For みん, and the maids at the @home cafe
I went to Japan
It’s a pretty place. At the time I arrived, it was approaching winter, the leaves had all but fallen. I stayed in central Tokyo, in a relatively inexpensive hotel called the The Knot.
Let’s cut to the chase. I rarely write, but then I went to a maid cafe at the encouragement of my friend B. He isn’t a local. B had done prior research about the place, and brought me to this 7 storey maid cafe, called the @home cafe. I didn’t feel the most excited, as I was shy and unsociable particularly with new people. But meeting attractive females clad in french maid uniforms might would really test my limits as an 18 year-old male.
I knew a little bit about maid cafes then. They were these cutesy pink fairy tale cafes where people get to be served by adorable waitresses adorned in adorable french maid outfits. It was happy and friendly, and basically a place I’d never even think of entering.
We entered the building, and it was cramped. The front of the cafe was already packed with customers queuing up to enter.
“How on Earth do people even manage to fill up a seven story cafe? Their business must be incredibly good.” It turns out, each storey wasn’t connected but rather a separate cafe of the same franchise. The main cafe was situated from level 3 to 7, while the Donki cafe was at level 2, and a shop at level 1. The level 1 shop (which we mistook as a cafe) was very packed, so B and I devised a plan, and went straight to the lift. From the seventh story, we would walk down the stairs to each floor to check the lines, and queue up at the shortest line. Eventually, we settled on the seventh floor.
While standing in the line, finally we were approached by a short, mediocre looking maid who handed us what I thought was a menu. She had fairly attractive features, but nothing really stood out, much to B’s disappointment. The menu was written in different languages, and as expected also in English. It was a price sheet, and there were different packages we could buy for our experience at the cafe. The packages included a full meal, which serves a drink, main course, dessert, and a photo. We hadn’t had lunch, so we opted for the half-meal package, which was identical to a full meal but without the dessert for a low low price of only US$18. Premium price for premium service.
The back of the line extended to the staircase, where we waited. There wasn’t anything interesting then, but as we progressed and approached the cafe, its purpose became obvious. Perhaps I had already known what such cafes were for, but to see it in person invoked my natural human reflexes. I wanted to run, but concurrently I also wanted to dig deeper.
I observed this 50 year-old or so looking man in front of me who was holding his tablet, and on it was an app. He was casually browsing through a list of maids and their photos, examining each of their faces meticulously. He might as well drool on the screen of his tablet. I pointed it out to B, and controlled my urge to laugh. It wasn’t funny, but it was obscene. I’m from Singapore, an Asian country, and our cultures couldn’t differ more. It’d be completely unacceptable to do this in public. You’d be seen as a pervert to scroll through the images of attractive ladies out open on a giant ass tablet. At least do it discreetly if you need your fix! Maybe only people from my country would laugh, because publicly showing your concupiscence would be deemed as really rude and inappropriate. I don’t know how or why, being male and showing interest in females might seem all natural, but such interest is generally kept private in my society.
The next thing I witnessed were the people of the cafe. Unsurprisingly, they were mostly middle-aged men. Then came the weirdest part, there were parents with children, and women as well. What? Isn’t this a place where lonely middle aged men try to find their long-lost youth through the service of young beautiful maids? I haven’t even entered the cafe, and I was already going insane with these thoughts and possibly with the help of my hormones. What else does this place have to offer?
Maid cafes provide cutesy customer service, often by including “childish” skits and antics. It really messed with my mind that this treatment which was catered to the main customers, the middle aged men, also ended up attracting children. On one hand, the 5 year-olds are genuinely entertained and having fun with their friendly maids, and on the other hand, the middle-aged man is basking in paid attention and love from the maids as a means of escaping their miserable lives.
Looking inside, the cafe had many distinctive features. There were standard furniture, such as tables and chairs. But it appeared to have a small stage, with long bar tables set in front of it, and a projector for the screen on the stage. There was also a make up room behind the stage. It felt like some kind of mini concert theatre. The cafe had mainly pink, white, and pastel yellow accents and a large window at the side that was covered by white day curtains. It didn’t feel cramped at all despite the completely filled tables. The atmosphere was bursting with exciting energy from the maids which felt cheerful. Perhaps I was actually buying into the act.
It was our turn. The maid who brought us to our seat rang a bell, and all the maids said in unison some kind of welcome quote. An English speaking maid skipped to our table and propped her gigantic menu on the small cafe table and went through every dish served at the cafe. Her name was みん (min). She was a bit chubby, and wore this permanent smile on her face, that looked nothing short of artificial. We were also handed a ‘level 1 master’ membership card. It was bronze in colour, on it stated that we could upgrade to a silver card after 4 more visits. B laughed, and said imagine a level 60 master. I laughed, and the maid followed. Oh jeez, I doubt she even understood our exchange. The maids have a little rule that they have to call their customer ‘master’. Perhaps the customers want to feel empowered or something with such an honorific. To me, it just felt contrived and undeserving. It’s so awkward and unnatural! After some research, I found out that the highest possible membership is in fact a super black card, which requires 5000 visits. Yes. That means you’d take about thirteen and a half years to get to that level, if you visit the cafe every single day.
After ordering our food, B and I set about looking at the maids, or should I say ogle at the maids. Damn, they were cute. In case you don’t already know, Asian females aren’t hot, or what people of my generation like to call ‘thicc’. We call them cute. Cuteness is generally rated above other attributes such as bust size, or curves, and what not. You have to see it to understand what cute is, especially in Japan. The maids were all acting really cute, with their exaggerated actions and facial expressions. B was left completely breathless from his animated compliments, that never seemed to cease. He was pointing, smiling, staring. I’d never seen him in such an excited state before. He must had been really sexually deprived beforehand.
When our drinks arrived, the maid kindly provided a drawing service on our lattes. She used a squeeze bottle to draw whatever we wanted in caramel or matcha sauce. B asked for a 白(shiro) drawing, and I asked for a cat drawing. For some reason, B is really obsessed with this under-aged female character named 白, from the anime No Game No Life. That might explain his inclination to hang out at maid cafes. Dang.
The same sort of service was provided to B when his Pipiyo Pipiyo Hiyoko san rice came. A different maid served the food and helped to draw his character in ketchup. She was slim, and had narrow slit eyes. Her skin, like the rest of the maids, was flawless though slightly paler. The make up on her was adequate such that her face looked naturally beautiful, with her feminine features a bit more prominent. I ordered carbonara which came with a maid mixing service. For the record, I can’t speak and can barely understand Japanese so when the maid started teaching us how to do their Maze Maze cheer, to put it nicely, I tried. Gosh my cheeks were incredibly red when we did the cheer. We even rehearsed it once, and I still had no idea what I was suppose to say as she mixed my carbonara. I was smiling at her, nodding my head as if I understood what she was saying. I looked like a complete idiot. That might be one of the most embarrassing things I’ve ever done, and at the end of the mixing, the maid smiled and cheered in front of us clueless apes. I could feel a burning sensation in my cheeks, as my mouth curled into an awkward, pitiful smile.
“ありがとござえます”, B said, and she left us with our somewhat more palatable meals.
Lastly, our package included a photograph with a maid of our choice. I was dying to leave because of my awkwardness and because my cheeks hurt. Back when みん was holding up the large menu, she asked us to pick a maid of our choice for our photo. It gets quite unsettling as on the menu there were photos of numerous maids and the prices of a photo with them. I remembered the most expensive maid costed around 400 yen, which translates to about 3.50 USD. They were labelled from premium to super premium. Clearly, it was a ranking system for the looks and popularity of the maids. As I searched the album over and over again, it became obvious — みん wasn’t in it! I panicked and became incredibly distraught at the fact that she was holding up an album, recommending us to take photos with girls other than her. Ouch, how must it feel to be in her position? I guess she felt worthless. I told B in Chinese (so that she’d not understand) of my disgust at this level of objectification, and then asked みん for a photo with herself, completely disregarding B’s opinion. みん wasn’t even unattractive. She might be chubby, but her hair was long, black, with very subtle twirls at the end. Her eyes almond-shaped, bordered by dark eyeliner and thick mascara. She wore contact lenses that made the black of her iris ever more entrancing.
After I made my request, her eyes glittered, the skin on her cheeks creasing into a delicate, genuine smile. It was a rare sight, a jewel beheld. Her look was priceless.
We took a photo afterwards, and stayed for a maid performance. Then left after.
It was a cute experience. I enjoyed it, albeit a bit disturbed by the level of objectification and social alienation in Japan.
Thank you Japan, and @home cafe for the wonderful experience. Shall strive for level 5 if I return? :)
-はん, Boriceman
In case we haven’t met, my name is Boriceman. Singapore, 18, and I hope my story maid your day.
