Japan's geisha hit by poor economy

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TOKYO -- Unlike most mothers, Noriye's was far from thrilled when her daughter started her first job after university. "She was shocked and was really worried about me," the young woman said. "She told me it was a waste of education. She wanted me to become a public official in the local government because it's a stable job." But after 18 months of rigorous training, Noriye entertained her first customers as a geisha at a Tokyo ryotei restaurant -- an upscale eatery specializing in traditional Japanese dishes.

Although she has forgotten much about that winter evening, she does remember the nervousness beforehand. That is hardly surprising. In the highly stylized environment of the ryotei, where every gesture is subject to strict rules of etiquette, there is little room for a false step.

That was more than six years ago. Now Noriye plies her trade in the nine remaining ryotei of the Asakusa district in eastern Tokyo, along with 45 other geisha, or "sisters" as she refers to them. Although she has completed her training, she insists she will never stop learning. "Even the older sisters who became geisha as teenagers, they are [now] over 80 but still train every day," she said.

"You can never be perfect, and there is no retirement age." Her mother's concern, however, was not baseless. This exclusive corner of Japanese society has been in decline for many years. A sluggish economy and changing attitudes mean people are less inclined to pay the $400 charge per customer for an evening of geisha entertainment. "[My parents] knew that the number of geisha was declining and the ryotei were decreasing," Noriye said.

Geisha numbered as many as 80,000 in Japan during the 1920s, and were still part of a thriving industry as recently as the 1950s and '60s. According to Keiji Chiba, 66, manager of the Asakusa geisha union, there were about 3,000 geisha in Tokyo when he started working at the union in 1962. That number has since fallen to around 650.

Noriye is a curious mix of old and new, East and West. Born in Los Angeles when her father was transferred there by his company, she moved back to Japan a year later, returning to the United States when she was 6 years old. The family lived in Maryland until she turned 11. She is fluent in English and can speak conversational Mandarin, thanks to a little over a year as a university exchange student in Taiwan.

Though her great-grandmother, grandmother and a great-aunt all were geisha (Noriye inherited her professional name from them), Noriye never gave much thought to becoming one until her junior year at college. At first, she just wanted to learn traditional manners and etiquette, so she approached her great-aunt who owned a ryotei.

"During my training, I was so moved by the sisters' hospitality and artistic [skills]," she said. "Little by little, I was moved and felt that I wanted to try." After months spent mastering the intricacies of how to wear a kimono, greet customers and serve a meal -- skills required of any geisha -- Noriye progressed to the artistic side of her training, which continues today. She takes regular lessons in traditional music, dance, tea ceremony and conversation.

Refusing to divulge her real name or age -- "We are ageless" -- Noriye represents a secret world that has long been the domain of the rich and powerful. Wrapped in an expensive silk kimono and disguised behind a white mask, she is an alluring enigma. "We have to make the guests happy and make sure the guests' business goes smoothly," she said.

"The older sisters know [instinctively] when they enter a room; they can sense the atmosphere of the guest and know whether they should talk, be quiet or drink." Enamored by the exclusive and impenetrable nature of this pricey form of entertainment, the West has fixated on tales of titillation. But Noriye is quick to point out that the relationship between a geisha (gei means arts and sha is person in Japanese) and her customer is not about sex.