In Japan, culture does not end with people. It quietly extends to objects.
There exists a rare and deeply philosophical belief called tsukumogami, the idea that everyday objects gain a spirit after serving humans for one hundred years. An old umbrella, a broken teapot, a worn-out musical instrument or a pair of sandals is not simply discarded. It is respected, sometimes even feared, because it is believed to have developed awareness and memory.
This belief comes from Japanese folklore and Shinto thought, where nature and non-living things are not seen as separate from life. Unlike many cultures that draw a strict line between the living and the lifeless, Japan treats objects as silent companions that share time and experience with humans.
In traditional stories, tsukumogami appear as animated household items with faces, limbs and emotions. Some are playful, some mischievous, and others angry, especially if they were mistreated or thrown away carelessly. These stories were not meant only to entertain. They taught responsibility, gratitude and respect for possessions.
This belief shaped real-life practices. In Japan, broken needles are taken to temples during a ritual called hari kuyo, where they are thanked for years of service before being laid to rest. Old dolls are ceremonially burned in shrines instead of being thrown into garbage bins. Even today, many Japanese hesitate to discard personal items abruptly, believing that careless disposal carries moral weight.
What makes tsukumogami unique is that it challenges modern consumer culture. In a world driven by speed, replacement and excess, this belief asks people to slow down and acknowledge the life cycle of objects. It teaches that value does not disappear when usefulness ends.
Outside Japan, objects are often measured by price and practicality. Once broken, they lose meaning. In Japanese culture, however, age adds dignity. Wear and tear become signs of shared history. This mindset is also reflected in other traditions like kintsugi, where broken pottery is repaired with gold, highlighting damage instead of hiding it.
Tsukumogami is not widely practised today in its mythical form, but its spirit remains alive in Japanese attitudes toward cleanliness, care and minimalism. It influences how homes are organised, how tools are handled and how waste is reduced.
This rare cultural belief cannot be seen anywhere else in the world in the same way. It exists quietly, not as a performance or festival, but as an invisible ethic shaping daily life.
In a time when humans are increasingly disconnected from what they own and use, Japan’s belief that objects deserve respect feels both ancient and urgently modern.