Getting "Naked" at the Hadaka Matsuri

Every year in February, thousands of men in fundoshi descend on Konomiya-jinja in Inazawa for one of Japan's most singular festivals. Most people watch from the sidelines. Nicolas Violé, a French traveler, went the day before and asked a question.

Based on an account by reader Nicolas Violé

Part 1: Making Your Own Luck

We went to the shrine the day before the festival. Not to scout — to ask.

The Konomiya Hadaka Matsuri works like this: one man is designated the Shin-Otoko — the god-man. On the day of the festival, thousands of men wearing only fundoshi chase him through the shrine grounds while volunteers douse the crowd with buckets of ice water. Touch the god-man, and your bad luck transfers to him.

The crowd this year would be around 10,000.

I wanted in.

"What is your shoe size?"

Using a translator app and whatever courage I had, I started approaching shrine staff and bystanders. Everyone said the same thing: too complicated, too much prior organization, too late to arrange.

Then a man called out to us. We were the only foreigners there, which probably helped. His name was Masao Inoko. He'd been to France several times, so we had a foothold. I asked if there was any way I could participate. He said "Mmm... wait, wait," walked away, made some calls, and came back thirty minutes later.

"What is your shoe size?"

Incredible.

Masao took us backstage. He brought us into the room where the god-man's ritual meal was taking place — we were seated on chairs while the town elders arranged themselves around us, which was apparently not the normal order of things. Then came something rarer: we were given the privilege of touching the Shin-Otoko's hands and feet before the event. That's usually reserved for the elderly and the elite.

The reason Masao could arrange all this: he had been the Shin-Otoko himself, years earlier. A legend at the temple. Out of pure generosity, he gave us his headband and walked us to the registration desk to sign me up for the following morning.

Thank you, Masao. I will never forget your kindness.

Getting undressed in the middle of a group of men you've never met takes some courage of its own.

Part 2: The Festival

The next morning I was (not going to lie), pretty stressed. Getting undressed in the middle of a group of men you've never met takes some courage of its own.

After sharing sake with the group, we set off through the city in procession — carrying a bamboo pole wrapped in cloth, prayers written on it. The locals completely welcomed me. They put their arms around my shoulders, placed me in the middle to help carry the bamboo, gave us fruit. We chanted Wasshoi — carrying harmony — on a loop.

It was February.
It was freezing.

The energy made it irrelevant.

Along the route, we handed cloth ribbons to residents waiting outside their homes — the luck of the Shin-Otoko, passed street by street.

At the shrine, the water started. A full bucket hit me in the face. That certainly wakes you up.

Then the Shin-Otoko appeared.

What followed was the biggest mosh pit of my life — 10,000 people surging at once, all trying to reach one man. Pushing, shouting, pure chaos. You couldn't move your arms. The only option was to lift your feet and let the crowd carry you. Packed in tight under the setting sun, chanting Oi-ssa on a loop, a whirlwind of noise and color and people screaming and smiling at the same time — it was magical. I couldn't stop laughing like a kid.

I never touched him. Getting close was genuinely impossible. The god-man himself had to be pulled free by attendants at the end.

But we'd touched him the day before. So we win.

Photos courtesy of Nicolas Violé