Monday marked Marine Day in Japan, a public holiday typically reserved for escaping the summer heat at the beach. Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi, however, spent the long weekend clearing a backlog of thousands of emails and reviewing policy documents, according to a social media update posted Tuesday. She reported securing a “full five hours of sleep for the first time in ages”—a significant improvement over the “zero to three hours” she has grown accustomed to—and noted she used her scarce downtime to iron undergarments, mend fraying skirts, and reinforce loose jacket buttons.
With the disclosure, Ms. Takaichi appeared intent on projecting an image of a grounded leader tirelessly serving the public. Instead, the post, which has garnered over 31 million views, ignited a national conversation regarding work-life balance and the dangers of chronic sleep deprivation.
Opposition lawmaker Toru Kunishige warned that prolonged sleep loss “impairs judgment—much like a state of intoxication—and could pose a risk to national crisis management.” Fellow parliamentarian Hiroyuki Konishi called for her resignation, arguing, “The prime minister’s actual job is to set policy directions and issue instructions, not to pore over every last detail of a document.” Yuichiro Tamaki, leader of a populist conservative party, acknowledged Ms. Takaichi’s diligence but countered that “resting is also a job.”
Ms. Takaichi’s office did not immediately respond to a request for comment.
Some observers contended that Ms. Takaichi, Japan’s first female prime minister, deserves stronger institutional support. While previous leaders often relied on spouses for domestic management, Ms. Takaichi appears to be shouldering a heavier load of household duties personally, according to Yoko Iwama, a professor at the National Graduate Institute for Policy Studies in Tokyo.
“Establishing a support system that allows a Japanese prime minister to focus entirely on their duties—without having to handle household chores personally—would contribute to women’s advancement in society,” Ms. Iwama wrote in the Nikkei, a leading business newspaper.
Ms. Takaichi has been operating at a feverish pace recently to advance legislative priorities before the Diet recesses for summer on Saturday. She is also contending with persistent economic headwinds—the yen recently hit a 39-year low—and a slight dip in popularity, though her approval ratings remain comparatively high.
In her post, Ms. Takaichi detailed her recent workload, stating that since early July she had been “holed up on weekends at her residence poring over thick stacks of documents” from early morning until late at night. She also shared personal anecdotes, admitting she was “terrible at ironing and it takes forever,” but noted that her holiday session yielded “enough handkerchiefs and undergarments to last until the end of the session.”
“I can dive back in and give it my all starting tomorrow!” she concluded.
Allies have rallied to her defense, praising her candor regarding the pressures of balancing public office with personal obligations. Vice Foreign Minister Ayano Kunimitsu noted that Ms. Takaichi, like many politicians, faces pressure to manage chores independently.
“Each person has their own circumstances and behind-the-scenes stories,” Ms. Kunimitsu wrote on X. “I would be grateful if you could understand.”
Japan maintains a reputation for grueling work hours, with shifts at some corporations exceeding 12 hours. In both business and government, employees face implicit pressure to remain at the office until superiors depart and to log excessive overtime, traditionally viewed as a marker of loyalty and diligence.
High-profile cases of karoshi, or “death from overwork,” have drawn scrutiny in recent years. The issue reached a flashpoint in 2016 when Matsuri Takahashi, an employee at advertising giant Dentsu, died by suicide after logging more than 100 hours of monthly overtime. Her death spurred the government to cap monthly overtime at 45 hours, a reform experts say has begun to ease the culture, particularly for younger workers.
Since entering politics in the 1990s, Ms. Takaichi has centered her identity on a relentless work ethic. Upon assuming the premiership last year, she pledged to “work, work, work, work and work.” She has adeptly used social media to showcase her schedule, publishing a lengthy post in January detailing her management of geopolitical crises while moving into the official residence during the holiday season.
This is not the first time her habits have drawn scrutiny. In November, she faced criticism for summoning aides at 3 a.m. She later explained that her home fax machine had malfunctioned, requiring staff assistance to reach another office to prepare for a meeting.
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