Commentary | Alison J. Miller, The Princess and the Press: Mako’s Wedding and the History of Imperial Women
In the weeks prior to Princess Mako’s marriage to Kei Komuro in October, 2021 the international media picked up the story, emphasizing the couple’s tumultuous engagement period, Komuro’s status as a commoner, and even drawing comparisons to Meghan Markle’s infamous departure from the British royal family (Figure 1). Some outlets in the U.S. approached the wedding as a feminist or human rights issue, claiming that Mako’s status as a royal should not impact her agency over her life choices. Meanwhile in Japan the criticism extended to Komuro’s family, specifically his mother’s finances, and even his choice of the pinstripe suit and ponytail he sported upon returning from New York to meet his in-laws. These articles often included photographs of a coy Mako and a debonair Komuro seated together behind a table topped with flowers at a press conference, but other times featured official portraits of Mako herself in the park-like setting of the imperial palace or in historic dress at her uncle’s coronation. Many of the photographs reinforced the formal, isolated, and conservative image of the Japanese imperial family that was highlighted in the various articles.
Figure 1: screenshot of Vogue magazine coverage of Princess Mako’s wedding.
While the global media was quick to pick up on the controversial aspects of the marriage, there was little to no discussion of how Mako’s treatment in the public eye fit into ongoing patterns of how women of the Japanese imperial family have been conceptualized, understood, and envisioned in public media throughout the modern era. Even within articles that provide some historical context, coverage generally has only extended back to the postwar period. Since the advent of the modern imperial family in the Meiji period (1868-1912), the women of the imperial household have been featured in mass media images as complementary figures to their partners. While their position provides greater flexibility in the public sphere, it also means that over the past 150 years they have not been afforded the reverence that has been, and is, given to their male counterparts. This is not to say that there are direct parallels or comparisons to be made between the representations of Mako and her great grandmother, but rather to point out that as all of the women of the modern imperial household are not the direct object of the sacred, their images and personae are manipulated in the media with greater ease. In practical terms, this means that the women of the family are visually highlighted for the political gain of the imperial family as an institution, but when they are condemned, it is often on a personal level, to the emotional detriment of the human women behind the royal façade.
“The women of the family are visually highlighted for the political gain of the imperial family as an institution, but when they are condemned, it is often on a personal level, to the emotional detriment of the human women behind the royal façade”
Since 1889 women have been legally excluded from inheriting the role of tennō, or emperor, a non-gendered term in Japanese, despite there being historical precedent for women in the role. Furthermore, with the 1947 Constitution, the kazoku (nobility) and all titles of nobility outside of the imperial family were abolished and women were required to renounce their royal status upon marriage, as Princess Mako did upon wedding Kei Komuro. This means that Mako’s younger brother is expected to become emperor in the future, as he is the sole male member of the next generation of the monarchy (Figure 2).
Figure 2: Genealogy of the Imperial Family, from: https://www.kunaicho.go.jp/e-about/genealogy/koseizu.html.
These laws have left the imperial family with dwindling numbers and a significant gender imbalance, and are not in-line with public opinions on the imperial family, which support both woman emperors and emperors from the female line. Currently, a government-convened panel is investigating the rules of succession, yet their proposed solutions do not include female emperorship; rather they have suggested allowing royal women to retain their status after marriage and bringing men from former branches of the imperial family back into the fold through adoption.
In addition to a variety of unfounded rumors, the primary reason that Mako and Komuro’s marriage was controversial was debt held by his mother. Many Japanese felt that this liability was questionable, and some wondered if imperial family funds would be directed towards repayment. Komuro settled the debt in the weeks after the wedding, Mako rejected the 1.4-million-dollar dowry that she was entitled to as an imperial princess, and the couple even personally paid for the hotel conference room where the newlyweds met with the press. Despite their attempts to appease public opinions, the couple has been beleaguered in the tabloids and on social media, with Mako’s father Prince Akishino going so far as to criticize the media for saying “terrible things” about his daughter, displaying a level of candor that is unusual for Japanese royals.
Figure 3: Ueno kōen kaika zu (Blossoming Cherry Trees in Ueno Park), 1888, Yōshū Chikanobu, multicolor woodblock print, Collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Gift of Lincoln Kirstein, 1959, JP3199.
The negative coverage in Japan begs the question: why do so many members of the Japanese public feel as if they have the right to criticize Mako’s personal choices, with some citizens feeling so passionate that they took to the streets in protest? The answer is complicated, and rooted in a variety of historical and contemporary phenomena, including parasocial relationships, intensive media coverage of the imperial family, and nationalist attitudes, among others. While a full analysis of the multitude of reasons is too broad to cover here, I would like to highlight one specific explanation: the tension between the dual status of the imperial system and the centrality of visual representations of the women of the imperial household
Looking back to the advent of the modern monarchy in the early Meiji period, women’s roles in the imperial household underwent great changes. In 1871 the kōkyū, or anterior court, was reorganized, giving the empress a more central place at court and leading to her role as half of the monarchy. Over the subsequent decades, this position played out in visual culture, which was the primary way that citizens received communication about the imperial family: hundreds of Meiji period woodblock prints show the royals as a unit, with the empress envisioned in a central role. In works such as the 1888 multicolor woodblock print Ueno kōen kaika zu (Blossoming Cherry Trees in Ueno Park), by Yōshū Chikanobu, the empress is represented as the dominant figure in the composition, her peacock feathered hat and bright purple and red clothing dominating the foreground, and complimenting in color and form the imperial banner that frames the top half of the print (Figure 3). In this image, Empress Shōken was a public-facing empress, one who visually upstaged her husband, but who could be criticized in ways that he could not. Similarly, as the women of today’s imperial household continue to play differential roles than their brothers and fathers, they are frequently the topic of tabloid gossip in ways that the men of the family are not, but are visually featured in widely distributed press photographs (Figure 4). In both instances, historic and contemporary, the women of the imperial court are promoted for institutional gain, but this media exposure often leads to personal criticism.
The women of the Meiji, Taishō, and early Shōwa imperial households played a critical role in birthing the next generation of royals and accompanying their partners in ceremonial positions, yet they did not carry the same sacred, political, and social meanings as their male counterparts. The public functions of the empresses and princesses are dynamic, and have changed over time and in tandem with their appearances as represented in vernacular media such as woodblock prints, newspapers, and magazines. The women’s activities as represented in the media evolved from official visits to factories and exhibitions in early Meiji, to calls at military hospitals during the first Sino-Japanese War, and on to more person-to-person encounters with disaster survivors in the Taishō period. These activities, the visual representations of which were strictly controlled by the Imperial Household Ministry (now Agency), were responsive to social norms and major events, but while the empresses and princesses were not static, they were, and remain today, a steady and constant presence in visual media.
Censorship laws meant that the women of the Meiji and Taishō imperial households were not subject to the vitriolic media that is often directed at royals today. Still, instances of both lèse-majesté and internal strife were recorded on occasion, with women the frequent recipients of public and private disapproval. Empress Shōken, for example, failed to produce a male heir and came close to divorce as a result. Rumors hinted at potential discord between Empress Teimei and her son Emperor Shōwa during the 1930s, arising from her pacifist views, a result of her Quaker upbringing. The strained relationship between Empress Kōjun and her daughter-in-law Empress Michiko famously led to Michiko’s emotional breakdown in 1963. Empress Masako, the current Reiwa empress, avoided the public eye in the early 2000s due to mental health issues resulting from her inability to produce a male heir. Mako was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder after the media storm of the past three years. These varied critiques of maternal and feminine propriety are not similarly leveled at the male members of the household.
Figure 4: New Year’s Reception at the Imperial Palace. Left to right, front row: Emperor Naruhito, Empress Masako, Princess Aiko, Princess Nobuko, Princess Akiko of Mikasa, and Princess Yoko of Mikasa. January 1, 2022.
Each of the women of the modern and contemporary Japanese imperial family has held some modicum of agency in their public personae, with their autonomy increasing through time. Yet, despite changes in the public expectations for and perceptions of the roles of princes and princesses, emperors and empresses over the past 150 years, the lingering modern dual status of the imperial system has meant that the men and women of the imperial family have divergent roles to play, and are the recipients of differential media treatment. Visually, the women of the imperial household are prominently featured, as they have been since the early Meiji days, but critiques leveled at them are harsher, and less deferential than those directed at the male members of the household. We are left to question if the women’s increased freedom is a double-edged sword: does further autonomy lead to more public disparagement? What should the Imperial Household Agency be doing, if anything, to counter the tabloid gossip on imperial women? Because the women of the imperial family are held to a highly conventional, historic standard of feminine propriety, actions that would be seen as normal by most standards will be read as an affront to tradition for many Japanese royalists. As the varied panels of experts decide on new rules of succession it is difficult to say what the future will bring, but considering the long-standing differences in media treatment of royal men and women, it is likely that the double standards on the empresses and princesses of the imperial family will remain.
Alison J. Miller, Assistant Professor of Art History at the University of the South, is a scholar of Asian art who specializes in modern and contemporary Japanese art, prints and photography, and the intersections of gender studies and visual culture.
To cite this essay, please use the entry suggested below:
Alison J. Miller, “The Princess and the Press: Mako’s Wedding and the History of Imperial Women,” criticalasianstudies.org Commentary Board, January 7, 2022; https://doi.org/10.52698/NTLZ1233.