This review may contain spoilers
Kuwano San is my role model! But this Show is Fear Propaganda for Marriage
This show was subsidized by METI- Ministry of Economy, Trade and Industry of Japan- for a reason- to encourage population growth and to promote marriage in a society that has a declining birth rate. It says this in the subtitles at the end of each episode. So the agenda is clear, that it is a government sponsored propaganda to promote marriage which informed the entire script.
He Who Can’t Marry- reduces human beings down to a marriage status- that’s what their entire identity and worth is based on. The show introduces Kuwano Shinsuke, a successful middle-aged architect in Japan. He’s single, lives alone, and cherishes his independence. He cooks gourmet meals for himself, listens to classical music, drinks his milk, cleans his apartment, builds Titanic replicas, and enjoys meticulously controlling his space. He doesn’t “need” anyone for happiness, and that’s exactly the problem the series sets out to “fix.” Turns out Kuwano San (played amazingly well by Hiroshi Abe) is the most lovable character in the whole show, with the women and others around him only serving to shame and criticize his blissful singledom and mindful lifestyle.
From the first episodes, the show treats his contentment as an eccentric flaw. He is a problem to fix. His solitude isn’t framed as valid. It’s framed as an obstacle the plot must overcome. In Japan’s cultural context, the proverb “The nail that sticks out will be hammered down” is at work here. Kuwano is that nail, and the entire season is a slow attempt to hammer him into a socially acceptable mold: married man.
To make the hammering seem necessary, the writers try to make Kuwano intentionally unlikeable. He’s blunt, sarcastic, and often says the quiet part loud. This is not accidental. it’s propaganda framing. The subliminal message is: “See? If you stay single too long, you’ll become mean and bitter like this.” Actually the opposite is true- people become incredibly bitter and trapped in marriage and families. The guy doesn’t need to get married to learn basic manners. The fact that Kuwano san stays true to himself from beginning to end shows how strong he is to face the collectivist group think, image obsessed culture and to walk alone in the truth.
The character is designed to provoke the audience into rooting for his transformation, not because marriage would improve his life, but because the format demands he be “redeemed” through romance.
Kuwano’s opening stomach-ache subplot is the show’s oldest planted seed of propaganda introduced in the very first episode and trotted out as proof that living alone is a health hazard. Kawano’s diagnosis of “acute gastroenteritis from fatigue and poor nutrition from living alone” is framed like a cautionary tale, as if independence inevitably erodes the body. The guy eats too much meat- fine, eat vegetables alone- big deal! But the script never turns that same scrutiny on the married characters, whose lives are a slow bleed of chronic sleep deprivation, stress, and neglect of their own needs. In the show’s moral math, family-induced burnout is “normal” while a single man’s stomach ache is a red flag: a neat little warning to fall back in line and get married!
Enter the Doctor: Hayasaka Natsumi. The main female lead in Season 1 is Dr. Hayasaka, an unmarried woman who is almost 40. From the moment they meet (after Kuwano collapses and ends up in her care), their interactions are a mix of hostility and reluctant tolerance.
Kuwano regularly insults her life choices:
• Suggesting she should have given up her career years ago for a “better married life.”
• Scoffing at her for being single and often alone, despite being single himself and going everywhere alone.
Here’s the hypocrisy: he’s projecting his own socially shamed status onto her, while doing nothing to “fix” it for himself. Yet the women around him rarely call him out on it, because the script needs him to remain unchallenged until the “big confession.”
The Propaganda Romance Arc:
The core romance between Kuwano and the doctor is built on antagonism. He keeps showing up at her office for some stupid reason, maybe because unconsciously he’s drawn to fighting with her. They spar, they bicker, and the show wants you to interpret this as chemistry. The subtext is: “Even if you’re incompatible and constantly bullying and insulting each other, it’s still better than being alone.” By the finale, Kuwano has a moment of “growth” where he tells Hayasaka he loves her. It is so bizarre and awkward, because that line comes out of the blue from a sea of barbs and insults, and it’s not believable at all. If anything, it is the first time in their relationship, he speaks to her without an insult. This is not love at all, but she is in tears, less from deep love than from the relief of finally not being attacked. The audience is expected to interpret this as a romantic breakthrough, but it’s an utter joke. In reality, it’s not love, it’s projection. It’s two people constantly insulting each other, mistaking a moment of relief or recognition for a lasting bond. Season 1 isn’t about personal transformation, it’s about getting a trophy for the societal scoreboard. Kuwano represents the “hard case,” the man who swears he’ll never marry. The show’s payoff is the fantasy that even he can be softened, conquered, and assimilated into the marriage machine.
There are other side female characters that reinforce the same pattern of mistaking projection or convenience for love. Michiru, the young neighbor, spends most of the series wrapped in romantic daydreams and petty social dramas, often as the target of Kuwano’s rudeness and emotional coldness. Her own preoccupation with finding a man makes her susceptible to misreading events. By the end, when Kuwano helps protect her from a stalker, the relief and gratitude flood her into briefly believing she’s in love with him. It’s not love; it’s a trauma bond born from rescue. Then there’s Sawazaki, the quietly competent assistant who’s worked with Kuwano for eight years. She probably understands him better than anyone else in the show. Her familiarity with his rhythms and quirks is the closest thing the series has to a stable, grounded connection. But it’s one-sided. Kuwano bluntly labels her as “convenient” because she handles client issues and clears his path to focus purely on architecture. In the show’s logic, even this long-standing, functional rapport isn’t framed as “love” because it lacks the romantic script. Instead, it’s treated as disposable, just another support role in service to the male lead’s journey toward the state-approved ending. The only decent bonding moments in the series come from Ken, the neighbor’s dog, which suggests that Kuwano is far better off which a dog for company rather than seeking women and insulting them constantly.
Even in Season 1, the cracks in the marriage ideal are visible if you’re paying attention. Kuwano’s married acquaintances don’t radiate joy (aka his brother in law who tries to buy a hostess an expensive purse instead of using the money for his family) They display boredom, escapism, or thinly veiled resentment. The show doesn’t dwell on these details—but they’re there. This undermines the stated goal while still pushing the script: “Marriage might be flawed, but singlehood is worse.”
By the end of Season 1, Kuwano’s confession of “love” to the doctor doesn’t lead to marriage. They’ve barely ever had a decent loving conversation. In fact, when Season 2 opens, we learn he and Hayasaka didn’t work out. She goes on to marry someone else. This confirms the hollow nature of the Season 1 arc: it was never about a lasting relationship. It was about manufacturing the moment when the nail “bows” to the hammer, even temporarily.
What this show really does:
1. Demonizes singleness by making the single protagonist grumpy and socially abrasive.
2. Equates marriage with redemption even when there’s no evidence it would make him happier.
3. Uses antagonism as romance bait, training viewers to see sparring as love.
4. Skips the results test, never showing a marriage that actually delivers sustained joy.
5. Lays the foundation for Season 2’s propaganda by planting the idea that independence is secretly loneliness.
This show is essentially the recruitment poster for the state-sponsored marriage drive. It introduces the “problem” (content single person), sets up the “solution” (romantic confession), and glosses over the fact that the solution doesn’t work long-term. Most reviewers celebrate the lighthearted comedy and high production values, completely glossing over the shaming undercurrent and the agenda telegraphed in the opening statistics about unmarried adults being a “problem.” This is exactly how the propaganda stays hidden: dress it up as “funny” and “cute” so the audience laughs along while internalizing the message that a single, self-possessed life is defective until it’s merged into the state-sanctioned family unit.
This show lacks any sort of wisdom about true love. It’s not about love at all. It’s about conversion and compliance with the system to keep society going. “Get married and pop out babies so we can keep the society going! We don’t care about your happiness, just do as you’re told. And if you’re happy, free, and single, we will call you lonely and constantly attack you for it.” And the show’s own sequel proves it: even after the “conversion,” marriage doesn’t last, and the marital happiness they’re all chasing is elusive.
In the show’s logic, Kuwano and Hayasaka aren’t just “quirky singles,” They’re glitches in the social program. They’ve slipped the net. They’re not generating children for the system, not tethering themselves into the cycles of marriage, mortgage, and consumption that keep the machine running. That’s why the tone is so condescending. The script treats them like broken gadgets—malfunctioning units in need of repair. The shaming, the subtle digs, the endless setups and matchmaking attempts—all of it is the matrix trying to drag them back into conformity. They’re the ones who unplugged, even if they don’t know the full scope of it. And in the eyes of the system, that’s dangerous. An anomaly living peacefully outside the script makes others question why they’re still trapped inside it. The fools around him see a grumpy grinch, but in truth he is a genuine, enlightened presence that is totally misunderstood.
He Who Can’t Marry- reduces human beings down to a marriage status- that’s what their entire identity and worth is based on. The show introduces Kuwano Shinsuke, a successful middle-aged architect in Japan. He’s single, lives alone, and cherishes his independence. He cooks gourmet meals for himself, listens to classical music, drinks his milk, cleans his apartment, builds Titanic replicas, and enjoys meticulously controlling his space. He doesn’t “need” anyone for happiness, and that’s exactly the problem the series sets out to “fix.” Turns out Kuwano San (played amazingly well by Hiroshi Abe) is the most lovable character in the whole show, with the women and others around him only serving to shame and criticize his blissful singledom and mindful lifestyle.
From the first episodes, the show treats his contentment as an eccentric flaw. He is a problem to fix. His solitude isn’t framed as valid. It’s framed as an obstacle the plot must overcome. In Japan’s cultural context, the proverb “The nail that sticks out will be hammered down” is at work here. Kuwano is that nail, and the entire season is a slow attempt to hammer him into a socially acceptable mold: married man.
To make the hammering seem necessary, the writers try to make Kuwano intentionally unlikeable. He’s blunt, sarcastic, and often says the quiet part loud. This is not accidental. it’s propaganda framing. The subliminal message is: “See? If you stay single too long, you’ll become mean and bitter like this.” Actually the opposite is true- people become incredibly bitter and trapped in marriage and families. The guy doesn’t need to get married to learn basic manners. The fact that Kuwano san stays true to himself from beginning to end shows how strong he is to face the collectivist group think, image obsessed culture and to walk alone in the truth.
The character is designed to provoke the audience into rooting for his transformation, not because marriage would improve his life, but because the format demands he be “redeemed” through romance.
Kuwano’s opening stomach-ache subplot is the show’s oldest planted seed of propaganda introduced in the very first episode and trotted out as proof that living alone is a health hazard. Kawano’s diagnosis of “acute gastroenteritis from fatigue and poor nutrition from living alone” is framed like a cautionary tale, as if independence inevitably erodes the body. The guy eats too much meat- fine, eat vegetables alone- big deal! But the script never turns that same scrutiny on the married characters, whose lives are a slow bleed of chronic sleep deprivation, stress, and neglect of their own needs. In the show’s moral math, family-induced burnout is “normal” while a single man’s stomach ache is a red flag: a neat little warning to fall back in line and get married!
Enter the Doctor: Hayasaka Natsumi. The main female lead in Season 1 is Dr. Hayasaka, an unmarried woman who is almost 40. From the moment they meet (after Kuwano collapses and ends up in her care), their interactions are a mix of hostility and reluctant tolerance.
Kuwano regularly insults her life choices:
• Suggesting she should have given up her career years ago for a “better married life.”
• Scoffing at her for being single and often alone, despite being single himself and going everywhere alone.
Here’s the hypocrisy: he’s projecting his own socially shamed status onto her, while doing nothing to “fix” it for himself. Yet the women around him rarely call him out on it, because the script needs him to remain unchallenged until the “big confession.”
The Propaganda Romance Arc:
The core romance between Kuwano and the doctor is built on antagonism. He keeps showing up at her office for some stupid reason, maybe because unconsciously he’s drawn to fighting with her. They spar, they bicker, and the show wants you to interpret this as chemistry. The subtext is: “Even if you’re incompatible and constantly bullying and insulting each other, it’s still better than being alone.” By the finale, Kuwano has a moment of “growth” where he tells Hayasaka he loves her. It is so bizarre and awkward, because that line comes out of the blue from a sea of barbs and insults, and it’s not believable at all. If anything, it is the first time in their relationship, he speaks to her without an insult. This is not love at all, but she is in tears, less from deep love than from the relief of finally not being attacked. The audience is expected to interpret this as a romantic breakthrough, but it’s an utter joke. In reality, it’s not love, it’s projection. It’s two people constantly insulting each other, mistaking a moment of relief or recognition for a lasting bond. Season 1 isn’t about personal transformation, it’s about getting a trophy for the societal scoreboard. Kuwano represents the “hard case,” the man who swears he’ll never marry. The show’s payoff is the fantasy that even he can be softened, conquered, and assimilated into the marriage machine.
There are other side female characters that reinforce the same pattern of mistaking projection or convenience for love. Michiru, the young neighbor, spends most of the series wrapped in romantic daydreams and petty social dramas, often as the target of Kuwano’s rudeness and emotional coldness. Her own preoccupation with finding a man makes her susceptible to misreading events. By the end, when Kuwano helps protect her from a stalker, the relief and gratitude flood her into briefly believing she’s in love with him. It’s not love; it’s a trauma bond born from rescue. Then there’s Sawazaki, the quietly competent assistant who’s worked with Kuwano for eight years. She probably understands him better than anyone else in the show. Her familiarity with his rhythms and quirks is the closest thing the series has to a stable, grounded connection. But it’s one-sided. Kuwano bluntly labels her as “convenient” because she handles client issues and clears his path to focus purely on architecture. In the show’s logic, even this long-standing, functional rapport isn’t framed as “love” because it lacks the romantic script. Instead, it’s treated as disposable, just another support role in service to the male lead’s journey toward the state-approved ending. The only decent bonding moments in the series come from Ken, the neighbor’s dog, which suggests that Kuwano is far better off which a dog for company rather than seeking women and insulting them constantly.
Even in Season 1, the cracks in the marriage ideal are visible if you’re paying attention. Kuwano’s married acquaintances don’t radiate joy (aka his brother in law who tries to buy a hostess an expensive purse instead of using the money for his family) They display boredom, escapism, or thinly veiled resentment. The show doesn’t dwell on these details—but they’re there. This undermines the stated goal while still pushing the script: “Marriage might be flawed, but singlehood is worse.”
By the end of Season 1, Kuwano’s confession of “love” to the doctor doesn’t lead to marriage. They’ve barely ever had a decent loving conversation. In fact, when Season 2 opens, we learn he and Hayasaka didn’t work out. She goes on to marry someone else. This confirms the hollow nature of the Season 1 arc: it was never about a lasting relationship. It was about manufacturing the moment when the nail “bows” to the hammer, even temporarily.
What this show really does:
1. Demonizes singleness by making the single protagonist grumpy and socially abrasive.
2. Equates marriage with redemption even when there’s no evidence it would make him happier.
3. Uses antagonism as romance bait, training viewers to see sparring as love.
4. Skips the results test, never showing a marriage that actually delivers sustained joy.
5. Lays the foundation for Season 2’s propaganda by planting the idea that independence is secretly loneliness.
This show is essentially the recruitment poster for the state-sponsored marriage drive. It introduces the “problem” (content single person), sets up the “solution” (romantic confession), and glosses over the fact that the solution doesn’t work long-term. Most reviewers celebrate the lighthearted comedy and high production values, completely glossing over the shaming undercurrent and the agenda telegraphed in the opening statistics about unmarried adults being a “problem.” This is exactly how the propaganda stays hidden: dress it up as “funny” and “cute” so the audience laughs along while internalizing the message that a single, self-possessed life is defective until it’s merged into the state-sanctioned family unit.
This show lacks any sort of wisdom about true love. It’s not about love at all. It’s about conversion and compliance with the system to keep society going. “Get married and pop out babies so we can keep the society going! We don’t care about your happiness, just do as you’re told. And if you’re happy, free, and single, we will call you lonely and constantly attack you for it.” And the show’s own sequel proves it: even after the “conversion,” marriage doesn’t last, and the marital happiness they’re all chasing is elusive.
In the show’s logic, Kuwano and Hayasaka aren’t just “quirky singles,” They’re glitches in the social program. They’ve slipped the net. They’re not generating children for the system, not tethering themselves into the cycles of marriage, mortgage, and consumption that keep the machine running. That’s why the tone is so condescending. The script treats them like broken gadgets—malfunctioning units in need of repair. The shaming, the subtle digs, the endless setups and matchmaking attempts—all of it is the matrix trying to drag them back into conformity. They’re the ones who unplugged, even if they don’t know the full scope of it. And in the eyes of the system, that’s dangerous. An anomaly living peacefully outside the script makes others question why they’re still trapped inside it. The fools around him see a grumpy grinch, but in truth he is a genuine, enlightened presence that is totally misunderstood.
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