusion

Public baths turned out to be one of the most memorable cultural experiences of my time in Japan — not because of the water, but because of what it revealed about pudeur on both sides. The French keep their bodies private and their hearts on display; in Japan, I found the reverse. Understanding a culture, whether through language or through something as simple as a bath, always comes down to noticing what a society chooses to hide and what it chooses to share.