This review may contain spoilers
He Who Can’t Marry – State-Sponsored Marriage Propaganda
I’ve never rated a J drama series this low (most of my ratings are 10s). But this series is 80% desperation, fear, and propaganda. The other 20% is Kuwano’s free spirit and how his way of life is actually the highest way to exist in this world- free from desperation and fear around marriage and romance. He’s the only one who lives outside the constraints of his society and is free to love and show real kindness beyond role playing and fake “nice” performances. And perhaps by the end, I have fallen in love with him, as he is a mirror of my own self- the one who exists and thrives outside of the matrix.
Here’s the Agenda: From the first frame of Season 2, the series drops its mask. Before the story even begins, a text overlay appears on screen:
“Japanese society continues to age. According to the Labor Ministry, there is an increase in the lifetime unmarried rates. This means the percentage of people who remain unmarried after 50 is 23.4% for men and 14.1% for women. This is an issue that our entire society must face.”
The moment you see this, the show’s real function becomes clear—it’s not just a quirky romantic comedy. It’s a piece of state-subsidized cultural programming. The subtitles even mention that it’s sponsored by a government ministry, meaning the agenda isn’t subtle: this is a recruitment ad for marriage, disguised as entertainment.
In this show, the man who enjoys solitude is rebranded as “the man who can’t marry.” That’s not a personality descriptor; it’s a cultural diagnosis. The title says it outright: the problem is not the institution of marriage—it’s you, the individual, for refusing it.
Kuwano-san: The Nail That Sticks Out:
Japan has a proverb: “The nail that sticks out will be hammered down.”
Kuwano is that nail. He’s a middle-aged architect with a quiet, orderly life. He eats alone, travels alone, listens to classical music alone, and thrives in his own company. The plot’s entire throughline is an attempt to hammer him into “normalcy” by shoving him into romance and marriage.
But here’s the propaganda tactic: they don’t present his life neutrally. They paint him as so unlikeable, rude, eccentric—so the audience subconsciously associates singleness with being an abrasive oddball. His character is used as a warning: “If you stay single too long, you’ll turn into this weirdo. Do you want to be like him?”
Weaponizing Insults as Courtship:
Kuwano spends much of the show negging (insulting) the women around him—particularly Hayasaka, the doctor from Season 1, and later Yoshiyama, the lawyer in Season 2. He lobs cutting remarks like:
• “You should have given up your job back then and a better married life could have been waiting for you.”
• “Is this your excuse for not putting in any effort to get married?”
The women get visibly angry, but the script eventually reframes his behavior as “banter” and, disturbingly, “romantic tension.” All the female characters, especially the older ones are shown as desperate, or lonely and desperate, with stars in their eyes for some romantic fantasy. They are driven by fear and threat by society’s imaginary voice: “Don’t die alone and be lonely!” It’s almost comical. And when Kuwano finally professes his “love” to Hayasaka at the end of Season 1, she cries—not because there’s any real intimacy, but because it’s the first time he’s spoken to her without an insult. Relief is mistaken for love. Because everyone is “tired of being lonely,” they’ll fill in that gap with any garbage person they come into contact with.
The Hypocrisy:
Here’s the absurdity: Kuwano himself never lifts a finger to get married. He’s single, content in his own life, yet criticizes women in the same position. It’s pure projection. And the show never has anyone call him out for it—because that would puncture the propaganda bubble.
Failed Models of Marriage:
If marriage is the “holy grail” the series claims, where are the success stories? Not in Kuwano’s orbit.
• His brother-in-law openly talks about wanting a mistress, lavishes expensive gifts on a hostess, and seems miserable at home.
• Other married characters show varying degrees of dissatisfaction, boredom, or covert longing for escape.
These examples quietly reveal the truth: the machine isn’t delivering what it promises. Yet the script ignores its own evidence, pushing forward the idea that singleness is the problem to be solved.
One Season 2 dating subplot is especially telling. Kuwano is coaxed into using a dating app. He receives a message from a yoga instructor:
“I’ve led a fulfilling life by myself until now. I’d do barbecue by myself, karaoke by myself, go to Hawaii by myself. I intended to enjoy life alone, but before I knew it I was about 40, and suddenly felt perhaps I was deceiving myself the whole time…”
The first half mirrors the life of a content single person, creating identification for viewers like me. Then the twist: self-doubt. The message pivots to loneliness, the absence of “human touch,” and an invitation to partner yoga. It’s bait—hooking the solitary viewer with relatable independence, then undermining it with the suggestion that your life has been a lie.
Kuwano’s peace—the quiet of his home, the control over his space—is portrayed as a flaw to be “fixed.” The show treats self-possession as a problem rather than a strength, because the propaganda machine cannot allow the sovereign individual to stand as proof that happiness is possible outside the marriage script.
The women chasing Kuwano—Hayasaka, Yoshiyama, others—are not driven by love. They’re driven by fear: fear of aging alone, fear of social judgment, fear of facing themselves without the buffer of a role to play. Marriage here is a life raft in rough seas. Kuwano, the “stubborn bachelor,” is the trophy they want to prove the raft works.
But what the series never addresses is the glaring question:
Where are the results? In reality—and in the show’s own secondary storylines—marriage doesn’t bring sustained happiness or joy. Characters are dealing with divorce, affairs, annoying children, in laws, extended family conflict, all sorts of nonsense. Marriage often breeds discontent, betrayal, and regret. The divorced one is liberated and feels free after being in this prison for a while. Yet the propaganda machine keeps associating marriage with the word “happiness” as if repeating it can make it true.
A scene where Kuwano is having dinner with his family, shows him a little upset, and the family says “share your troubles so we can heal as a family!” Then his niece says “usually troubles are either financial or about personal relationships,” and then Kuwano’s brother in law says “well he has no financial difficulties,” and his sister says “and he has no relationships!” And they all start laughing, and Kuwano says “How is this healing?” This sums it up in a nutshell. Kuwano is the scapegoat of his family and also of society. The society dumps all of its shame onto him.
But I find Kuwano himself to be quite a genuine and compassionate person. His stance against marriage as an outdated institution, paired with the fact that he’s not against love itself, is actually the most dangerous thing to the narrative, because it means he hasn’t abandoned connection, just the contractual cage the system calls connection.
And his good heart is there, in small moments the others overlook: how he shows up in his own way when someone actually needs help, how he’s loyal to the few he respects, how he lets his quirks speak louder than social scripts. The others don’t understand him because to understand him would require them to admit that maybe they’ve been chasing the wrong thing their whole lives.
The dog Ken doesn’t see Kuwano as “weird” or “difficult”; it responds to him without the filter of social role-play. Animals can’t be gaslit by the system’s definitions, and the bond there shows that Kuwano is actually clear, present, and safe to be around when you’re not locked into a script. His advice to his neighbor about loosening the pug’s leash so it can breathe is the perfect metaphor for how he sees people too - stop tightening the restraints, stop choking the life out of yourself, breathe. The neighbor can’t even register the wisdom because she’s busy living in the “nice neighbor” role, not reality.
The coffee shop incident in episode 7 shows his pure quiet integrity. He acts decisively against corruption by his client, protects the coffee shop manager’s dream, and never broadcasts it to get credit
because it’s not about polishing an image. That is the opposite of the society around him, where every “good deed” is part of a résumé for public approval. He restores her future without needing her gratitude or anyone else’s acknowledgment. That’s why the gossip continues- if they recognized his actual worth, they’d have to face how shallow their own lives are.
He even sent her a rebranding gift, the coffee shop sign “Purete” without ceremony, which is another tell. He’s not “against connection”; he simply connects in ways that are stripped of transaction and social performance. The divorced coffee shop manager sees the truth in him because she’s been through her own disillusionment and recognizes a real act when she sees one.
So the gossip isn’t really about “how weird” he is. It’s about covering their own envy. He’s living outside the leash they’ve agreed to wear, and every snide remark is an attempt to pull him back into it. They can’t stand that his freedom is real, so they pathologize it until it sounds like something no one would want. The dog is the one unfiltered witness in the whole series.
While the neighbors are doing the constant polite-smiling, gossip-behind-the-back loop, the dog’s behavior cuts straight through that performance. It isn’t looking at Kuwano out of politeness, obligation, or social currency. It leans under the balcony, risking its own comfort just to catch sight of him, because it recognizes something real there, presence without pretense. Kuwano is “the fool on the hill”- a wise man who is sorely misunderstood by the fools around him.
The dog’s longing look at him is a kind of silent verdict: this is the person I’d rather be with. No human in his circle dares say that out loud because it would expose their own hypocrisy. But the dog doesn’t need to navigate the system’s etiquette; it goes where it feels safe, seen, and understood.
And that’s what makes those moments so telling. The “nice” humans are scripted to ostracize him, yet the only unscripted being in the show gravitates to him over and over. It’s a small but constant leak in the propaganda, a reminder that instinct, not social opinion, is the truer measure of someone’s worth.
I’m still watching Season 2 (currently on Episode 8) and will update this review when I finish. But so far, The Man Who Can’t Marry reads less like a rom-com and more like a government memo disguised as a sitcom. It’s a glossy ad for a product with a 100% defect rate designed to shame the content single into “joining society” no matter the cost to personal well-being.
With all that said, I do love Kuwano san- he is my role model! He’s like a cowboy that lives the kind of life I live and I just adore him. He’s actually a lot nicer in season 2 and says many polite things and smiles and does very kind things for people, and yet the people around him still criticize and mock him- people should let him be- free to be as he is without needing to tie him down into the prison that is marriage. Fly free as a bird Kuwano San! Hiroshi Abe did a great job portraying him. I ended up watching both seasons again and just loved Kuwano san more and more. And so I increased my rating!
Here’s the Agenda: From the first frame of Season 2, the series drops its mask. Before the story even begins, a text overlay appears on screen:
“Japanese society continues to age. According to the Labor Ministry, there is an increase in the lifetime unmarried rates. This means the percentage of people who remain unmarried after 50 is 23.4% for men and 14.1% for women. This is an issue that our entire society must face.”
The moment you see this, the show’s real function becomes clear—it’s not just a quirky romantic comedy. It’s a piece of state-subsidized cultural programming. The subtitles even mention that it’s sponsored by a government ministry, meaning the agenda isn’t subtle: this is a recruitment ad for marriage, disguised as entertainment.
In this show, the man who enjoys solitude is rebranded as “the man who can’t marry.” That’s not a personality descriptor; it’s a cultural diagnosis. The title says it outright: the problem is not the institution of marriage—it’s you, the individual, for refusing it.
Kuwano-san: The Nail That Sticks Out:
Japan has a proverb: “The nail that sticks out will be hammered down.”
Kuwano is that nail. He’s a middle-aged architect with a quiet, orderly life. He eats alone, travels alone, listens to classical music alone, and thrives in his own company. The plot’s entire throughline is an attempt to hammer him into “normalcy” by shoving him into romance and marriage.
But here’s the propaganda tactic: they don’t present his life neutrally. They paint him as so unlikeable, rude, eccentric—so the audience subconsciously associates singleness with being an abrasive oddball. His character is used as a warning: “If you stay single too long, you’ll turn into this weirdo. Do you want to be like him?”
Weaponizing Insults as Courtship:
Kuwano spends much of the show negging (insulting) the women around him—particularly Hayasaka, the doctor from Season 1, and later Yoshiyama, the lawyer in Season 2. He lobs cutting remarks like:
• “You should have given up your job back then and a better married life could have been waiting for you.”
• “Is this your excuse for not putting in any effort to get married?”
The women get visibly angry, but the script eventually reframes his behavior as “banter” and, disturbingly, “romantic tension.” All the female characters, especially the older ones are shown as desperate, or lonely and desperate, with stars in their eyes for some romantic fantasy. They are driven by fear and threat by society’s imaginary voice: “Don’t die alone and be lonely!” It’s almost comical. And when Kuwano finally professes his “love” to Hayasaka at the end of Season 1, she cries—not because there’s any real intimacy, but because it’s the first time he’s spoken to her without an insult. Relief is mistaken for love. Because everyone is “tired of being lonely,” they’ll fill in that gap with any garbage person they come into contact with.
The Hypocrisy:
Here’s the absurdity: Kuwano himself never lifts a finger to get married. He’s single, content in his own life, yet criticizes women in the same position. It’s pure projection. And the show never has anyone call him out for it—because that would puncture the propaganda bubble.
Failed Models of Marriage:
If marriage is the “holy grail” the series claims, where are the success stories? Not in Kuwano’s orbit.
• His brother-in-law openly talks about wanting a mistress, lavishes expensive gifts on a hostess, and seems miserable at home.
• Other married characters show varying degrees of dissatisfaction, boredom, or covert longing for escape.
These examples quietly reveal the truth: the machine isn’t delivering what it promises. Yet the script ignores its own evidence, pushing forward the idea that singleness is the problem to be solved.
One Season 2 dating subplot is especially telling. Kuwano is coaxed into using a dating app. He receives a message from a yoga instructor:
“I’ve led a fulfilling life by myself until now. I’d do barbecue by myself, karaoke by myself, go to Hawaii by myself. I intended to enjoy life alone, but before I knew it I was about 40, and suddenly felt perhaps I was deceiving myself the whole time…”
The first half mirrors the life of a content single person, creating identification for viewers like me. Then the twist: self-doubt. The message pivots to loneliness, the absence of “human touch,” and an invitation to partner yoga. It’s bait—hooking the solitary viewer with relatable independence, then undermining it with the suggestion that your life has been a lie.
Kuwano’s peace—the quiet of his home, the control over his space—is portrayed as a flaw to be “fixed.” The show treats self-possession as a problem rather than a strength, because the propaganda machine cannot allow the sovereign individual to stand as proof that happiness is possible outside the marriage script.
The women chasing Kuwano—Hayasaka, Yoshiyama, others—are not driven by love. They’re driven by fear: fear of aging alone, fear of social judgment, fear of facing themselves without the buffer of a role to play. Marriage here is a life raft in rough seas. Kuwano, the “stubborn bachelor,” is the trophy they want to prove the raft works.
But what the series never addresses is the glaring question:
Where are the results? In reality—and in the show’s own secondary storylines—marriage doesn’t bring sustained happiness or joy. Characters are dealing with divorce, affairs, annoying children, in laws, extended family conflict, all sorts of nonsense. Marriage often breeds discontent, betrayal, and regret. The divorced one is liberated and feels free after being in this prison for a while. Yet the propaganda machine keeps associating marriage with the word “happiness” as if repeating it can make it true.
A scene where Kuwano is having dinner with his family, shows him a little upset, and the family says “share your troubles so we can heal as a family!” Then his niece says “usually troubles are either financial or about personal relationships,” and then Kuwano’s brother in law says “well he has no financial difficulties,” and his sister says “and he has no relationships!” And they all start laughing, and Kuwano says “How is this healing?” This sums it up in a nutshell. Kuwano is the scapegoat of his family and also of society. The society dumps all of its shame onto him.
But I find Kuwano himself to be quite a genuine and compassionate person. His stance against marriage as an outdated institution, paired with the fact that he’s not against love itself, is actually the most dangerous thing to the narrative, because it means he hasn’t abandoned connection, just the contractual cage the system calls connection.
And his good heart is there, in small moments the others overlook: how he shows up in his own way when someone actually needs help, how he’s loyal to the few he respects, how he lets his quirks speak louder than social scripts. The others don’t understand him because to understand him would require them to admit that maybe they’ve been chasing the wrong thing their whole lives.
The dog Ken doesn’t see Kuwano as “weird” or “difficult”; it responds to him without the filter of social role-play. Animals can’t be gaslit by the system’s definitions, and the bond there shows that Kuwano is actually clear, present, and safe to be around when you’re not locked into a script. His advice to his neighbor about loosening the pug’s leash so it can breathe is the perfect metaphor for how he sees people too - stop tightening the restraints, stop choking the life out of yourself, breathe. The neighbor can’t even register the wisdom because she’s busy living in the “nice neighbor” role, not reality.
The coffee shop incident in episode 7 shows his pure quiet integrity. He acts decisively against corruption by his client, protects the coffee shop manager’s dream, and never broadcasts it to get credit
because it’s not about polishing an image. That is the opposite of the society around him, where every “good deed” is part of a résumé for public approval. He restores her future without needing her gratitude or anyone else’s acknowledgment. That’s why the gossip continues- if they recognized his actual worth, they’d have to face how shallow their own lives are.
He even sent her a rebranding gift, the coffee shop sign “Purete” without ceremony, which is another tell. He’s not “against connection”; he simply connects in ways that are stripped of transaction and social performance. The divorced coffee shop manager sees the truth in him because she’s been through her own disillusionment and recognizes a real act when she sees one.
So the gossip isn’t really about “how weird” he is. It’s about covering their own envy. He’s living outside the leash they’ve agreed to wear, and every snide remark is an attempt to pull him back into it. They can’t stand that his freedom is real, so they pathologize it until it sounds like something no one would want. The dog is the one unfiltered witness in the whole series.
While the neighbors are doing the constant polite-smiling, gossip-behind-the-back loop, the dog’s behavior cuts straight through that performance. It isn’t looking at Kuwano out of politeness, obligation, or social currency. It leans under the balcony, risking its own comfort just to catch sight of him, because it recognizes something real there, presence without pretense. Kuwano is “the fool on the hill”- a wise man who is sorely misunderstood by the fools around him.
The dog’s longing look at him is a kind of silent verdict: this is the person I’d rather be with. No human in his circle dares say that out loud because it would expose their own hypocrisy. But the dog doesn’t need to navigate the system’s etiquette; it goes where it feels safe, seen, and understood.
And that’s what makes those moments so telling. The “nice” humans are scripted to ostracize him, yet the only unscripted being in the show gravitates to him over and over. It’s a small but constant leak in the propaganda, a reminder that instinct, not social opinion, is the truer measure of someone’s worth.
I’m still watching Season 2 (currently on Episode 8) and will update this review when I finish. But so far, The Man Who Can’t Marry reads less like a rom-com and more like a government memo disguised as a sitcom. It’s a glossy ad for a product with a 100% defect rate designed to shame the content single into “joining society” no matter the cost to personal well-being.
With all that said, I do love Kuwano san- he is my role model! He’s like a cowboy that lives the kind of life I live and I just adore him. He’s actually a lot nicer in season 2 and says many polite things and smiles and does very kind things for people, and yet the people around him still criticize and mock him- people should let him be- free to be as he is without needing to tie him down into the prison that is marriage. Fly free as a bird Kuwano San! Hiroshi Abe did a great job portraying him. I ended up watching both seasons again and just loved Kuwano san more and more. And so I increased my rating!
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