Fur That Earns Billions – Yuru-kyara, or How Every Japanese Town Has Its Own Adorably Awkward Mascot
The Cat Samurai and the Crazy Eel Airplane
Imagine an otter. A pink one. Wearing a diving helmet. With an unsettlingly wild-eyed stare and a plastic stick in its paw. This is Chiitan☆ – the unofficial mascot of Tokushima, who gained fame for toppling chairs, crashing into people while riding in a wheeled garbage bin, destroying decorations, engaging in samurai-style duels with an inflatable banana, and bouncing off objects with the grace of a bowling ball. And afterward, with a smile, it thanks its hosts on Snapchat. This isn’t a scene from another bizarre anime – it’s real life. Welcome to the world of yuru-kyara – Japan’s regional mascots. They take on forms no anatomy textbook could predict, perform their own choreographies, run YouTube channels, participate in beauty pageants, and – no joke – are capable of boosting local economies by hundreds of millions of yen. And all this while looking like they’ve just stumbled out of a crash at a kindergarten puppet show.
These “loose characters” – for that’s the literal translation of yuru-kyara – are seemingly clumsy, huggable creatures. But behind that awkwardness lies surprising marketing precision and a potent dose of local pride. When Kumamon from Kumamoto Prefecture won over the hearts of all Japan and earned the title of “Happiness Manager,” its merchandise market exploded – it still generates billions of yen annually. And many others followed: from TV towers with fatherly faces, to humanoid Austrians on skis, to fruit-bear hybrids with shark teeth. In Japan, everything can have a mascot. And very often, it does.
Today’s article will be a journey through this peculiar land of furry ambassadors. We’ll show how yuru-kyara were born from the need for promotion, how they conquered social media and the hearts of residents, and how – quite seriously – they’re transforming the image of towns and villages. We’ll touch on history and marketing, but also on a question rarely asked in Europe: should a mayor really be dancing next to a pear holding a samurai sword?
What exactly is yuru-kyara? (ゆるキャラ)
Let’s start at the beginning – with that odd-sounding word which, over the past two decades, has taken over Japanese streets, offices, train stations, and the hearts of citizens. Yuru-kyara is a contraction of the Japanese phrase “yurui karakter” – meaning “loose character” or “clumsy hero.” The word yurui (ゆるい) can be translated as “awkward,” “cute,” “soft,” “sloppy,” “uncoordinated,” or even “floppy” – a term which, in Japan, doesn’t necessarily carry negative connotations. Quite the opposite – combined with the English loanword character (キャラクター, shortened to kyara), it creates an expression that perfectly captures the essence of these mascots: characters drawn with a wink, intentionally disproportionate, with oversized heads, stiff limbs, and the obligatory aura of kawaii – the Japanese charm that need not be perfect but must evoke warm feelings.
And that’s precisely their greatest strength. They’re neither superheroes, nor idols, nor beauty icons – they’re strangely familiar, a bit inept, and thus… quite human. Just take a walk through a modern Japanese city to see for yourself: here’s a regional mascot, wobbling in front of city hall in Kumamoto, taking selfies with preschoolers; in a café at Tokyo Station, you’re served a cookie shaped like a local character from Tōhoku; in a bento kiosk in Hiroshima, you’re greeted by a smiling rice ball with eyes and a hat on a poster. Yuru-kyara are everywhere – and somehow, it suits them perfectly.
As for how the term is written – things get even more interesting. Yuru-kyara is written in Japanese as ゆるキャラ: the first part, ゆる (yuru), uses the hiragana script, which is associated with softness, childhood, or femininity, while the second – キャラ (kyara) – is written in katakana, typically used for foreign words. Even this choice of script carries meaning – it emphasizes the blend of native “looseness” with pop culture and global influences. The term was cleverly coined in 2004 by journalist and illustrator Miyao Mitsuaki, who first used it in an essay in Mainichi Shimbun to describe local, imperfect, yet charming characters representing regions and events.
Over the years, the term became fully embedded in everyday language – to the extent that Japanese people use it not only when talking about mascots but also… about people. When someone behaves in a clumsy, harmlessly awkward way that evokes affection, they might be told they’re like a yuru-kyara. And no one takes offense – because it simply means they’re a “cutie.”
A (not-so-)short history of these adorably oddball creatures
Though yuru-kyara may seem like a relatively new phenomenon, the Japanese love for anthropomorphized creatures runs much deeper. In the Edo period, ukiyo-e woodblock prints featured strange, endearing beings – animals with human traits, foxes in kimonos, dancing demons, and spirits resembling mushrooms with eyes. Though modern mascots emerged in a time dominated by marketing and pop culture, they draw surprisingly heavily from this folkloric heritage.
The real yuru-kyara boom didn’t begin until the first decade of the 21st century. Local governments, especially in lesser-known prefectures, began looking for ways to attract tourists and stimulate their economies. And since conventional brochures and ad campaigns weren’t working – they turned to something… fluffier. The earliest characters of this kind, like Sento-kun from Nara (2008), provoked more bewilderment than admiration – this bald boy with deer antlers was meant to promote the 1300th anniversary of the Heijō-kyō capital, but ended up the butt of media jokes. Yet no one was discouraged. Quite the opposite – it was the start of a national obsession.
The real breakthrough came in 2010 with the debut of Kumamon – a black bear with red cheeks, created by the authorities of Kumamoto Prefecture to celebrate the opening of the Kyūshū Shinkansen bullet train line. The graphic design was as simple as could be, but that was its strength. Kumamon behaved like a mischievous child – running offstage, tripping, somersaulting, dancing clumsily to J-pop. And that’s what won people over. In 2011, he took first place in the nationwide Yuru-kyara Grand Prix, and his popularity exploded. To this day, he has brought in over 150 billion yen in revenue for the prefecture. That’s not a typo – one plush bear generated the equivalent of over 4 billion złoty. No wonder other regions wanted a Kumamon of their own.
Thus began a true mascot explosion. Every prefecture, city, even village wanted a character to call its own. In 2011, the first official edition of the aforementioned Yuru-kyara Grand Prix was held – Japan’s version of a Miss pageant, only with a lot more fur, stuffing, and plastic. Mascots present themselves to the public, perform dances, hand out flyers, and shoot their own promotional videos. Voting takes place online and motivates local communities to such an extent that students and retirees spend entire days clicking for their favorite character. Over the years, the contest has been won by such stars as Barii-san from Imabari (a chicken with a samurai sword), Shusse Daimyō Ieyasu-kun from Hamamatsu (a child version of Tokugawa), and Unari-kun from Narita (a cross between an airplane and an eel – seriously).
Today, Japan has over 1,500 official yuru-kyara registered in databases (such as the “Gotōchi chara” catalog). However, according to other estimates, if you count informal, local, and privately created mascots – some made by companies, tourism associations, or schools – the number may reach as high as 4,000.
Over time, mascots began to serve as ambassadors – receiving titles like “Happiness,” “Tourism,” or “Sales” representative. For instance, Kumamon was officially named Sales Manager and Happiness Manager of Kumamoto Prefecture. Their faces appear on public transport tickets, candy wrappers, and even… ballot boxes (in civic education versions for children). In the city of Hikone, home to Hikonyan – a white cat in a samurai helmet – the mascot appears every day at 1:30 PM in the castle courtyard to wave to the assembled crowd. No one asks “if” – only “what will he dance today?” (you can find more about him here: Japanese Lucky Cats, Maneki-Neko: How a Cat Lost Its Head, Then Bit a Snake, and Still Brings Prosperity Today).
The mascot economy is a story in itself. According to data from the Ministry of Economy, in 2013 alone, regional mascots generated revenues exceeding 290 billion yen. That’s more than the entire market for Japanese sports-themed manga. Cookbooks with mascots’ favorite recipes are published, as well as coloring books, origami sets, figurine collections, good luck charms, and even… cosmetics endorsed by Gunma-chan (a pony from Gunma).
And what about the “off-the-grid” mascots? Well, they too have their five minutes of fame. Some of them are created independently – like the famous Funassyi, a pear from Funabashi that screams, jumps, demolishes sets, and behaves as if it’s high on sugar. Funassyi was never officially recognized by the city authorities, but its popularity online was so massive that it appeared in commercials, talk shows, and even got its own anime. Even more controversial was Chiitan☆, a wild otter wielding a plastic stick and possessing a particularly destructive personality – for a time, its antics (attacking a rival mascot, smashing studio walls) were the most-viewed mascot content on the internet, until the Tokushima authorities politely asked it to... disappear.
But this, in fact, is the very essence of yuru-kyara culture: imperfection, awkwardness, and at times even outright nonsense. And the Japanese – like no one else – know how to love that with all their hearts.
A Map of Japan with Fluffy Commentary
A Parade of Oddballs
Japan is a country where every prefecture, major city, and sometimes even the tiniest mountain village can have its own fluffy representative. Just like a coat of arms or a flag, a yuru-kyara becomes a symbol of local pride – only in a much softer and cuddlier form. These mascots don’t just wave at passersby, hand out flyers, or dance at festivals – they each have their own story, personality, and often even a life philosophy. Below you’ll find selected examples from across Japan – each one a small piece of local culture, hidden in fur, foam, and a wide smile.
Kumamon (“The Black Bear”)
くまモン
Kumamoto Prefecture, 2010
A black bear with round eyes and bright red cheeks who always looks like he just did something he wasn’t supposed to. And that’s exactly why we love him. Kumamon is a master at pretending to trip, bump into walls, or lose his way – and at the same time, with the poise of an ambassador, he hands out souvenir balloons to children. He doesn’t speak a word, but his gestures and awkward dancing express more than any advertising slogan. Always slightly confused, but always ready to make a new friend.
He was created to promote the opening of the Kyūshū Shinkansen line and… exploded in popularity beyond anyone’s expectations. Kumamon brought revenues to the prefecture that exceeded all prior estimates, became a national icon, the protagonist of books, cartoons, and a mountain of merchandise – from keychains to cookies. The Kumamoto authorities gave him the title of “Sales and Happiness Manager,” and his official Instagram account is followed by hundreds of thousands of fans. Kumamon visits schools, trade fairs, Japanese embassies, and has even performed in Paris and Taipei. He’s more than a bear – he’s the archetype of success.
Hikonyan (“Meow from Hikone”)
ひこにゃん
Shiga Prefecture, 2007
Hikonyan is a white cat with an innocent expression and a samurai helmet on his head – exactly like the ones worn by the Ii clan warriors, the former lords of Hikone Castle. He doesn’t run around or go wild – he moves calmly from place to place, with a dignity befitting his historical heritage (in truth, he’s quite immobile and phlegmatic). His movements are smooth, almost ceremonial, and his bows are full of grace. In the eyes of older Japanese people, he evokes nostalgia; in children – laughter and joy.
He was created for the 400th anniversary of Hikone Castle and quickly won the hearts of tourists. The inspiration came from a legend about a white cat who saved Lord Ii Naotaka by beckoning him with its paw to a temple just before a lightning strike. Since 2007, Hikonyan has drawn crowds of visitors – by day, you can find him in the castle courtyard, where he performs several times daily. Merchandise sales bearing his image bring the city millions of yen annually, and his likeness has even made it into the prestigious Nendoroid collectible figure line. Hikonyan is Hikone’s pride – and a symbol of how adorably history can be told.
Unari-kun (“Eel Roar”)
うなりくん
Chiba Prefecture (Narita), circa 2010
Unari-kun looks like a hybrid of an airplane and… an eel. He has a blue, aerodynamic body ending in an unagi tail, pointed wings, and large eyes that gaze at the world with childlike curiosity. Though his form resembles a bird, he is actually a representative of the “unaginarius” species – a creature from another planet. He loves handing out sweets, taking photos with tourists, and bouncing energetically to the rhythm of local songs.
Unari-kun arrived from the planet Unari and settled in Narita after falling in love with its airport. His name is a pun: “unagi” (eel – a local delicacy in Narita) and “Narita” (from the city name, but also nari: the sound or “roar” of passing airplanes). He was officially made the city’s mascot to promote tourism – since many people only pass through on their way to Tokyo. His mission is to make travelers stay a little longer, to taste the yokan, teppōzuke (pickles shaped like rifles!), and experience the local hospitality.
Lerch-san (“Mr. Lerch”)
レルヒさん
Niigata Prefecture, 2011
Lerch-san is not a bear, not a snake, not a fruit – but… an Austrian with a mustache. His face resembles a character from a Wes Anderson cartoon – with dark, roguish eyebrows and a smile worthy of a man who fears no snow. He wears a long yellow coat, tall boots, and a distinctive military cap. Lerch-san doesn’t dance like other mascots – he skis with elegance.
He is inspired by a real person – Theodor von Lerch, an officer of the Austro-Hungarian army who introduced skiing to Japan in 1911. He was the first to descend the slopes of Niigata and launched a winter sports boom. Lerch-san became the official ambassador for skiing promotion in the prefecture and frequently appears at winter festivals, in advertisements, and at sporting events. Thanks to him, residents are reminded that Niigata is not only about rice and sake – but also about snowy madness with historical roots.
Funassyi (“The Funabashian”)
ふなっしー
Chiba Prefecture (Funabashi), 2011
Funassyi is a yellow, bouncing pear with superhuman energy and a slightly crazed expression. It has a blue bow, a red smile… and can scream like a rock star. Unlike most yuru-kyara, Funassyi is far from silent – quite the opposite, it speaks, sings, jumps, and makes noises that sound like explosive bursts of fruit-flavored enthusiasm. It’s direct, anarchic, and wonderfully unpredictable.
It was created by a fan of the city of Funabashi as a form of local promotion – but without any official backing from the authorities. Funassyi is a “pear-like monster born from the 274th generation of nashi pear trees” who loves heavy metal, explosions, and… people. Despite having no “official status,” its popularity skyrocketed thanks to social media, original songs, and wild television appearances. It became a celebrity, with its own stores, merchandise, and legions of fans who adore its unorthodox spirit. In a world of well-behaved mascots, Funassyi is a pear-shaped revolution.
Chiitan☆ (“Sweetie”)
ちぃたん☆
Tokushima, 2017 (unofficial)
At first glance, Chiitan☆ looks like an adorable otter wearing a pink cap with a yellow flower. But just a few seconds of watching her videos reveals that this is a mascot in full chaos mode — smashing rooms, leaping from heights, sliding down stairs in a garbage can, and brawling with an inflatable banana. All of this, of course, with boundless enthusiasm and a wide smile. Her behavior teeters between slapstick comedy and full-blown mayhem, which quickly made her an online sensation.
Chiitan☆ was created as a “friend” of Tokushima’s official tourism otter mascot, but her antics soon eclipsed the original. Her controversial fame led to conflict with city authorities, who blocked her from further appearances as an “unauthorized mascot.” But that didn’t stop Chiitan☆ — she achieved international fame, got her own cartoon series, and racked up millions of views on Twitter and YouTube. Today, she’s a prime example of a mascot who exploded out of control — and it’s precisely why many people love her.
Gunma-chan (“Gunmaś”)
ぐんまちゃん
Gunma, 1990s, redesigned in 2011
Gunma-chan is a charming little pony with a big head, short legs, and a green cap who has been the face of Gunma Prefecture since the 1990s. In 2011, it received a modern makeover — gaining even bigger eyes, a gentle smile, and a perfectly round shape. Calm, friendly, and — true to its nature as a horse — it feels most at home in the outdoors. In its delightful presence, it’s impossible not to smile.
Gunma-chan is one of the most important “regional ambassadors” — appearing on promotional materials, local product packaging, and even in a televised animated series. In 2014, it took first place in the prestigious Yuru-Kyara Grand Prix, cementing its star status. The Gunma prefectural government takes its pony mascot so seriously that it established official usage guidelines for its appearances in the media.
Sento-kun
(“Boy of the Capital Relocation”)
せんとくん
Nara, 2008
Sento-kun is a Buddha-boy with deer antlers — a combination that stirred strong emotions from the start. His expressive face, reminiscent of a Buddhist sculpture, and deer antlers (symbolizing the sacred animals of Nara — more on that here: The City of Nara – a Geometrically and Spiritually Designed Metropolis of Ancient Japan Long Before the Samurai) make him look more like a statue from a temple than a cuddly plush toy. Some find him adorably strange, others — downright unsettling.
Sento-kun was created to commemorate the 1300th anniversary of the relocation of Japan’s capital to Heijō-kyō (present-day Nara) and was intended to combine history, spirituality, and local folklore. Although initially criticized for having an overly religious appearance, he quickly gained a following. Today, he’s a permanent fixture in the landscape of Nara — spotted near temples, at train stations, and in promotional materials for the city. He has sparked considerable controversy, and even now, alongside loyal fans, he has numerous detractors who find his look disturbingly uncanny.
Terebi-tousan (“TV Dad”)
テレビ父さん
Hokkaidō, 2003, unofficial
Terebi-tousan, or “TV Dad,” is an unusual figure in the world of mascots — a humanoid character with a head shaped like a TV tower, identical to the one that stands in the center of Sapporo. Dressed in a suit and always smiling, he radiates the warmth of a classic Japanese father from the 1960s — perhaps slightly overworked, but always ready to support his family. His “face” (that is, the tower’s peak) can change expressions, and his long legs give him a strangely charming elegance.
Although he’s not the official mascot of any public office, in the eyes of Sapporo’s residents, he has long held the status of a local legend. He debuted in 2003 as a promotional figure for the Sapporo TV Tower and quickly began appearing on merchandise, in commercials, and even in a special online sitcom. His name, a clever pun (“Terebi-tōsan” meaning both “Mr. TV Tower” and “TV Dad”), showcases Japan’s love for wordplay.
Jagata-kun (“Spud-Felix”)
じゃがたくん
Hokkaidō (Kutchan), 1997
Jagata-kun is a potato hero from the heart of Hokkaidō — specifically, from Kutchan, a region known for its potatoes, snow, and ski slopes. He takes the form of a large potato with legs, wears a Japanese hachimaki (headband), and always looks as if he’s just come back from a festival or a local marathon. Despite his simple appearance, his energy is contagious — especially when he starts dancing at community events.
He was born in 1997 as a symbol of the local potato festival (Jagamatsuri), but over time became a full-fledged ambassador for the town of Kutchan. The name “Jagata” comes from jagaimo (potato) and a stylized suffix -ta (evoking a masculine given name). He’s a prime example of how even the most “down-to-earth” products can become marketing heroes — as long as they have big eyes, a wide smile, and the energy to dance.
Melon Kuma (“Melon Bear”)
メロン熊
Hokkaidō (Yūbari), 2010
Yeees... This one’s my favorite…
Picture this: you’re a cheerful child, traveling with your family to Yūbari for the melon festival, full of joy and hopeful anticipation for a slice of sweet fruit… and then, from around the corner, he jumps out – Melon Kuma. A mascot that looks like someone locked a furious grizzly bear in a tanning booth, waited until the heat cracked its skull, then slapped a rotten melon on its head and said, “Kids will love this.” His eyes look like he’s just seen the winter heating bill in Hokkaidō, and his teeth suggest that melons are merely the appetizer before something more... meaty.
Melon Kuma was born as a desperate attempt by the bankrupt city of Yūbari to draw in tourists (more about this dying town here: Yūbari – the City That Teaches How to Die Slowly – A Vision of the Future for Japan, Poland, and the World?) and decided that scaring people in the street might be a new way to promote local fruit. He was meant to be original and unforgettable – and to be fair: the trauma lingers. Though he looks more like a boss fight from Resident Evil than a festival mascot, he gained a dark popularity online, appeared at conventions, and even had his own line of merchandise – because, after all, Japan is a country where even a melon-induced nightmare can become a celebrity.
Yuru-kyara in Real Life
Yuru-kyara don’t sit idle in plush-lined closets. On the contrary – their daily lives are often more intense than the schedules of some pop idols. They start their day with parades – in spring, marching in plum and tea festivals, in summer joining Bon Odori dances, and in autumn appearing at harvest celebrations. They show up on breakfast TV shows, where they say nothing, but wave their limbs with gusto. They’ve been featured on NHK, and even... performed on the prestigious stage of the Tokyo Dome. In many local schools, they appear at opening and graduation ceremonies – children squeal, parents shed tears, and the yuru-kyara nods solemnly to the school anthem.
Modern mascots are also active online: they have their own YouTube channels, accounts on X, and some even have their own singles and dance choreographies. Funassyi released a rock album (!), Kumamon danced in a music video with Perfume and starred in AirAsia commercials. Merchandise? Everything from paper clips to cosmetics, cookies, and thermal underwear. Mascots can even be… employed – Kumamon holds the official title of “Sales and Happiness Director of Kumamoto Prefecture” and serves as a regional ambassador. With documents. And a suit (invisible, but surely present in spirit).
Not all of them stick to protocol. Funassyi, the pear from Funabashi, became famous for its “punk” style: screaming, jumping, wrecking stage sets, and enthusiastically smashing its head into microphones. Chiitan, the unofficial mascot from Tokushima, became a Twitter sensation thanks to a series of absurd videos: hitting people with a plastic stick, skateboarding in a helmet, crashing into walls, and… tackling folding chairs like a pro wrestler. The result? A ban from public appearances in many cities – but the hearts of internet users were won beyond question.
At first glance, it’s all just fun and games. But for many Japanese regions, yuru-kyara are serious business – both economically and socially. After Kumamon’s success, generating billions of yen from merchandise sales and drawing thousands of tourists to Kumamoto, other prefectures quickly realized that a plush mascot can do more than any glossy brochure. Cities once overlooked in travel guides suddenly became tourist destinations – all for the sake of snapping a selfie with the local hero.
Mascots also foster a sense of community and local pride. Children learn their names in preschool, seniors wear their pins on grocery bags. In smaller towns, they are often the region’s only “celebrity,” representing its people across the country. Instead of a suited official, it’s a grinning mascot that greets guests at festivals, bringing spontaneity and energy through its unpredictable behavior.
Inspiration for Us?
In a world where even a Buddha statue has its own mascot, and that mascot can seriously influence a region’s economy – the question “what would my town’s mascot look like?” is no longer just a joke. Perhaps a distracted pigeon in a locksmith’s cap? Or a melancholic raindrop with saucer eyes and a leather schoolbag? In Japan, the line between humor and cultural identity is surprisingly thin – yuru-kyara are funny, yes, but they also speak truths about people, places, and their dreams.
Because though they have soft bellies and trip on stage, at heart they are modern versions of local guardian spirits – kind, present, and full of charm. If you look closely, each one is an invitation to discover something more: a mountain festival, a town with hot springs, an old pilgrimage route. Finding your favorite mascot is like stumbling upon a secret passage – you don’t know where it will lead, but it’s sure to be an adventure.
Can yuru-kyara replace government officials? Perhaps not entirely. But they certainly help humanize them – and remind us that even local administration can be warm, funny, and approachable. And in a country where etiquette and hierarchy can be as stiff as a kimono in the frosts of Yukiguni, such plush relaxation matters more than one might think.
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未開 ソビエライ
An enthusiast of Asian culture with a deep appreciation for the diverse philosophies of the world. By education, a psychologist and philologist specializing in Korean studies. At heart, a programmer (primarily for Android) and a passionate technology enthusiast, as well as a practitioner of Zen and mono no aware. In moments of tranquility, adheres to a disciplined lifestyle, firmly believing that perseverance, continuous personal growth, and dedication to one's passions are the wisest paths in life. Author of the book "Strong Women of Japan" (>>see more)
Personal motto:
"The most powerful force in the universe is compound interest." - Albert Einstein (probably)
Mike Soray
(aka Michał Sobieraj)
未開 ソビエライ
An enthusiast of Asian culture with a deep appreciation for the diverse philosophies of the world. By education, a psychologist and philologist specializing in Korean studies. At heart, a programmer (primarily for Android) and a passionate technology enthusiast, as well as a practitioner of Zen and mono no aware. In moments of tranquility, adheres to a disciplined lifestyle, firmly believing that perseverance, continuous personal growth, and dedication to one's passions are the wisest paths in life. Author of the book "Strong Women of Japan" (>>see more)
Personal motto:
"The most powerful force in the universe is compound interest." - Albert Einstein (probably)
Mike Soray
(aka Michał Sobieraj)
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Ciechanów, Polska
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