Inside the fight against Japan’s ‘nuisance streamer’ epidemic

It’s the last day of the year, 2017. 22-year-old YouTuber Logan Paul and his friends are recording a YouTube video in the Aokigahara forest in Japan, colloquially known as ​‘Suicide Forest’, when they find a man’s lifeless body. ​“Yo, are you alive?” Paul shouts. ​“Are you still fucking with us?” 

The video (which he quickly took down) sparked widespread outrage and disgust at the time. Despite his public apology and claims that he ​“didn’t do it for views”, the shocking content rewarded Paul with exactly that: more publicity. Today, he boasts over 23 million followers on YouTube. In a world that monetises attention, cases like these underscore just how valuable – and ultimately lucrative – content that stirs emotions can be, even if those emotions are anger and hatred. 

Though pulling off shocking antics for the sake of clicks is hardly a phenomenon exclusive to Japan, since the pandemic, the country has been attempting to get a handle on clout chasing streamers, many of whom have been treating the country as a playground for viral stunts and pranks. Referred to by members of the Japanese public as ​‘nuisance streamers’, frustration is reaching breaking point, but legal grey zones and slow-moving law enforcement means many streamers are continuing to produce such content and become repeat offenders, often with sizeable followings.

From the ​“sushi terror” scandal, which saw livestreamers licking food on conveyor belts, to shouting about Hiroshima and Nagasaki on public transport, to stealing food from hotel breakfast bars, the brain rot content can be unrelenting. Typically, although not always, the culprits are the same: young, male and foreign. 

“[The streamers] know that Japan is lenient,” says Kaho Shibuya, a Twitch streamer and online personality in Japan with over a million followers on Instagram. ​“We don’t carry guns. There’s less danger. I guess Japanese people have a reputation for being nice; we get complimented for that. But at the same time, it means they feel they can do whatever they want.” 

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That presupposed lenience, in combination with Japan having a reputation for strong cultural idiosyncrasies that differ from the West, makes the country an easy target for these content creators. In April, streamers Mizkif and Tokyo Sims’ boisterous treatment of a cherry blossom tree – which included doing pull ups and hanging off of its branches – hit a nerve, igniting debate about livestreaming etiquette in Japan and abroad. ​“They were doing gymnastics on a tree in the dark,” says Shibuya. ​“It was shocking to me.” 

The cherry blossom (or sakura) is a deeply symbolic cultural icon in Japan. Locals will often go out of their way to plan trips to visit them during the few weeks they are in bloom. ​“Some of the comments were like, ​‘That’s so cool’ or ​‘What beautiful trees!’” says Shibuya. ​“That frustrated me. I wanted people to realise that this behaviour is not okay in Japan.”

In a strongly-worded critique on X, Shibuya decided to call out the creators’ behaviour without explicitly naming them. The post received over 5.2 million views. Mizkif later made a public apology on X for the video. 

Growing awareness has led to some successful crackdowns in recent years. Back in 2023, police in Tokyo carried out an ​‘anti-terrorism’ drill, featuring a hypothetical scenario of YouTubers invading the camp of the self-defence forces. The deportation of American streamer Johnny Somali in 2023 was met with near-universal approval, given his record of harassment, racial abuse and trespassing in Japan. And earlier this year, the Kagoshima Coast Guard prevented the American streamer Ice Poseidon from boarding the ferry, after he recognised him for his ​“troublesome activities”. But while the measures suggest progress, many feel public authorities could be doing a lot more to combat the rise of nuisance streamers, especially when it comes to policing. At the Sapporo Snow Festival in February, foreign streamer DBR6 filmed himself hurling a snowball at a staff member, asking his viewers to ​“drop 100 subs” for the act. 

It left the festival worker shocked and with a bleeding lip, but could easily have gone unnoticed had it not been for the intervention of two German nationals who called the police. However, following a brief conversation with two officers, DBR6 was let go minutes later. ​“In Japan, the police are far too tolerant,” says Vin Goloub, a YouTuber who has been living in the country for three years now. ​“They are passive. Nothing is going to happen when it comes to nuisance streamers.” 

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Privacy laws or penalties for assault or obstruction of business do not explicitly cover livestreaming, and this legal ambiguity around what constitutes unlawful content creation makes it harder for police to act decisively. The fact that these encounters between police and livestreamers will likely be broadcasted in real time to an antagonistic, goading viewership only complicates matters further. 

Japan is widely known for its ​‘unspoken rules’ and expectations around behaviour. From maintaining a respectful distance when speaking with strangers; not wearing too much body fragrance; and perhaps most relevantly here, avoiding conflict – especially the word, ​‘no’ – all of these norms feed into the concept of wa, meaning social harmony. Foreign nuisance streamers actively flout the unwritten social code, from shouting noisily on public transport to blasting loud, offensive music, often realising that Japan’s societal preference for keeping the peace and avoiding confrontation will probably let them off the hook. 

For foreigners living in Japan who make money through their online presence, nuisance streamers pose a double threat: both to the peaceful co-existence of locals and foreigners in Japan, and to the continuation of livestreaming as a viable career option. ​“Even minor infractions – that would never make the news in other countries – make the news in Japan,” says Aleksi Aalto, a YouTuber who moved to the country around seven years ago and creates content about Japan’s socio-cultural trends. ​“Japan is almost like a tank of gasoline, waiting to explode.” 

Local media even have their own term for ​‘nuisance foreigners’ (meiwaku gaikokujin) and authorities have started implementing certain measures to curb the influx, including accommodation and departure taxes for international tourists and the closure of particular areas, such as alleyways in the Gion District in Kyoto where the famous ​‘geishas’ (female entertainers) work.

“Over-tourism is a huge problem in the minds of local people, and tourists and streamers are all lumped together,” says Aalto, who finds the lack of distinction between ​‘good’ and ​‘bad’ foreigners, and the polarisation of views he sees online, alarming. ​“I definitely see people rising up and carrying out vigilante justice and becoming more and more hostile towards all foreigners,” he adds. 

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A number of Kick streamers were named and shamed in a blacklist that went viral on X in February. It received over 100k views. ​“If I make videos about these nuisance streamers, reading the comments makes me feel bad inside, seeing how Japanese people react,” Aalto says. ​“I try to condemn the bad actions but I won’t necessarily side with the Twitter people, either.”

Timid policing and legal ambiguity is only part of the problem, however: streamers would be nothing without their platforms. Kick is predominantly favoured by those who make low-grade nuisance content due to its more relaxed regulations and lack of moderation over inappropriate or degrading videos. Controversy has shrouded the site since its foundation, with some streamers using it to post hyper-sexualised, misogynistic content to gambling advice.

Kick was founded by Ed Craven and Bijan Tehrani, crypto billionaires and owners of the gambling company Stake, who were kicked off Twitch in 2021 following a gambling crackdown. They decided to start it a challenger platform in 2022, prioritising ​“freedom of expression”, which some view as a thinly-veiled disclaimer. ​“Kick should be taking more responsibility,” says Shibuya. ​“It is tough to monitor what each streamer is doing, but as soon as they find inappropriate action, they should ban them.” Kick were approached for comment but have not responded. 

Responsible streamers like Aalto and Goloub fear that unless Japan sets a stronger precedent, tensions between immigrant and local communities will worsen, which could lead to measures that make life harder for all foreign people in the country. ​“Some of these people are assholes, and do whatever they want,” says Aalto. ​“A message needs to be sent to those who come here and take advantage.”

Others are more optimistic and see this as a period of adjustment for Japan. ​“YouTubers used to have a bad image,” says Shibuya. ​“But now it’s an established job. I think livestreaming will bounce back. We’re in the midst of trying to figure out our own rules. I’m waiting to see what happens.” 

Sophie Holloway is a freelance journalist. Follow her on LinkedIn.

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