What is chindogu?

This art form, sometimes described as the pursuit of the unuseless, involves creating ingenious everyday gadgets that aim to solve specific problems but ultimately fail to be practical in a real-world setting. ^[3][4][6][7] The concept is known as Chindōgu (珍道具), a Japanese term that literally translates to "strange tool," derived from chin (strange or curious) and dōgu (tool or device). ^[1][2][3][9] However, the meaning encompasses more than just a literal translation; it embodies a philosophy where the solution is almost perfect but falls short in a necessary, often amusing, way. ^[2][9]

The practice was popularized by Kenji Kawakami, a former editor and contributor to the Japanese home-shopping magazine Mail Order Life in the 1990s. ^{[2][3][4][10]} Kawakami began showcasing these bizarre prototypes on spare pages of the magazine, filling space with creations that his readers couldn't buy and might not have wanted, though they certainly found them entertaining. ^[4] His Eye Drop Funnel Glasses and a Solar-powered Flashlight (which, logically, only works when there is enough light to power its solar panels) were early examples that delighted readers, leading to more submissions and public attention. ^[4][7]

# Origins and Spread

Kawakami’s creative output stemmed from an interesting background. He studied aeronautical engineering but became involved in student movements in the 1970s before later moving into freelance writing and editing, eventually leading him to the mail-order catalog. ^[2] His creation of Chindōgu can be seen, ironically, as a three-dimensional critique of materialism and the burgeoning culture of mass-produced consumerism in Japan. ^[4][10] He deeply disliked how everything was turned into a commodity. ^[2]

The concept gained wider recognition outside Japan when Dan Papia, working at the English-language Tokyo Journal, featured Kawakami’s gadgets and encouraged readers to submit their own ideas. ^[2][3][4][9] This exposure led to the co-founding of the International Chindogu Society in 1995 by Kawakami and Papia, who also collaborated on the first English book, 101 Unuseless Japanese Inventions: The Art of Chindōgu. ^[2][3][4][9]

While Chindōgu found fans globally, with societies forming in places like France and the UK (where figures like Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall helped champion the cause), ^[2] its rise has seen ebbs and flows. ^[2] Kawakami himself has maintained a distance from the digital promotion of the concept, expressing concern that digital products can make human relationships more superficial. ^[2]

It is an interesting cultural footnote that the selfie stick, now a ubiquitous tool, began its life as a Chindōgu concept invented by Kawakami in 1983 after a frustrating vacation experience, though it was later manufactured by Minolta under the name "Extender" and subsequently failed in the market before its later global success. ^[1][2] Because it became useful and was commercialized, it technically violates the core spirit of Chindōgu. ^[1][2]

# The Tenets

To distinguish a true Chindōgu from a merely silly or purely useful invention, the International Chindogu Society established Ten Tenets. ^[2][3][4] These rules define the spirit of the art form and inspire designers to consider the deeper principles of creation. ^[3] Adherence to these ten laws is what separates a genuine "strange tool" from a simple gag gift or a marketable product. ^[2]

The tenet system often emphasizes a delicate balance. For example, an invention must earnestly try to solve a problem, meaning the humor is a side effect of its unconventional solution, not the sole reason for its existence (Tenet VI). ^[2][9]

Here is a synthesis of the core principles laid out by the Society:

One interesting tension arises between Tenet I (must be useless) and Tenet V (not for sale). If an invention truly solves a problem exceptionally well, people would buy it, violating Tenet I. If an inventor accepts money, Tenet V is violated. ^[2] Kawakami's refusal to profit is rooted in his aversion to materialism, viewing patents as "dirty, full of greed and competition". ^[2] This means the ultimate test of a Chindōgu is whether, despite its ingenuity, the cultural or practical hurdles make it impossible or undesirable to actually adopt—a kind of self-vetoing usefulness. ^[7]

Who created Chindogu?

# Case Studies in Unuselessness

To truly grasp Chindōgu, looking at examples illustrates how these principles manifest. The inventions often tackle extremely minor, specific domestic annoyances, escalating the proposed solution to an absurd degree. ^[8][9]

Consider the Butter Stick: a device designed to apply butter to toast or corn on the cob like a giant glue stick, eliminating the need for a knife. ^[2][7][8] This seems useful for speed, yet the potential for melted butter mess, spoilage, or mistaking it for actual lip balm makes it impractical, thus fitting the "almost useless" criterion. ^[7]

Another classic is the Baby Mop Onesie, an outfit for crawling infants with mop material attached to the front so they clean the floor while exploring. ^[1][2] This invention solves the tiny problem of parents being too busy to clean, but it introduces the practical (and perhaps ethical) problem of assigning domestic labor to a baby. ^[5] It is also a perfect example of Chindōgu being for everyone (Tenet X), as parents everywhere understand the inherent mess of babies. ^[10]

For commuters, the Head Support for Commuters (sometimes involving a plunger attached to a hard hat) aims to stop the user from hitting their head on the train window while napping. ^[1] While it addresses a genuine discomfort, the device itself is conspicuous, potentially causing more social embarrassment than the head-thump itself, thus enforcing Tenet I via social awkwardness. ^[2]

A few other frequently cited examples highlight different aspects of the rules:

• Umbrella Tie: A necktie that functions as a miniature, deployable umbrella to keep a professional dry without carrying a bulky item. ^[1][2] It fails because it likely offers insufficient coverage and is impractical for sudden downpours. ^[1]
• Lipstick Application Guide: A stencil to strap onto the face for perfect, quick lipstick application. ^[1][2] It solves the problem of slow precision by allowing for rapid, yet inevitably messy, application. ^[2]
• Noodle Cooler: A tiny fan clipped onto chopsticks intended to cool hot ramen or soup before it scalds the mouth. ^[1][2][10] This is a pure example of solving a trivial problem (waiting thirty seconds for soup to cool) with an overly complex mechanism. ^[6]

It’s worth noting how creative the community is when trying to adhere to the rules. For instance, the Back Scratch Guide shirt, which features a grid so a friend can precisely target an itch, is a fascinating example of Tenet IV (Universally Unuseless) and Tenet VI (Humor as a by-product). ^[2][9] While the concept is understandable, relaying that information physically, especially if the scratching partner interprets the grid differently (like mistaking a coordinate for a phone keypad layout), guarantees failure in execution. ^[5] This shows that the art isn't just in the build, but in the interaction failure between the tool and the user. ^[5]

# Beyond the Absurdity: Creativity as Core Value

While the inventions are inherently impractical, viewing Chindōgu only as "wacky Japanese inventions" risks obscuring the deeper value Kawakami intended. ^[2] As one observer noted, the essence of Chindōgu lies in exercising the mental muscle that crosses wires and associates the previously unassociated. ^[2] The point is the process of trying to solve a problem in an unconventional way, regardless of the final product's utility. ^[2]

This focus on creative stretching is where an applied, contemporary understanding of Chindōgu can offer real-world benefits, even outside the realm of physical gadgets. If we abstract the spirit of the tenet system, we find a checklist for disruptive ideation:

1. Identify the Micro-Problem: What is the smallest, most annoying friction point in a process? (e.g., forgetting where to scratch an itch, dropping crumbs while walking).
2. Propose the Most Direct (But Awkward) Solution: How can I solve that with physical attachment or extreme modification? (e.g., attach a mop to feet, attach a fan to chopsticks).
3. Test for Social Viability (The "Shame Test"): Would I use this in public? If the answer is a firm "no" due to social stigma, it passes the test, confirming it’s "almost useless". ^[2]
4. De-Commoditize: Intentionally remove the possibility of scaling or patenting the idea to focus purely on the concept's merit, not its profit potential. ^[2]

This process forces a designer or problem-solver to bypass conventional thinking. In the world of software development, for instance, this mindset can be applied to user interface (UI) design. A team might design an overly literal or temporarily awkward solution—like a modal pop-up that requires five distinct, unnecessary clicks to dismiss—not to keep it, but to understand precisely what step in the current workflow is the true source of user frustration. Once the process is fully understood through the lens of the absurd Chindōgu solution, the team can then strip away the absurdity to arrive at a truly elegant, useful feature. ^[7] The Baby Mop teaches us about passive cleaning during required activity, perhaps inspiring a new low-energy background process in an app, while the Butter Stick highlights the friction of necessary tools (knives) versus application convenience. ^[5]

Furthermore, the Chindōgu philosophy acts as a valuable counterpoint to the relentless drive of modern consumerism, which pushes for ever more specific, proprietary, and marketable solutions. ^[4][7] By enshrining the principle that the invention cannot be sold, ^[4][9] Chindōgu ensures that the focus remains on intellectual play and social commentary rather than market capture. While some might view this as frivolous waste, especially concerning global resources, ^[6] the counter-argument is that this dedicated space for non-commercial, anarchic thought is precisely what refreshes the creative wellspring. ^[4][6] It is a designated mental playground where failure is the intended outcome, thereby removing the fear associated with actual innovative failure. ^[4] This perspective suggests that Chindōgu isn't about making useless things; it’s about safeguarding the utility of the imagination by decoupling creativity from economic expectation. ^[6]