Here is the 3rd and final part of my interview with Jules, an American working as a Host in Japan. Enjoy!

####

Take it to the Club

I think it’s because everybody has an emptiness in their heart. But (the club is) so exciting… you’re sitting in this beautiful club, and you’re like, otoko-mae, handsome boys all around you, that are willing to listen to you, and not molest you. Why would someone want to spend a thousand dollars on a bottle of champagne? Why? When you see a “champagne call” you’ll know. Because it’s like the 4th of July. We play the flower music, and all these people are shouting… all the hosts are standing around the table. (The customer) becomes the center of attention. And the music is so loud, and then, suddenly — the music just shuts off. And it’s all quiet and we’re like “would you like another (bottle)?” And they’re just on the spot. And they just want to have that feeling again and boom! ‘bring me another bottle, let’s just pop it!’ I mean, I get excited just thinking about it.

– Jules

It’s eight am on Sunday morning. I climb out of bed, groggy and slightly hungover from a nomikai the night before. I give Jules a call to see if it’s a good time to visit the host club. “Sure,” he says. “Things are just getting started here. We opened at 5 (am), and one girl just popped a bottle of Dom (Perringnon) – I think it’s gonna be a wild night.” I resist the urge to point out that, one, it’s actually morning and two, I’ve just woken up. I tell him I’ll be there in a few minutes. “Just call me when you get to Dotombori (an area in Osaka known for its Host and Hostess Clubs) and I’ll come pick you up,” he says.

It’s been a few weeks since I first interviewed Jules, and my field trip happens to coincide with his last day of work at the host club. After a year of working as a host, he has decided to retire his Gucci shades to enroll in fashion school back in America. “You can’t be a host forever.” He says. That, and I have suspicions that he ran into problems with his not-entirely-legal Japanese visa.

The minute I walk through the door, I feel like I’ve stumbled into another world. There is a sickening mix of champagne, cologne and cigarette smoke in the air. I witness everything that Jules described to me: the surprisingly beautiful female customers; the excitement of the champagne calls; and the expensive reality of the bills – on my way in, I catch sight of two women paying a $400 bill. The nature of his job is brought home to me when I try to re-initiate our interview in the club. Jules stops me. “If you want to talk to me here at work, you’d better be a paying customer!” he quips smiling, as he hands me a menu.

Advice to the Wannabe Playas

I am the king of this world. I don’t take shit from anybody. There are a lot of arguments with me, because I break the hierarchy of the club a lot. Because I just don’t give a f***. But that’s part of what makes me sell. Because it’s fun, and the customers can open up and be themselves and I can open up and be myself.

– Jules

There is undoubtedly something in the male psyche that is attracted to the idea of getting paid to talk with women – of reversing the usual hierarchy of sexual power. To the uninitiated, it might seem like a dream job.

I ask Jules if he has any advice to other foreigners out there who think they have what it takes to become a successful Host in Japan: “The girls don’t come to a host club to see foreigners. They come to see the typical good-looking Japanese boy…. Part of (being successful as a foreigner) is, finding customers who are open to new experiences…”

Jules continues.“If you want to be a really good host, you have to open your heart. You have to accept your customers for who they are” he says. “You can’t just walk into a host club and start making money just because you’re there, or because you’re good looking. It’s your personality, the way that you handle the girls and have them be attracted to you.”

About the past year as a host, he adds, “I think it’s a wonderful, wonderful experience. But it does sour a typical person. A lot of guys, they come in thinking oh, I want to be a host and then they’ll quit within a few weeks. It’s just completely out of their reality.”

In just three days, Jules’ flight leaves for the US. I ask him if he’s finished with this line of work for good – whether the year of heavy drinking and unusual hours has gotten to him. “Nah.” He says. “I think I’ll come back every summer and do hosting to pay for school.” He flashes a devilish smile. “I don’t know what else I’d do for money…”

Below is part 2 of  my article about Jules, an American working in a host club in Japan.

If you missed part 1, click here.

####

The Salaryman-Fuzoku-Host Triangle

What kind of women go to a host club? Before my research, I imagined the clientele was mostly lonely housewives of rich, neglectful businessmen and unattractive young women, starved for attention. The reality is quite different. “Sexual gratification workers make up about 50-60% (of our customers)” he says. Fuzoku (Prostitutes), Soapland Girls (erotic massage parlors) and Sexual Cabaret girls (dancing with heavy petting) are big industry in Japan, and the number of young girls walking around Osaka with four-thousand dollar Chanel handbags makes me wonder if not all of them have rich parents. Jules explains what he calls the Salaryman-Fuzoku-Host triangle: “You have the salarymen (Japanese businessmen), who have all this money and an empty life. They spend all their money at the night clubs and the cabaret girls. The cabaret girls need somewhere to spend all their money, so they spend it on clothes — and us. But we’re at the top of the food chain, because we spend our money on nobody.”

So at least half of his customers are girls with large incomes for dubious services – but why would they want or need to go to an overpriced club to talk to men, when they are usually the object of desire? “They’re looking for something” says Jules. “Like some kind of guidance, or something to connect with. Most of the girls that go to the host clubs, they work at night, they dance or (perform sexual acts) for money, so they can’t find good boyfriends. They live a totally unacceptable life by Japanese standards, so they can’t connect with anybody. They don’t even need sexual gratification, because they’re being molested by guys in the clubs all night. So they come to us and they’re looking for a connection, something else. To have fun with a male, instead of being molested and ogled. They want little — boy toys… To fill the holes in their heart.”

Conveniently, my next question is whether any relationships develop outside of the club with customers, or if there were the implication of sex in the client-host transaction. “It’s an intuition thing. We try not to have sex with the girls, because that’s what they want. They don’t have a reason to come in to the host club if they can meet you outside.” Under his breath he continues “I mean, I do have sex with some of my customers…” he laughs. “But — not all of them want sex.”

Jules tells me about the first and most important unspoken rule of hosting: do not ask about the girl’s work. “It’s embarrassing for girls that do work at those types of places (sex workers)” he says. “There are negative feelings attached to work, and (the host club) is a place of fun and enjoyment. We don’t want to talk about dark things.” I ask him what they might usually talk about. “Anything. Like, what I did today, or whatever. We have conversations and argue, sing karaoke, hold arms, and play drinking games… enjoy a bottle of champagne…hopefully.” And there are big dollar signs attached to Jules’ hopes. A Henessey Richard du 4th  in Jules’ club is $20,000 a bottle. Cost to the club is somewhere around a thousand dollars. “I mean, you can buy a bottle of Dom Perry for $120-150, but we sell it at the club for $1,200” says Jules. He says he mostly makes his commission on cocktails and individual drinks, but he has sold a few bottles of Dom – and at a 55% commission rate, that translates to a lot of Benjamins – or rather, Fukuzawa Yukichis.

The Hosts are rated on a scale of salary, and the Number One host at a club (the Japanese have a penchant for ranking everything) can make anywhere from $15,000 to $100,000 a month. The Number One at Jule’s club averages about $30-$40,000 per month.

Host Beginnings

Jules came to Japan four years ago when he was 19, planning to study Japanese for six months, but enjoyed it so much he stayed. He has half brothers and sisters in Korea, Hawaii, Brazil and America and his father is soon to file for his 7th divorce. It seems the old adage like father, like son is true in his case, although he maintains that his ability with women comes from “a shit load of experience and a whole lot of sweat.”

“I worked teaching English for six months and after that I was like, fuck this, teaching English is not for me. I’m young, I’m educated, there’s so much more I can do. I can speak Japanese better than anybody I know. I had seen those host guys on Television, and I was like, that’s what I gotta get into.”

One night, a Cabaret club girl he knew offered to give him an introduction to a host club manager. The manager of the club said he could hire him, but he would get paid only on a commission-only basis (ie. He would only make money from the customers he brought into the club), with no base salary. He left, after drinking for a few hours with the hosts, saying he’d think about it, but generally feeling unimpressed with the low-level host club.

That morning, on his way home, as the sun came was coming up, he stumbled past Dotombori bridge – generally referred to as nanpa bashi (“pickup bridge”). Wasting no opportunity to chat with women, he tried to sweet talk a pair of cute hostess girls walking out of a convenience store. The girls said they were waiting for their hosts to pick them up and escort them to their favorite club. Within minutes, Jules had them giggling and hanging off him, and when the two hosts showed up and saw him in action, they immediately offered him a job at their upscale club. He started work that morning.

The Dark Side of the Glamour

In reality, hosting isn’t that glamorous. But I love it, so it’s glamorous to me.

– Jules

Despite his youthful enthusiasm for his job, his face shows lines that would peg him as older than his 23 years. All the chain smoking, hard drinking and long hours have taken their toll. “It’s hard though.” He says. “It’s not regular work. We’re selling our energy and our livelihood. We’re selling our thoughts and our feelings; our insight and our advice.”

Because the host’s salaries are based on how much alcohol they can drink each night, the job has its obvious downsides – one of them alcohol abuse. “These hosts, they can drink so much. We’re just like big, walking barrels of gallons and gallons of alcohol. So girls think they’ll get another bottle and another bottle, and they think they can get us drunk, but they are mistaken. We can go on for hours… But we never let them see us puking or acting so drunk that we can’t talk. We do act drunk … to show them what we do for them. Like the girl buys a couple bottles, and we’re like, oh, you made me so drunk, I don’t know if I can handle anymore… But really we could be pretty sober.”

Because the commission is tied to how much they drink, some hosts drink so much that they develop a routine of forcing themselves to throw up in the restroom between customers. Jules says he himself might do it once a night on the weekdays, but the much busier nights on the weekends, he says up to three or four times each night.

I ask him the obvious question of whether he thinks the binge drinking has affected his health. “Oh, absolutely. My stomach is fucked.” Most hosts start when they’re just a little over twenty, and usually burn out after less than two years. “There was a 34 year old host I knew, and he was like, top of the clubs, making tons of money, and he just wanted to get out of it. He was looking to start a normal life, I guess. I mean, you can’t do it forever. I’ve only been doing it for a year or so, and my stomach is torn to hell.”

###

Stay tuned for part 3 next of Jules’ story next Sunday…  (I only have internet on Sundays — long story.)

If you liked this story, you might enjoy another story I wrote about Jules’ run-in with the Japanese mafia.

**I spent some time shopping this article around a few years back, but it seemed to not want to be published. A few magazines were biting, but they wanted it edited too much. I’d rather keep the juicy bits and have it see some light here. Here’s part 1 of 3:

###

Memoirs of a (Male) Geisha: The Unusual Story of an American Working in a Japanese Host Club

I mean, why wouldn’t women pay money to be with me? I give them everything they want and need; physical and mental gratification… and enough unpredictability to keep them interested until their money’s gone.

– Jules, American, Male Host in Minami Osaka club

Jules has a soft spot for expensive designer clothes.

The first time I meet him, he is wearing an $800 bright white Burberry jacket, a blue and yellow silk Gucci scarf, and $900 black loafers. These are all – including the $1200 Hermes wallet sticking out his back pants pocket — gifts from his customers and girlfriends.

We walk together to Osaka JR train station and sit down at a French-style café.

“I hear you’re pretty good with women.” I offer to start the conversation.

“I consider myself to be very good with women.” He says, completely deadpan and without a hint of self-consciousness.

Jules is at least 6 feet tall and tanned, though not classically good looking in the western sense. He has a slightly large nose and very average facial features. His highlighted hair is set straight down over his left ear. He brushes it back with one hand as he takes a drag off his cigarette with the other. He is sitting with his legs crossed, and I notice that his gestures come off as a bit feminine. Even as I’m wondering, why in the world women would pay money to talk with this guy, I become aware that there is something about him. Charisma? I wonder. No, that’s not it. It’s more like… Glamour. Jules has a glamour about him. Like a movie star. Or Ziggy Stardust maybe.

Just another day at work…

As a Host, your job is to sell THE DREAM: sell YOURSELF, SEX, and FREEDOM.

-Jules

Jules works as a male host at a Japanese Host Club – a classy lounge where women pay good money to sit and have drinks with handsome and charming young Japanese men. Unlike his co-workers, and 99% of the other hosts in Osaka, Jules is a foreigner – an American.

A typical work day for Jules involves waking up at midnight (hosts are notoriously nocturnal), heading to the club, and having a few drinks with his co-workers before work – “to reduce tension,” he says. The host club Jules works at is open from 5am to 2pm, to cater to the club ‘after party’ crowds and night workers of Minami (south) Osaka. Other clubs are open in the evening, or from midnight, depending on their target customer base. According to Jules, “Some girls will finish work at midnight, then go to one host club, then another, and then ours. (Other) girls finish (work) at 6am, and they come to our club, because it’s one of the only ones open. They’re already drunk by the time they get to our club, so they want to spend a lot of money.” He flashes a sly smile.

In a host club, women pay an hourly charge for a seat (in Jules’ bar about $25/hour) and pay for all the drinks that her — and her male host – drink, the least expensive being about $12 for a simple cocktail. When a customer who is new to the club arrives, she rotates through the hosts, spending about ten minutes sitting and talking with each — kind of like speed dating. She then nominates her favorite host, who then receives commission based on all the money she will ever spend at that club. Once a customer chooses her host, it is almost impossible for her to change it, until her chosen host retires or changes clubs. This is to prevent infighting and conflict among the hosts.

Jules makes a base pay of $75 a day, plus a 55% commission on seating charges ($25 to $100/hour) and alcohol. This makes for some outrageous bills, if you consider the club’s markup on the alcohol. “Our cheapest bottle is $220. You can buy that same bottle at any convenience store for $12.” Jules says.

I tentatively ask him about his usual monthly pay.

“Besides having girls take me out to dinner, and having zero living costs?” he says, with a cocky grin. “Probably about 6Gs (per month), easy. The most I’ve ever made is 10Gs. I mean, I’m not paying for living or whatever.”

I ask him if the host club is paying for the apartment.

“No, the girls are.” He says.

“The girls are paying… So then you’re living with the girls?”

“No.”

He explains to me what’s called Jikabiki – accepting private money or gifts from his customers, outside of work.

“And pretty much all the hosts do that?” I ask.

“Well, no…” He pauses to think. “But all the good ones do” he says and laughs.

####

I’ll post part 2 soon if people are interested…  Comment below, please.

With all of the things vying for our attention daily — a lot of it available for free — it can be hard to separate the merely good content from the amazing content. Once in a while you come across something free that is so beautiful, inspiring and full of life, that you just have to share it with everyone you know. Here are three free things that have made a difference in my life, available in download form:  (drumroll…)

1. This American Life, the podcast.

I’m not American — I don’t even currently live in North America. However, hands down, the most compelling and beautifully crafted stories (true and fictional) I’ve ever heard have been on this radio program.

You can listen to every episode online in your browser, or download each week’s episode (only that week’s episode) in Itunes for free.

Start with:  http://www.thisamericanlife.org/radio-archives/episode/339/break-up (then click PLAY EPISODE)

Read the rest of this entry »

An hour of hunting around the sweaty market and nothing. One last time I showed the piece of paper with a scribble of Laotian script on it: “Do you sell dice here?” the paper asked. “No, no, no…” said the woman shopkeeper, waving her hand. There were no dice in her shop of plastic nicknacks and toys. I looked at her watch and saw it was approaching 5pm so resigned my search. If I were to follow options 1, 4 or 5 I would need to buy the ticket and pack my bag right away.
 

It was quite on a whim that I decided to try dice travel. After the high of an amazing motorcycle escapade in the Bolaven plateau, I found myself slightly bored and wondering where to go next. Coincidentally, I was also reading a book called The Dice Man about a man who decides what he will do from one minute to the next based on the roll of the dice (verdict: interesting concept, in fact part autobiographical, but in the end a mediocre novel).  Also coincidentally, I am a thrill-seeking, impressionable young man, willing to try new things. It did solve my problem: part of me wanted to relax and chill out in a sleepy riverside town; part wanted to continue by motorbike; and part yearned for the seafood and the beaches of the central vietnam coast. In the dice options I wrote down, I tried to represent how much I wanted to go to each place, ie. 2 possibilities for 4000 islands in Southern Laos.
 

The options for my first (only?) round of dice travel:
1) Hue, Vietnam (Overnight bus to the home of Vietnamese Imperial cuisine. Appeals to my inner food critic)
2) Stay in Pakse another night (Rent a motorbike again and search out more adventure in the surrounding area. Appeals to my inner petrol-head)
3) Don Kone, Laos (One of the 4000 islands. hammocks, bungalows, and cheap beer. Appeals to my lazy side)
4) Vientiane, Laos (Great city with cafes, great restaurants, colonial history. Long overnight “sleeper bus’, with beds apparently. From what i hear on the travelers circuit, the overnight bus has mice)
5) Don Det, Laos (4000 islands)
6) Phnom Penh, Cambodia (The wild card choice. Appeals to my masochistic side)
 

But unfortunately, as I’ve said above, i couldn’t find any dice.
 

Hence, Plan B: consult the Oracle.
 

Read the rest of this entry »

(Read Part 1 here)

On The Road Again

Day 2 on the road. Dylan and I officially consider ourselves hardened road veterans. With an early start thanks to the sketchy House of Nazareth, we catch our first ride before 8am: an old, bright orange VW van. I didn’t know hitchhiking could be so cliche. Dylan sat in the back seat, a slippery vinyl ledge with no seatbelt, and I sat up front. After our introductions, the twenty-something driver started talking about music. “Hey, do you guys know reggae punk? You gotta check this out.” The remainder of the two hour ride, he would alternate between telling us about a new genre of music he had discovered (psychedelic blues, Icelandic ska) and playing a few songs on his stereo for us. Dylan fell asleep in the back so I was left on conversation duty. Nearing the end of the ride, I ventured to asked him if he liked TOOL. “Naw, too loud. They’re just plain metal. But hey, you gotta check out this new underground African-jazz-metal trio I found from New York…”

Read the rest of this entry »

This is part one in a true series called Montreal Rock City.

The question you gotta ask yourself is how badly do you wanna see the greatest fucking rock and roll show in the fucking earth, right? We’re talking Gene and Paul live, yo. We’re talking about the most voluptuous women hanging out in the audience. I’m talking big breasteses in tight dressteses. We’re talkin’ ‘bout people passing around joints in the audience. I’m talking about fucking Detroit rock city. Shake your wee wee.

– Scalper in the movie Detroit Rock City

The Scene

I’m seventeen. It’s the summer after graduating high school. A rough summer of alcoholic hazes and sleepless nights. I sometimes get headaches when I don’t drink. The august heat makes my shitty job of cleaning car interiors even more hellish. I tell by boss that if I have to scrape one more dead bird from under the hood of a Pontiac Aztec, I’ll quit.

Read the rest of this entry »