Takarazuka Revue and Oshi-katsu: 110 Years of Tradition and the Challenge of Renewal

The Takarazuka Revue, Japan's all-female musical theater company, was founded in 1914 by Ichizo Kobayashi. Guided by its ideal of being "pure, correct and beautiful," it built a distinctive training culture centered on otokoyaku, the women who play male roles. Behind the more than 110 years it has lasted lies a system in which the school, the theater and fan etiquette work as one.

It isn't only the productions. Training before joining the company, growth within each troupe and watching at the theater all connect into one long story. Fans have supported not just the finished stage but also the time a performer takes to deepen a role.

A culture of watching over someone for years can embrace a person's growth, including changes in casting and their graduation from the company. When we talk about tradition, though, we need to look separately at the glamorous stage and at the education, rehearsal and management behind it. For fans too, "it has always been this way" isn't the same as "it still makes sense today."

An organization that has lasted more than a hundred years is worth studying in itself, because somewhere it has built in a mechanism that keeps its form as people change.

In Takarazuka's case, that would be the training school and the troupe system, which together form a mechanism that keeps raising the next generation without depending on individual talent.

Around rehearsals and performances, fans wait for performers as they arrive (irimachi) and as they leave (demachi). There is said to be an unseen order there between members of private fan clubs and unaffiliated onlookers known as the "gallery." These manners keep the place orderly, but they can also burden newcomers.

The private fan clubs, called kai, have supported the cheering and the handling of tickets. Still, to keep informal dynamics from turning into burden or a sense of unfairness, the boundary with the areas the company itself is responsible for needs to be clear.

When a first-timer can't find out whom to ask or what the official rules are, silence and going along easily get passed down as "etiquette." Fans need to go back to the official guidance instead of judging only by the customs around them, and the organization needs to make clear how much it leaves to private activities and where people can go for advice.

People often say "selling dreams," but the people making those dreams are doing real work. Balancing the two remains a challenge in this field.

Some customs that have continued as tradition need review by today's standards. Having lasted a long time doesn't prove something is right.

Changing isn't the same as breaking. Whether we can put into words what to keep and what to let go will divide the next hundred years.

The Takarazuka Music School is a narrow gate that takes in about 40 students a year. In 2026, 422 people took the entrance exam, a ratio of 10.55 to 1. The effort it takes to be chosen leads into a long stretch of cheering, as fans watch the performer grow after joining the company.

The more the difficulty of the entrance is made into a story, the heavier the responsibility to protect safety and dignity after entry. We must not say "they were chosen, so they can endure it," and must think separately about the systems that support learning and those that support work.

The ratio is one piece of information showing popularity and effort, but it doesn't prove the quality of education or peace of mind after enrollment. Fans and the press can respect the process of aiming for a dream by looking past praise for the narrow gate to whether students have someone to consult, whether rest is secured and whether they can choose another path.

It's unusual for something positioned close to the traditional performing arts to keep succeeding as a commercial production.

A high ratio shows the strength of admiration. It also means that far more people were not chosen.

After a company member died in 2023, problems involving long working hours and harassment came to light, and a corrective recommendation from the Nishinomiya Labor Standards Inspection Office was also made public. The stage of dreams can't be separated from the safety of the people who work there.

The reforms included fewer performances and fewer shows per week, guaranteed rest and records of entry and exit. In addition, even after the Takarazuka Revue's move to incorporation as a company, a system has been presented under which members in their sixth year or later can keep an employment contract if they wish.

A reform isn't complete the moment a policy is announced. We need to keep checking whether cutting performances has simply pushed rehearsal and preparation into other hours, whether people who seek advice suffer for it and whether their choice of contract is truly respected. The organization can rebuild trust by reporting progress and unmet items separately.

The Takarazuka case shows that a world of dreams rests on the reality of the people who work in it. Tradition lasts only when the beauty of the stage, safe working conditions and fan behavior that protects rights are held to the same standard. Reform shouldn't be split off as a matter outside the work; it is part of the quality that makes the stage possible.

Getting tickets also narrows the way in. Popular performances are hard to get, and first-timers are the least likely to get them.

Customs such as irimachi and demachi arose naturally among fans and developed an order of their own. The order of the line, how to call out, whether photos are allowed: unwritten rules have been doing the work.

This self-governance protects the place when it works well. But it is hard for outsiders to understand, and it can also become a structure in which people are blamed simply for not knowing.

If newly interested people find it hard to get in, the audience eventually shrinks. Keeping customs and welcoming new people are things we want to make compatible.

Reforms that protect working people are also a major change of the past few years. Keeping up the quality of the stage and protecting the health of the people on it are both non-negotiable.

The official FAQ points out that fan art may infringe copyright, portrait rights and other rights, and asks fans not to post it on social media without permission. Rather than treating creative work as uniformly permitted, we need to understand the possibility of infringing rights.

Official resale passes tickets for performances you can no longer attend to the next audience member at face value. Explaining the terms of use clearly, avoiding illegal reselling and letting the audience choose the legitimate route all build trust.

Live streaming and official resale keep a legitimate way back to the stage open even for people limited by distance, health or schedule. Not treating attendance in person as the only form of support, and offering several ways to take part, is inclusion too. Fans can avoid turning good intentions into someone else's burden by checking the official guidance on how to pass on a performance they can't attend and how far they can make their creative work public.

Efforts to ease the difficulty of getting in are moving forward, little by little. They include guidance for first-timers and the release of short pieces.

A challenge in this field is that it's hard to see from the outside. The stronger the glamour of the stage, the less the burden inside shows.

Recent reforms moved forward partly because of points raised from outside. When everything is settled from the inside, there's little chance to prompt change.

There isn't much the audience can do. Even so, we can choose not to be an audience that forces strain on others.

Changing in order to continue isn't a betrayal of tradition. Reviewing the system in response to problems of safety and working conditions is also necessary to keep the stage going.

This is also a field with many long-time audience members. Because some people keep watching for ten or twenty years, the stage's changes get handed down in stories.

That accumulated memory is passed on to new audiences too. An audience that knows the history is itself an asset.