This article was written by Sven Palys, Co-founder of Yuzu Kyodai.

Last night, instead of going to bed like a sensible adult, I was doomscrolling YouTube Shorts. Somewhere between algorithmic nonsense and travel envy, a video of the Cologne Christmas market appeared. Lights, steam rising from Glühwein, people packed together in the cold. And for the first time this year, I felt a genuine pang of sadness about not being in Europe for Christmas.

There are Christmas markets everywhere now. Tokyo Station. Yokohama’s red brick warehouses. Roppongi. They are often visually impressive and competently organised. Some are even genuinely pretty. But something is off, and I think the problem is less about decoration and more about meaning.

The markets themselves are often replicas. Wooden huts, fairy lights, sausages, pretzels. But the food in particular feels like a theme park version of Europe. Carnival food imagined by people who have seen Christmas through photos rather than lived it. Undercooked sausages, turkey legs with fries, overly sweet wine, things that look right but taste wrong.

The trees are another story. Japan is very good at Christmas trees. Technically perfect. Often breathtaking. But they feel cold. Corporate. Like they could belong to any luxury mall anywhere in the world. They remind me, slightly uncomfortably, of Melania Trump’s infamous winter display. Impressive, but emotionally distant.

The irony is that there is a Japanese Christmas market in Berlin. It serves Japanese food. Ramen, yakitori, sweets. And yet it feels unmistakably Christmassy. Why? Because it is not trying to imitate. It is people sharing their culture in a winter setting, creating warmth through presence rather than props. That is what Christmas markets actually are. Community first, aesthetics second.

I genuinely think Japan could do this beautifully if it stopped copying and started translating. Imagine spiced amazake alongside Glühwein. Japanese craftspeople selling winter-themed goods. Food trucks serving genuinely good Japanese comfort food and winter treats. Warmth through flavour and care, not imported sausage templates. Christmas trees decorated by children, the way Tanabata decorations are made personal and imperfect.

There is also a structural reason Christmas feels different here. In Japan, Christmas is not a family holiday. It is a couple’s event. A kind of winter Valentine’s Day. Romance, reservations, shortcake, light-up dates. That alone shifts the emotional centre of gravity. Christmas is about intimacy, not gathering.

And then there is Japan’s very specific winter obsession with dairy. Creamy shortcakes, cheesecakes, ice cream, butter everything. This, too, is part of how Japan experiences the season. Softness, indulgence, sweetness. Not smoke and spice.

Seen this way, Japan’s Christmas is not wrong. It is just different. But the current expression sits awkwardly between imitation and intention.

And Japan, of all places, knows how to do that.

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