Sanae Takaichi has made history as Japan’s first female prime minister — a milestone in a nation long ruled by men. But behind the historic optics lies a paradox: her rise could reinforce the very system it seems to challenge.
When Sanae Takaichi walked into the Kantei as Japan’s first female prime minister, history was made — and history sighed.
For many, it was an electrifying image: a woman finally taking command in a nation where politics, business, and power corridors have been bastions of men in dark suits. For others, it was a mirror reflecting not progress, but paradox.
“Everyone outside Japan is celebrating as if this were a feminist revolution,” says Ayda Ogura, a 21-year-old student in Tokyo. “But she’s not a champion of women’s rights. She’s part of the same structure.”
Takaichi’s victory is undeniably symbolic — a crack in the patriarchal armor of Japanese politics. Yet, her political DNA suggests continuity more than change.
A self-professed admirer of Margaret Thatcher, Takaichi has long sought to be Japan’s “Iron Lady.” Like her British idol, she’s a conservative nationalist with hard edges and an unwavering belief in discipline, hierarchy, and tradition. Her ascension, analysts say, is less a feminist breakthrough than a tactical maneuver by the Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) to court the right-wing base drifting toward smaller nationalist movements.
A Woman of the Right
Takaichi’s ideology has always been explicit. She opposes same-sex marriage, rejects separate surnames for married couples, and stands against allowing women to inherit the imperial throne. Her views align tightly with Japan’s conservative mainstream — one that prizes social order over social reform.
During her campaign, she tempered her tone, promising tax incentives for companies with childcare facilities and tax breaks for families. Yet these were pragmatic gestures, not signs of ideological evolution. Her long record, say critics, points to a woman who sees gender roles as complementary — not equal.
“She perpetuates the patriarchal system,” Ogura says bluntly.
“It’s ironic, but she’s proof that women can rise in Japan — if they don’t challenge the men above them.”
Japan’s Gender Paradox
That irony is not lost on Japan’s younger generation.
Despite being the world’s fourth-largest economy, Japan ranks 118th out of 148 countries in the World Economic Forum’s 2025 Global Gender Gap Index — the worst among the G7. Women make up just 15.7% of lawmakers in the national parliament.
The gender imbalance extends far beyond politics. Women in Japan are among the world’s best educated and most qualified, yet societal norms continue to push them toward traditional roles. The corporate ladder narrows sharply after marriage or motherhood, and flexible work remains rare. Even reproductive rights lag: only this year did Japan approve over-the-counter sales of the morning-after pill — decades after much of the world.
“The contradiction is glaring,” says sociologist Naomi Koshi, Japan’s youngest-ever female mayor in 2012.
“We have the talent, the skills, and the education — but we lack the cultural permission.”
Koshi believes Takaichi’s election, despite its contradictions, might still shift perceptions.
“It lowers the psychological barriers,” she argues. “Girls can now see that leadership isn’t reserved for men. Even if Takaichi isn’t a feminist, she represents possibility.”
Breaking Glass — or Polishing It?
For others, that “possibility” feels hollow.
Takaichi’s rise, they say, reinforces a dangerous narrative: that women can succeed if they conform.
“It sends a message that to win power, you must fit into the male mold,” says Minori Konishi, 21. “Her success feels like a validation of the status quo, not a challenge to it.”
That sentiment is echoed by Audrey Hill-Uekawa, a Japanese-American student in Kyoto.
“It took her more than 30 years to get here,” she notes. “She’s saying exactly what the men have always said. We should talk about her policies — not just her gender.”
Indeed, much of Takaichi’s success stems from who backed her. She was a close protégé of Shinzo Abe, the late nationalist prime minister whose vision of Japan blended economic revival with ideological conservatism. She also won the blessing of Taro Aso, a powerful LDP figurehead who helped consolidate the party’s right wing behind her.
Her ascent, in that light, is less rebellion than inheritance.
A Nation Still Waiting for Its Revolution
Takaichi’s Japan remains a place where women are expected to excel quietly — and lead even more quietly.
The government’s attempts to close the gender gap have produced modest results. “Womenomics,” a term popularized during the Abe years, promised to unleash the potential of female workers to boost economic growth. Yet in practice, it largely translated into more women working part-time or in low-paid sectors, while leadership positions stayed out of reach.
Today, Japanese women make up nearly 45% of the workforce, but less than 15% of managerial roles. The numbers have improved, but the culture hasn’t.
“There’s still a silent expectation,” Hill-Uekawa says. “That even if we work, we should do it gracefully — without disrupting the system.”
That system is precisely what Takaichi embodies: orderly, disciplined, conservative. She does not seek to dismantle Japan’s patriarchy — she has mastered it.
The Real Test Ahead
Symbolism aside, Takaichi’s premiership begins under pressure.
She inherits a sluggish economy, rising inflation, and a weary electorate increasingly skeptical of the LDP’s grip on power. Her foreign policy challenges are immediate: tense relations with China, a volatile North Korea, and an early visit from U.S. President Donald Trump — a political ally, but also a test of her diplomatic resolve.
Gender equality, by contrast, sits far down her list of priorities.
Even her allies admit that her leadership will not usher in sweeping social reform.
“She will be judged not by her gender, but by her ability to govern,” says political analyst Hiroshi Takeda.
“If she fails, it may hurt women in politics more than it helps them.”
A Victory with Caveats
In the end, Sanae Takaichi’s story captures Japan’s uneasy dance with change — the desire to modernize without disrupting its foundations.
Her rise is historic, but not revolutionary. Her presence in power is groundbreaking, but her politics are firmly rooted in the past.
“She’s a woman at the top,” says Konishi, “but she stands on the same old mountain.”
The world may celebrate Japan’s first female leader as a breakthrough moment. Inside Japan, it feels more like an evolution — measured, cautious, and perfectly calibrated to leave the walls standing.
