Discover Top Posts Tagged with #host boys

Name: Rikiya Mikado

Club: FATE

Height: 180cm

Blood Type: B

He was Kabukicho’s #1 host for a couple weeks so there’s that. He’s on Host TV quite often, usually with guys who aren’t from his club.

He has a big nose.. It doesn’t look big in some of his photos but it is. He likes to wear makeup that makes him look sick (light foundation, red eyeliner, giant undereye bags, orange lipstick). He has some crazy sexy tattoos under his shirt though. His back, upper arms and shoulders are completely covered.

His hostlove page doesn’t have too much on it. Someone said he looks like a horse (kinda true), someone else said he looks like a gorilla (which is also kinda true lol). A couple customers commented on his recent birthday event.

Stories

#1 I met him for the first time after an allnighter in Kabuki. He looked tall and hot from behind so my friends and I approached him. We did some karaoke, met up with some of his friends, and had a pretty good time. I wasn’t too into him until I saw the tats on his arms. He has pretty muscular arms. At this point, I was drunk and assumed he had a nice body so we broke off and went to a hotel. His stomach was kinda flabby. Blerg. He was good in bed. No foreplay though, just straight to business. He also paid for everything. We keep in touch on LINE and he has still never asked me to go to his club.

#host #hosts #host boys #japan #kabukicho #club fate #tokyo #fate #host club #host clubs

Amused

Casually dressed for a night out at a friend's bar and host boys still grab me in the street, claiming they are band men. I guess my clothing style really is rather influenced xD

#Life #Night out #Ikebukuro #The Black Sheep #Host boys

Hatch Tokyo INNOVATION Hatch tokyo re-opened in a new location in Kabukicho. It's one of the most stylish interiors for a host club I've seen. And so much fun! Seriously recommend it if you like high tension clubs.

#host #host boys #hatch #tokyo #innovation #kabukicho #ホスト

Top 14 of Asia 2014: #3: Host Boys Are Real

Simply irresistible.

Everyone knows Netflix's streaming service is only good for two things: serial TV and documentaries. When we're not in the mood to launch into 27 consecutive episodes of House of Cards, but are in need of a late-night dose of fresh entertainment, Jeffrey and I often peck away at our long list of queued documentaries, which are mostly fascinating, always informative, and often a little depressing. That's just how we have fun.

"The Great Happiness Space," was one of our selections that met all three of these descriptors. A fascinating dissection of the underbelly world of Osaka's "host boys," the film digs into the lives and habits of Japan's boyfriends-for-hire and their clientele of lonely ladies. Before watching the film, I didn't even know host boys existed. Though I had already been twice to Tokyo, another city with a large host boy population, I was unaware of their presence; though in retrospect, I'm sure they swarmed past me regularly, packs of highly-coiffed, black-suited, slick-talking men in their twenties, delivering on-demand emotional satisfaction to the ladies of urban Japan. A host boy's main function is essentially that of an overly attentive boyfriend. He is hired (often on a per-hour basis) by young women for his (non-sexual) company. He listens to your problems. He holds your hand and makes you feel wanted. He takes your mind off your troubles, often by convincing you to buy $200 bottles of champagne and imploring you to pound them to the face every twenty minutes or so. Often he joins you in your alcoholic shenanigans to pump up your bill. Some women run tabs upwards of $10,000 a night to be "entertained" by these hosts, and many of these ladies hold down jobs specifically to feed their need for this expensive, manufactured intimacy.

Without giving away too much about the film, host boy life is as sad as one would expect. The industry rewards the best con-artists, and the most successful host boys are often worshipped like celebrities by their peers and female fandom for their faux sincerity and artificial personas. Since success is measured in dollars brought in, the more you convince your guests to drink, the more money you make, thus an endless cycle of binge drinking and vomiting is pretty much the norm for these young men, many of whom go on to suffer health complications as a result. And forget about the residual emotional damage experienced by both hosts and their clients when attempting to connect with future mates. Artifice breeds artifice. It's a never ending cycle.

Host Boys, like so many other Japanese cultural fixtures, are a bizarre invention, created by a population that is simultaneously overly bombarded with sexual imagery, and woefully under-sexed. It is well-known that Japan's current birth rate is the lowest it's ever been, a crisis for a country that is simply not growing at a rate fast enough to replace its aging population. It is a country in which hentai and tentacle porn are the norm, and in which women devour "Boys' Love" comics on the regular, but where people have reportedly lost interest in having sex, a trend the Japanese themselves are calling "celibacy syndrome." Japan is also a country of strict customs and concealed emotions. The preponderance of Japanese role-playing games, especially ones with a romantic bent, just skims the surface of how many in this outwardly stoic culture seek romantic satisfaction and fulfillment. This dichotomy of sexual openness and emotional repression gives a hint into why an industry like that of the host boys (and their female counterparts, who will clean your ears and sing you lullabies), flourishes in Japan's major metropolitan areas.

For all of these reasons and so many more, I recommend that anyone who plans on visiting one of Japan's major cities watch "The Great Happiness Space" before they go. Before I saw it, I never truly understood who host boys were, or what they did, and the context is helpful in assessing the crazy world that unfolds around you while you're there. "Oh, you mean these men with their highly-bleached, highly-moussed hair, dressed in all black, moving in packs and talking to groups of random women aren't just the disaffected youth of Japan? They're escorts who entertain women in clubs for $4,000 evenings worth of the most PG-related debauchery known to man? Good to know."

Of course, not all 20-year-old men in black who wander the streets of Japan at night are host boys. Still, when you're in Osaka's nightlife district and you see a group that looks something like this, you can probably bet you're looking at boyfriends-for-hire.

Hello boyz.

Wanna play therapist?

As with maid cafes in the past, attending a host club was something about which I had a fiery curiosity -- something I absolutely wanted to experience for myself. Alas, it was an activity to which Jeffrey was (for understandable reasons) vehemently opposed. My argument, while convincingly constructed, didn't quite work. "But I just want to rent-a-boyfriend for ONE NIGHT! You can come! For once someone else will have to listen to me bleat on about my problems, won't that be nice?" When my request were met with Jeffrey's definitive denial, I settled for obsessively documenting host boys wherever we went, whispering in a high state of excitement "HOST BOY! HOST BOY!" whenever we passed a troupe of wild hairdos.

In Tokyo, the host boy action peaks in a neighborhood called Shinjuku, where Jeffrey and I spent a rainy night in the company of our friends Akemi and Westbrook. Akemi, who grew up in Tokyo, helpfully attended to some of my burning host boy questions. Yes, host boys were real. Yes, I was seeing them all over the place. Yes, there are female hosts, called hostesses, who perform non-sexual acts of affection and attention. There is even, I was told, a group of specialty hostesses all of whom are over 60 years-old. (In case that's your thing.)

Together, Akemi, Westbrook, Jeffrey and I slowly traversed the Tokyo nightlife district, soaking in the majesty of the host boy club billboards and backlit advertisements, which gloriously unfolded in front of us like oversized liner notes from a 1997 Backstreet Boys CD.

I want it that way.

We snapped endless photos of men at work, holding clear umbrellas in the rain to protect their perfectly sculpted mohawks and fauxhawks and "spiky Beibers," and "rebel Kate Gosselins." We watched as they scanned the streets for women in need of affection and/or escape; watched them as they kicked puddles in their shiny shoes, waiting on the regulars. Watched them as they lived their normal lives, host boys just being host boys.

DEM HAIRCUTS THOUGH.

At the edge of the host boys' dominant neighborhood of operation, lies a ramen place of epic deliciousness -- and at the end of our rainy night with Westbrook and Akemi, we were directed there by our friendly bartender. Upon arrival, Jeffrey immediately pointed out the refrigerator, collaged with images of host boys and girls for-hire; simultaneously the neighborhood's working class, and the neighborhood's biggest celebrities.

A ramen father's proud refrigerator.

After that night, host boys constantly lingered at the edge of my mind. There were moments when I would just walk around the city with Jeffrey, trying to emulate host boy conversation; attempting to craft that perfect balance between intimacy and excusery that one must master in order to pretend to be someone's significant other for money over an extended period of time. (This should be an improv exercise at every comedy club in the world, by the way.)

Me: I look at all these other girls and it's just so hard because I don't care about them, I care about you.

Jeffrey: ...

Me: All these girls think they love me, but they don't really know what love is. You're the only one who understands. You're the one who has my heart.

Jeffrey...

Me: It's the worst because I have to keep working at this so I can make enough money to leave the game forever. So we can be together. I just need more time. Will you wait for me?

Jeffrey: Okay, stop it, you're freaking me out.

I think I was a little too good at host boy dialogue for Jeffrey's comfort. On a semi-related note, he still hasn't paid me a penny of what he owes me for pretending to be his girlfriend for the past two years.

A few days after our night out with Westbrook and Akemi, Jeffrey and I returned to the ramen shop that had fulfilled our foursome's late-night noodle cravings. This second trip occurred around 5pm, just as the host boys, roused from their drunken evenings prior, ambled out to nourish themselves and prepare for another night of wooing lonely strangers. One such fellow, as it happens, walked into our little ramen shop while I was sucking down my noodles. I was starstruck. This man was my Bette Midler. He was fucking Cher. He was a star whose existence I could only fathom from afar, and now here he was, in front of me, ordering his noodles with far greater facility and slickness and many more hair flips than Jeffrey and I had minutes prior.

Good morning to you.

It turns out Host Boys are people too. They eat actual food. Their ramen is purchased from vending machines, just like our ramen. They clip their flowing, sienna-dyed bangs back with ginormous barrettes right before nomming JUST LIKE US.

#flawless #hewokeuplikethis

In reality, while thrilling to see this fascinating part of Japanese culture up close, it also made me a little sad. I do my best to reserve judgment when it comes to how other people live their lives, but so much of what I know is based in my own set of experiences. As a person who lives pretty openly, expresses her thoughts and feelings wildly, perhaps to a fault, a life in which your most intimate interactions are purchased or delivered upon payment is difficult for me to comprehend. Still, this is just one of many things about Japanese culture that is tough to wrap your brain around, which is why I love it so.

#osaka #host boy #host boys #Japan #Tokyo

I wonder if Hosts in Osaka ever get married at all? They say they want that women in their lives but, it seems more distant from that cause when so many costumer come to see them. I find it saddening...

#blabbing #Host Boys