Kyoichi Tsuzuki On Dolls Beyond the Real

In the summer of 2016, I held an exhibition at a gallery in Shibuya called “Akko Barū,” titled God Dwells in the Genitals – Kyōichi Tsuzuki Presents Erotopia Japan. It was a photographic showcase of Japan’s unique erotic culture—secret treasure museums, love hotels, cosplay cafés – dating from the 1990s onward. This was, of course, strictly 18+.

The gallery was perched next to Tokyu Bunkamura (and right across from a cluster of love hotels), which initially made me nervous. But to our surprise, over 10,000 people attended—far more than we ever expected.

Aside from the photographs on the walls, we displayed bizarre and niche items: mannequins from old secret museums, and even real “love dolls” on loan from Orient Industry. To our astonishment – and that of the staff—70–80% of the visitors were women, especially young women. We had allowed photography throughout, and I vividly remember girls gleefully snapping selfies with the mannequins and love dolls, while single men looked awkward in the background. It felt like a snapshot of a changing era.

Orient Industry provided various dolls: part of their “furniture series” (like a doll built into a bookshelf), a full-body doll, and two detachable “holes” designed for intercourse. We labeled them “touchable” and “feel-testable” – because we wanted everyone to experience the lifelike sensation of silicone. We even placed wet wipes nearby with signs saying, “Please wipe your finger before, and touch gently.” Yet men hesitated, sheepishly touching a thigh at best. Women, however, grabbed breasts boldly or pinched nipples without a second thought – staff were on edge watching their unabashed curiosity.

In a curtained-off box near a bar counter, we placed a “hole” for people to slide their fingers into, encouraging them to feel the tightness and folds. Again, women dove right in, fingers swirling around, laughing, “It’s just like me!” I almost wanted to retort, “It even beats you,” but it struck me how I was becoming antiquated.

What kind of artificial organ can make a 20-year-old exclaim, “It’s just like me!” Women asked the obvious question: If the hole alone delivers realistic pleasure, why spend thousands on a full-body doll – to pick clothes, dress it, scent it, celebrate birthdays with cake, and live with it as a partner? Female attendees simply didn’t get it. This distinction held true among foreign visitors – Western and Asian alike.

When you see the dolls in person and touch them, Orient Industry’s creations are astonishingly realistic. But women’s question— “Is such realism really necessary just for masturbation?” – seems to strike at the heart of their essence.

I’ve written and spoken about this before, but the very essence of “craft” lies in pursuing perfection. Think of a master sake cup, born from years of honing to deliver the finest drinking experience. Yet sometimes there’s another kind of cup – almost awkward to drink from but so pleasing to behold – aesthetic rather than utilitarian. Craft might deem it unusable, but its charm lies in transcending mere function. Maybe that’s what we call “art.”

For me, Orient Industry’s dolls aren’t special just because they look incredibly lifelike – they surpass the threshold of necessary realism. They aren’t merely tools for “intense pleasure and maximum orgasm.” They inhabit another realm of bliss. Like in hyper-realistic paintings, fantasy flourishes in that space beyond realism—it’s obsession and enchantment.

It’s fascinating how Orient Industry’s products evolved – from simple “air dolls” with holes to super-realistic silicone companions. Curious about this trajectory, I visited their showroom in Ueno and their factory in Katsushika a few years ago and spoke with company founder Hideo Tsuchiya. I later included that interview in my book Tokyo Right Half (with a love doll on the cover). Now, on their 40th anniversary, I reprint and expand the original article here, hoping readers will gain insight into the heartfelt intentions behind these dolls – viewing their expressions a bit differently.

At Orient Industry: Ueno Showroom

On a quiet second floor along Showa Street in Ueno, dozens of exquisite dolls—ranging from girl-next-door to micro-adult – sit under soft lighting. Some wear everyday clothes, others are nearly nude. They face visitors with calm, silent smiles. These are not humans, but the most intricately crafted dolls – Orient Industry’s flagship.

Founded in 1977 in Taitō-ku, Orient Industry is Japan’s largest and most meticulous maker of love dolls, with showrooms in Ueno and Osaka.

Founder Hideo Tsuchiya (born 1944 in Yokohama) shifted careers from salaryman to adult toy retailer – an unusual path. I was born in Mugita, Yokohama, near Motomachi, which is quite fashionable, unlike Mugita (he chuckled). I worked as a salaryman until meeting someone running an adult toy store in Shinjuku, on what’s now gone-legendary Kabukichō district. I liked that kind of “soft” business and thought, why not give it a try? I moved from Yokohama to Tokyo, working between Shinjuku and Ueno, then branched out to run my own store in Asakusa for a few years in the late ’60s and early ’70s.

Back then, adult toy shops were booming. But authorities were strict—even pubic hair in magazines was scandalous. Tsuchiya expanded to two stores in Asakusa, selling inflatable sex dolls (“dutch wives”), vibrators among women, sponge toys for men. As motorized items arrived, they disguised them as folk craft with funny faces to dodge regulation – unthinkable now, when sex toy stores in Akihabara stock realistic phallic toys.

Working daily in the store, Tsuchiya noticed inflatable dolls sold at ¥10,000–20,000 yet were often bad quality—tearing quickly under weight. Customers weren’t kink aficionados, but often men with disabilities or emotional wounds, people struggling to relate to women. He felt compelled to create something more than a sexual tool—something that could sit beside someone and provide emotional comfort.

When he wrapped those cheap dolls in nice craft paper labeled “Antarctica” and sold them at higher price, they sold well. But they broke repeatedly – like punctured balloons. Realizing poor aesthetics hurt perception, he wanted to improve.

In 1977, Orient Industry debuted Hohoemi (“Smile”) – their first original product: soft vinyl on face and breasts, reinforced waist in urethane, inflatable body segments. Around the same time, he met Dr. Sasaki, about 10 years older, a former physician from Kyoto with experience making dolls for disabled people. Sasaki brought a new perspective, treating these dolls with serious intent rather than fringe novelty. He even staffed a “Ueno counseling room” – open for sexual consultations, lasting an hour or more.

They learned that needs varied widely: not just for the disabled, but men whose partners left, women who lost intimacy, mothers caring for disabled sons. The counseling process became vital.

Following Hohoemi, they released full-body detachable limb dolls: Omokage (1982), Kagemi (1987), Eika (1992) – all latex dolls with reserved, somber expressions. In 1997, Hana Sannin-shimai (“The Flower Sisters”) debuted – still latex, but radiating brightness and daily-life sensibility.

A major shift occurred after 1996’s Real Doll arrival – silicone dolls crafted in California at $6,000–7,000 apiece. Japanese manufacturers, including Orient, rushed to develop silicone models. By 2001, Orient released Jewel, after two years of development and securing quality silicone. In 1999, their sofubi Alice series (shaved dress forms, 136 cm tall) became unexpectedly popular – 100–150 units per month—attracting younger customers seeking “healing” rather than purely erotic use. Fan clubs formed, unheard-of at the time.

Secondary markets emerged – used dolls being resold. Some owners donated dolls to be “re-homed” because the dolls had “feelings” depending on how they were treated. Dealers even started facilitating private transfers to protect buyers’ privacy.

As doll ownership shed stigma, Orient’s lineup expanded. Some collectors own 10+ dolls, turning rooms into giant “dollhouses,” even switching doll heads. Buyers choose features from skin to breasts; some women prefer dolls without genitals – a form of comfort or healing. The possibilities are vast.

These latex, vinyl, and silicone dolls have absorbed decades of human desire and imagination. Orient calls doll delivery “marriage,” and returned dolls “homecomings.” Returned dolls treated with care look more serene—something American companies don’t do. This gentle, nuanced bond is deeply Japanese.

Orient’s showroom and HQ remain in Ueno, while the factory is in Katsushika. Katsushika has a long history of toy-making. With aging contract manufacturers, Orient built its own factory in 2004. Between 2003–04, a fad for “doll brothels” even swept TV, and they made roughly 1,000 dolls a year. Now, they still sell around 1,000 annually across body types ranging ¥100,000–700,000.

They accept custom orders – including, at times, dolls resembling loved ones. But some requests turned dark—people using stolen photos – so those services are paused. Facial designers warn: copying a person exactly looks corpse-like. Instead, they “positively idealize” human beauty – adjusting proportions, skin tones, breast texture, even nipple color – to craft a fantasy “dream woman” who truly feels alive and romantic in your space.

These artisans quietly meet humanity’s deepest desires in a lively downtown factory of dedicated young staff—on Tokyo’s outskirts.