Futoshi Taga (Masculinity Studies Researcher / Professor, Kansai University)
In July 2024, I received an email from an unfamiliar photographer. He explained that he was working on a self-documentary project, with my research in masculinity studies serving as one of its conceptual pillars. He asked if I would write a contribution for the publication once it was finalized. Attached to the email were drafts of his photobook and an autobiographical text.
As I flipped through the photobook and began reading the autobiography, I quickly found myself immersed in the world woven by the photographs and text. Placing myself in the photographer’s position and retracing the steps of his life, I felt as though his experiences were becoming my own, almost as if I were reliving a life I had actually lived. Upon finishing the text, I revisited the photobook and suddenly thought, “This could have been my life, too.”
Coincidentally, Taisuke Sato and I are the same age. During my third year of university, I struggled with whether to pursue corporate employment or continue to graduate school to become a researcher. After much deliberation, I decided on graduate school, where I stumbled upon the field of “masculinity studies,” which would become my academic focus. Had I chosen corporate life instead, I suspect I would have wholeheartedly embraced the ideals of the era’s ideal man, worked relentlessly, and likely burned out along the way. Even now, I can’t shake that feeling.
When we were university students in the late 1980s, Japan was still in the throes of the bubble economy. In 1989, a catchphrase from a popular energy drink commercial, “Can you work 24 hours a day?” (accompanied by the refrain, “Businessman! Businessman! Japanese businessman!”), became a cultural phenomenon. The epitome of the ideal man at the time was undoubtedly to become a businessman at a large company. Such men were expected to work long hours, overcome all challenges to achieve results, climb the corporate ladder, earn higher incomes, and provide their families with economic stability and a prosperous life. Back then, many—women included—believed this to be the ideal path for a “Kachigumi” (successful man).
But this path came with significant costs. Trapped within narrow, superficial work-related relationships, these men often found themselves unable to escape the relentless competition they were drawn into, perpetually fearful of falling behind. Many couldn’t express their vulnerabilities, struggled to build meaningful relationships with their families, and saw their mental and physical health deteriorate.
Just as Simone de Beauvoir famously wrote in The Second Sex (1949), “One is not born, but rather becomes, a woman,” men, too, learn and perform the roles expected of them, becoming the kind of men society demands. Masculinity studies critically examine these socially constructed ideals of masculinity and the societal structures that create them, encouraging men themselves to question and reflect on these norms. For men who find themselves in crises after chasing societal ideals, such introspection becomes a key to reclaiming their health and starting anew. In the long term, this kind of reflection can also serve as a catalyst for transforming Japan’s corporate culture, which has imposed restrictive life paths on both men and women in different ways.
In this sense, one of the most remarkable aspects of Family Album is that it is likely the first photobook in Japan to be based on a comprehensive perspective rooted in masculinity studies. While my own work has largely taken the form of academic papers or self-help books, I’ve often wondered whether literary or artistic works might more effectively convey the essence of masculinity studies to a broader audience. When I encountered this photobook, I was convinced that I was right. Family Album vividly and multifacetedly portrays the realities of a man who became a businessman on the eve of Japan’s economic downturn, as well as the light and shadow of the society that shaped him, rivaling even the most distinguished academic texts on masculinity studies.
When Sato informed me about this project and asked me to write a contribution, I was thrilled and deeply honored. I immediately agreed without hesitation. However, when I began writing, I encountered an unexpected challenge. It wasn’t that I struggled to write; rather, I couldn’t stop. An overwhelming flood of inspiration poured in, leaving me with too many ideas to organize coherently. That’s how rich this work is—not only in themes related to masculinity but also in a plethora of other elements.
Adding further commentary here would be redundant. The more one tries to explain the photobook from a particular perspective, the more one risks diminishing the depth and multidimensionality of its themes and messages. Family Album curated by the photographer, combined with his reconstructed life story, speaks to viewers in a way that is simultaneously understated yet profoundly moving. Even without explanation, viewers will find themselves deeply stirred, awakening to something vital that they had perhaps sensed but never fully recognized. That is the greatest allure of Family Album.