Throne of Thrones — A Love Letter to Japanese Toilets

In a world where political debates resemble mud wrestling matches in suits, where rhetoric is less about ideas and more about volume, one can find solace in the most unlikely of places…the bathroom. And not just any bathroom but the kingdom of the Japanese toilet. These machines are so uncannily intelligent they could probably moderate a US presidential debate and come out looking like the only adult in the room.

Let’s get this out of the way. If toilets were students, Japanese toilets would be valedictorians. They are the Hermione Grangers of plumbing. The rest of the world? Still eating glue in the back row.

The Japanese toilet, or as I like to call it, the "Porcelain Shogun", is a feat of engineering so elegant, so advanced, that sitting on it feels like you’ve accidentally become royalty. You walk into a bathroom expecting modesty, but instead you’re greeted by a control panel more complex than the cockpit of a 747. Some even greet you with a gentle chime. Others raise their lids as you approach, like a devoted samurai sensing your presence. I swear one bowed to me once.

Let’s talk features. These aren’t just toilets. These are toilets with PhDs.

First, the bidet function. Calling it a “spray” is an insult. This is targeted hydraulic diplomacy. A stream so precise, it must have been calibrated by retired NASA engineers now moonlighting at Toto. There are settings for pressure, temperature, angle and what not; this toilet knows more about your undercarriage than your doctor.

Then there’s the seat warmer. My dear uninitiated reader, imagine the feeling of being hugged by a freshly baked cinnamon roll. That’s the warmth of a Japanese toilet seat in winter. No longer must you suffer the cold porcelain shock that turns you into a startled meerkat.

And the deodoriser? Oh yes. The moment you make a deposit, this toilet doesn’t judge. It neutralises your shame with the quiet hum of dignity. Some models even release a puff of floral fragrance, as if to say, “Nothing happened here. You are pure.”

But wait, there’s more. Noise-masking music. That’s right. Should your internal symphony reach brass-band proportions, simply hit the "Otohime" button. Suddenly, you’re not producing embarrassing sounds but enjoying a gentle forest stream. The toilet is lying for you. It’s got your back. Literally.

In a way, the Otohime is the unsung hero of flatulent camouflage

We’ve all been there: seated in a suspiciously echo-prone public bathroom, heart heavy with digestive doom, and someone walks in. Suddenly, nature’s pressure cooker inside you threatens to turn into a Wagnerian opera.

Enter Otohime (literally "Sound Princess.") Because in Japan, even your farts are treated with imperial dignity.

This ingenious feature plays soothing, looping sounds such as rainfall, babbling brooks, waves on a tranquil shore just to mask your gastrointestinal jazz. It is the acoustic smoke bomb of shame. A white noise alibi for your biological beatbox.

Some higher-end versions even let you customise the sound. Why stop at waterfalls? Why not cloak your inner turbulence in Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D minor, so you emerge not embarrassed but baroque and triumphant? These go beyond cleanliness

And let’s not forget the auto-flush. No frantic waving like a confused magician. No awkward double-checks. The Japanese toilet knows when you’re done. It senses your soul has returned to your body and flushes with the dignity of a farewell salute.

Some models even have Bluetooth, which raises existential questions: Who exactly is taking calls on the throne? But then again, if you’re not syncing your bowel movements with your fitness tracker, are you even living in 2025?

Contrast this marvel with the average Western toilet,  the humble, boring, stupid bowl of defeat. No buttons. No warm seats. No emotional support. It just sits there, cold and judgmental, like a Victorian schoolmaster. It demands everything and gives nothing. Where’s the intimacy? The programmable water spray? The loyalty?

Bathroom Stage
Here lies the contrast. In politics, particularly of the Trumpian variety, we get noise without filter, spray without aim, and judgment without deodoriser. A Japanese toilet, by comparison, offers restraint, dignity, and even the kindness of music to cover your worst outbursts. Imagine a world where our leaders came equipped with an Otohime button. Instead of hearing tirades, we’d hear waterfalls. Instead of mudslinging, we’d smell fresh lavender.

Honestly, if Japanese toilets ran for office, they’d win. In Japan, the bathroom is not a place of shameful necessity but a temple of self-care, cleanliness, and Wi-Fi-enabled miracles. Japanese toilets are not just smart; they are emotionally intelligent. They know when you’re cold. They know when you’re done. They sing, wash, warm, scent, and salute. Honestly, they do everything but make you breakfast. And I’m not entirely sure they don’t.

So, the next time you visit Japan, don’t waste time at shrines or sushi joints alone. Head straight to the nearest washlet-equipped restroom (you may find them in some high-end shopping malls, too) and experience enlightenment one flush at a time.

Just don’t press the button with kanji you don’t recognise. That could be either the child lock or a portal to another dimension.