So Japan has its first female prime minister — and she’s here to prove that women, too, can uphold the patriarchy with impeccable discipline. Takaichi Sanae’s rise is being hailed as a breakthrough for gender equality by the same old men who still call their secretaries office ladies (OL, オーエル). If this is empowerment, it comes neatly packaged in a conservative kimono, hemmed with nationalism and stitched by the LDP’s finest oyaji (old boys).
Takaichi was elected by the lower house on 21 October 2025, becoming Japan’s first woman to hold the position. Her party, the Liberal Democratic Party (LDP), has for decades epitomised a form of politics steeped in what one might call otoko-dominated culture (男社会, “male society”) — a milieu where masculine style and hierarchy often trump inclusion and change. She rises to this pinnacle not on the crest of a feminist wave, but by navigating the currents of tradition, loyalty and party machinery.
It might be tempting to treat Takaichi’s election as a breakthrough for women’s rights in Japan. Yet despite her trail-blazing status, her record signals something subtler — and arguably more troubling. She has explicitly opposed allowing married couples to retain different surnames, resisted the idea of a female emperor (女性天皇, josei tennō), and chosen to appoint only two women to her 19-member cabinet. Japan ranks 118th out of 148 countries in the 2025 Global Gender Gap Index, and yet its first female prime minister appears more content to keep the traditional map intact than to redraw it.
In her first address she spoke of “equality of opportunity” rather than equality of outcome — a subtle distinction that signals her broader ideological bent. She has rooted her political identity in ideas of national revival, security, and conservative values rather than feminist reform. It’s a tableau in which the glass ceiling cracks not because the ceiling is being shattered, but because someone willing to ascend its ladder accepted its constraints. The LDP itself is no stranger to tatemae and honne — public face and private truth. Its internal culture remains heavily male, with few advocates of structural gender reform. Takaichi’s predecessor cabinets included only a handful of women; her appointment of two female ministers signals continuity, not transformation. Despite rhetoric of Nordic-style representation, results remain modest: six women in Iceland’s cabinet for comparison; here, two in Japan. She has echoed the heritage of Margaret Thatcher as an influence, even while inhabiting a system far more rigid than the British one she admires.
The term kōshō tanshin (高唱単身, a rough pun for “singing solo” or marching solo) might describe Takaichi’s journey: she has long worked within the power structures of the party, championed nationalist positions (regular visits to the controversial Yasukuni Shrine), hawkish defence stances and limited appetite for diversity. Her elevation to prime minister is a paradox — the breaking of a barrier by someone who doesn’t appear motivated to remove it for others.
During the campaign runoff, the LDP’s dominant male figures rallied behind her, not as an agent of gender reform, but as a trusted standard-bearer. The machinery of the party mobilised for her, yes — but the agenda didn’t shift away from conservative ideals of family (kazoku, 家族), hierarchy and social duty. In essence, the narrative is “a woman in charge” without the liberalising impulse one might expect. Analysts have described her rise as a “gender paradox” — a woman at the pinnacle of power inside a machine that treats women as exceptions rather than equals. To be clear: her ascension does carry cultural weight. For younger women in politics, seeing a woman lead the country can carry symbolic value. But symbolism alone is insufficient if structural change remains elusive. As one Cornell historian put it: the election “isn’t a win for women” in terms of advancing real equality.
What’s next? Takaichi inherits an economy with inflation, a weak yen, and looming diplomatic challenges. Her path will be less about opening doors for women and more about navigating Japan’s larger geopolitical and economic storms. In that sense, her premiership may be more an avatar of continuity than a harbinger of change. In Japan-style fashion, the final flourish of a milestone — “first woman prime minister” — arrives with little fanfare on gender reform. The ceiling is cracked, but the chamber beneath remains unchanged. And in a culture of katsudō shugi (活動主義, “activism”), moving from symbolic to substantive would require more than a portrait and a historic headline. It would ask for genuine reform. With Takaichi in place, don’t expect fireworks. Expect a quiet shift behind old architecture.