They call themselves the “マッスル介護 (massuru kaigo)” crew — muscle care-givers — and in a country known for its demographic crunch, these young Japanese bodybuilders are flexing more than biceps: they’re lifting an entire industry. At a care home in Ichinomiya, central Japan, 24-year-old trainer-turned-caregiver Takuya Usui hoists wheelchair-bound Madoka Yamaguchi gently but effortlessly—his physique making the transfer look like part of a workout routine. “He is so muscular that I don’t have to worry that he might accidentally drop me,” she says, according to an article in The Straits Times.
Japan’s elderly-care sector has been groaning under the weight of an ageing society. With less than six workers for every 100 people aged 65+, and an estimated shortfall of some 570,000 caregivers expected by 2040, the pressure is intense. At the same time, social norms in Japan have long steered young men away from jobs that are associated with emotional labour, physical service, and what many consider “women’s work.” That includes the long-term-care profession, where over 70 % of staff are female.
Enter the recruitment strategy of the Nagoya-based company Visionary: make caregiving look cool. They launched their “Macho Caregivers” campaign in 2018, offering gym subsidies, free access to weight rooms, and paid training time. Their logic? If younger men see the bodybuilders in action—handling, lifting, supporting—they’ll realise that the profession is physical, impactful and no longer the dusty, female-dominated domain it used to be. As CEO Yusuke Niwa put it: “Bodybuilders are extremely photogenic, cool and the embodiment of tireless hard work.”
But this story isn’t just about marketing-style reinvention. The bodybuilders-turned-caregivers bring real, tangible benefits. One such is the ability to transfer clients safely from bed to wheelchair, or assist with mobility training, which demands physical strength, stamina and precision. Usui says: “Building more muscle was the motivation to sign up… I learnt there is more to caregiving than meets the eye.” Another, Hokuto Tatsumi, a former Maritime Self-Defence Force serviceman, noted that the discipline of training, dieting and enduring repetition gives him an edge in routines such as daily assistance and rehabilitation.
In the broader Japanese context, this shift touches on deeper cultural currents. In Japan, the concept of “生きがい (ikigai)”—one’s reason for being—is often emphasised especially among older people, who fear becoming a burden (“迷惑をかける／mekawaku o kakeru”). Simultaneously, the shrinking workforce and rising costs mean that traditional caregiving models—based on extended family and local community support—are under strain. The bodybuilder guardians offer a novel solution: bridging physical labour with social care and reframing the job as one that commands respect.
Yet challenges remain. The wages in the care sector are still low compared with the physical demands; gender stereotypes are deep-rooted; and many young men still shun jobs seen as lacking glamour or stability. Visionary says that before adopting its muscle-friendly motif, they struggled to hire even a single carer in a year. Now they hired 168 in fiscal year 2024 alone. The question, for The Japan Times, is whether this model can scale, or whether it simply fills one niche. There is also the matter of whether the musculature matters as much as the empathy, patience and relational skill that good caregiving demands.
In one quiet moment at the facility, Usui sits beside Yamaguchi as she paints with a brush held by her mouth. She cannot use her hands, yet her creative spark continues. “I find that resourcefulness inspiring,” Usui says with a smile. “I thought I just wanted to lift weights; now I want to lift spirits too.” So perhaps what’s really happening here is not just a recruitment gimmick, but a cultural nudge: redefining strength in Japan—not just physical power, but the strength to serve, to relate, to care.
For a country of ageing wisdom and shrinking youth, that transformation may be just what the care sector needed.
Oh, now this is what Auntie calls a turn-on: men who flex not for likes, but for love. Japan’s new tribe of “マッスル介護 (massuru kaigo)” — the muscle caregivers — have Auntie’s full attention and maybe a little crush too. These aren’t your typical gym bros taking endless selfies in front of a mirror while adjusting their protein shake ratios. These young Japanese bodybuilders are out there in care homes, using their strength to lift grandmas and grandpas, not just barbells. And honestly, darlings, that’s sexier than any six-pack.
Because let’s be real: caregiving is not for the faint of heart. It’s tough, sweaty, emotional work — the kind of labour society still romanticizes as “women’s duty.” Yet here come these men, muscles gleaming, pushing back against gender stereotypes as if they were squat racks. They’ve taken the discipline of bodybuilding — routine, repetition, resistance — and turned it into an art of tenderness. In a country like Japan, where omoiyari (思いやり, empathy or thoughtfulness) is a cherished cultural value, these guys embody it in the most literal sense. They’re lifting more than weights; they’re lifting stigma, dignity, and the spirits of those who depend on them.
Auntie has always said that real masculinity isn’t about domination; it’s about protection, service, and grace under pressure. These “macho caregivers” prove that you can be strong and gentle, disciplined and kind, ripped and respectful. They remind me of the samurai ideal of chikara to nasake (力と情け) — strength with compassion — a balance that modern manhood seems to have lost somewhere between the locker room and Instagram.
And don’t get Auntie started on what this means for the broader Asian macho culture. So many men across our region still think caregiving equals weakness. That’s because patriarchy sold them the wrong story: that muscles are for power, not for love. These young Japanese men are rewriting that script with every lift, every smile, every steady hand helping an elder out of bed.
So here’s to the men who flex for others, not for ego. The ones who understand that the real workout is compassion, and the real strength test is kindness. Auntie salutes you — and if you ever need someone to cheer from the sidelines, sugar, I’ll bring the protein bars and the pom-poms.