How Do Japanese People Save Money?

One of the reasons I never budgeted is because I felt like money was shameful. I spent it in ways that didn’t align with my proper values, and I’m pretty sure other people feel the same way. Many people grow up with this idea that money is evil and shameful, which can paradoxically make it easier to spend on hedonistic things. You go out more than you normally would because you’ve lost your sense of purpose and values. I’m guilty of that, too.

I had just finished my diploma in accounting and business from the ACCA, a UK-Based Accounting Certifying Organization (like the CPA). I was also looking at financial literacy courses online. That was how I came across Khan Academy’s financial literacy course — it was good, actually — but I was only about twenty percent through before I realised much of it focused on credit scores and 401(k)s. It just didn’t feel immediately applicable, and I was looking for something more intuitive. What the ACCA taught me is that with budgets, you need to plan forward and plan back, making sure to control how much you spend. But the question I kept asking myself was: how do I personally manage money, without making it feel like I’m budgeting for a production line?

That’s what led me, somewhat randomly, to Kakeibo. I found it during a random browser search on Japanese accounting practices, alongside Japanese philosophical concepts like ikigai and kodawari. I was interested in values alignment in budgeting, and Kakeibo just came up.

The word ‘kakeibo’ means household financial ledger. Its methodology was laid out by Hani Motoko in 1904 — Japan’s first female journalist —  and was later popularized for Western audiences by Fumiko Chiba in 2017. But what struck me was how deliberately simple it is: Paper and pen, no app or algorithm. You ask yourself four questions each month: How much do I have? How much am I spending? How much do I want to save? How can I improve? You then categorise your spending into four areas: needs, wants, culture, and unexpected costs.

The “culture” category is especially interesting to me. Culture is clearly beneficial, but it’s an expense. Yet without it, it becomes hard to stay human. In Japan, families save for occasions like weddings and Shichigosan — when you take photographs of your children at three, five, and seven years old. In this case, cost-reducing methods might include  finding a cheaper photographer, or learning photography yourself to meet said cultural obligation. Similarly, there are New Year cards, because you have to maintain relations with family and friends. These things matter. Kakeibo doesn’t ask you to cut them. It asks you to see them clearly. Culture is what makes you human; it is not something we simply calculate in back offices.

What Kakeibo does is create you a space that’s counter-consumerist. There’s no immediate gratification when you reflect on what you actually want to save and how you can improve each month. I think of a typical Japanese household saving intentionally for something meaningful — and realizing that this is what financial resilience actually looks like: not a windfall. Not a dramatic overhaul. Just consistent, conscious attention.

I taught English across the Kansai region of Japan for several years. One of my students — a lawyer — told me that saving money is a virtue in Confucianism, and that it is simply a part of Japanese life. That stuck with me, because I realized that you can see it everywhere once you know to look. Discount grocery stores are respected, not stigmatized. Companies have publicly apologized for raising prices — something that could only happen in Japan. Resilience is something that the Japanese have enshrined into their way of life as a people, and they do it together. I think that’s beautiful.

The Japanese have shown remarkable financial resilience since World War II and the 1980s economic boom and bust. I knew their frugality was tied to Confucian philosophy — the same influence you see across China and Korea — but I wasn’t sure of the full picture until I found Kakeibo. It made things clearer.

When I introduce Kakeibo in my workshops, the first thing I will say is: we all lose money to consumerism, but what we really need is a space to reflect. Once I see everyone nodding at that, I know we can start a real conversation. Because Kakeibo is as important as having a journal, a diary, or a calendar —  something you can use  every month to figure out how you spend according to your values.

This is what the Japanese call shugyō — austere training, the cultivation of conduct through habit. Think of a samurai sword being forged by constant tempering, while its master is outside training with a wooden sword, perfecting his dueling technique. The sword and the swordsman are both being shaped, slowly and deliberately, through committed practice. Kakeibo is for your finances. It is not a hack. It is not a shortcut. It is a practice.

If you read this and do nothing else — don’t look up Kakeibo, don’t buy a notebook — I want you to ask yourself one thing: what is consumerism costing you, and what could you do to be counter-consumerist? Start with that question.  Whether or not you adopt Kakeibo, the act of reflection is the beginning of financial resilience and wellness. A shugyō of sorts with a journal instead of the samurai path. And like all good practices, the point isn’t to master it. The point is the upkeep.