A Gravure Idol Opens Up About Her Personal Experiences and Insights into Sexual Entertainment

I have been invited to engage in prostitution, and I have also been suspected of being involved in it

Last month, popular gravure idol Momoka Hayashida (24) announced that she would be taking a break from her entertainment career. The reason for this was the difficult situation she revealed on social media. The details are as follows:

“She was continuously subjected to inappropriate behavior and responses by the president of the agency she had a business partnership with, and it was spread that she had feelings for the president. She was also prohibited from speaking with other staff and talents, which led to her isolation and a situation where mental health care was needed.

Furthermore, when she expressed her desire to leave, she was told that the only option was to retire, and despite being within the contract period, her job offers were arbitrarily rejected.”

And then, Hayashida revealed the heartbreaking truth that she was falsely accused of engaging in pillow sales, a baseless accusation.

Although she is no longer actively working as a gravure idol, the author (Sari Yoshizawa), who self-identifies as a bottom-tier gravure idol, saw this post and her first thought was, “Is this still happening?”

I have seen people actually engage in pillow sales, been invited to do so myself, and seen others cry because of it.

Just like Hayashida, I’ve also been accused of pillow sales even though I wasn’t involved in it.

For example, if I were to release a photo book now, it wouldn’t be surprising if people started asking, “Did she do pillow sales?” I even found out that some people were saying, “It’s weird that she’s getting so many writing jobs! She must be doing pillow sales!” If there were a writer doing pillow sales, I’d be curious to see what that looks like.

Even as a bottom-tier gravure idol, I was constantly invited to engage in pillow sales. Let me share some memorable (?!?) episodes from that experience.

If I find you sexy, I will give you a regular terrestrial TV show.

About eight years ago, I took a break from my career as a gravure idol and was wandering around when I was suddenly invited by the president of an agency that represented several talent active in variety shows at the time.

“We’re having an important meeting with a sponsor, so I’ll introduce you, Sari-chan!”

I was told this and headed to a high-end hotel in the Akasaka area.

I was surprised by the 2,000 yen milk tea and, not wanting to get lost among the many girls who were invited, I made sure to constantly promote myself. Whether it was effective or not, I was later called by the sponsor. I was to revisit the high-end hotel with a swimsuit in hand, but the night before, the president suddenly said he couldn’t make it.

However, curiosity overcame any sense of danger, and I went alone. Before I knew it, the sponsor led me to a hotel room and had me change into a swimsuit.

“If I find you sexy, I’ll give you a regular spot on a TV program! Let’s release a photo book!”

He said that, but more shocking than those words was the fact that, while I was changing in the bathroom, the sponsor had also changed into just a bathrobe (which was kind of amusing). I kept posing seductively, dodging the sponsor’s advances, and expertly defending myself while circling the room. It was the strangest game of tag I’ve ever experienced.

Finally, the sponsor, frustrated, told me, “Go ahead and change,” and when I came back after changing, he was fully dressed, and there was 30,000 yen on the desk as transportation money.

A new talent at a face to face meeting became a regular on terrestrial TV

Later, I received a furious phone call from the CEO, who yelled, “What have you done?!” but I acted dumb and replied, “What do you mean? Can I be on TV?” Surprisingly, the new talent from the CEO’s agency, who was present at the meeting, was chosen as a regular member on a national TV program.

She was fairly cute, but not to the extent of suddenly standing alongside a famous comedian known by everyone on national TV, so the thought, “If I had slept with that sponsor, could I have made it too?” briefly crossed my mind.

However, that program ended after just one season, and she hasn’t done anything notable since; I can’t even remember her face or name anymore. I don’t know if she actually engaged in “pillow business,” or if a few of us who were gathered, like me, were used as sacrificial pawns to secure her appearance instead—

The scariest part was what became of the president who had arranged that face-to-face meeting.

About a year later, when I was in an even more desperate situation than now, the president called me and said, “Sarii-chan, where are you? I need to borrow some money.”

He said this to me, who couldn’t make a living just from being a gravure idol and a writer, and was working part-time at a snack bar in Nakano. I received the call just before my shift. When I replied, “I’m about to start work, and I don’t have any money,” he persistently pleaded, “Even 10,000 yen, no 5,000 yen, even 2,000 yen. I’ll come to the bar to get it.”

When I said, “The mama is strict, so I can’t hand over money in front of the shop to someone who’s not a customer,” he gave up, but it was shocking. The president, who had once run an office in an incredible building and held meetings in places where a single cup of tea cost 2,000 yen, now wanted to borrow just 2,000 yen. Well, it had nothing to do with the pillow business, but witnessing his downfall firsthand made me firmly decide, “This is a job full of ups and downs, but I should stay serious and not get involved in any deals that seem too good to be true.”

To be in a boys’ magazine is a dream come true for Gradol.

Also, although the details differ from Hayashida’s case, I too have experienced having a job offer for me turned down without my knowledge. It’s a sad story, but I think it’s something that happens a lot.

It happened during the summer break of my fourth year at university. I was planning to participate in an overnight training camp to earn the credits needed for graduation. Around that time, the president of the agency I belonged to asked about my schedule right in the middle of the camp.

“Are you free this day?”

Thinking, “If it’s just a meeting, I’d prefer it to be rescheduled, but if it’s a shoot, I’ll somehow sneak out and manage it,” I asked, “Is it a shoot?” The reply came back, “Then never mind.” I had a bad feeling about it, so I replied several times saying things like “If it’s a shoot, I can make it!” but was ignored.

After the camp ended safely, when I met with the president, he gleefully said, “The schedule I asked about before was for an exclusive photoshoot for a boys’ magazine! Since Sari said she couldn’t come, I gave it to another newcomer, and she really hit it off with the editor, so they might call us again.”

I went into a panic.

“Appearing in a boys’ magazine”—that was one of the dreams for a gravure idol. Especially for someone like me, who wasn’t a classic beauty and whose work involved a lot of exposure, it was a dream I had both hoped for and given up on, thinking it would never come. And yet, a job that had come to me by name was handed off to another girl without properly informing me of the details—completely unacceptable.

I hurled abuse at the president, but he snapped back, “When I ask about your schedule, you’re supposed to assume it’s work, right? You were the one who answered depending on the content because of your camp.” Honestly, I even felt murderous rage. Apparently, the president had told the newcomer’s parents, “I absolutely want to make her a star! I want to create a pure idol,” and continued with the following.

“I hid the fact that Sarii Yoshizawa was affiliated with our agency. If the parents thought she might be made to wear such a tiny bikini, they would become anxious.”

The fact that I didn’t immediately say, “I’m available!” must have been convenient for the president. It’s a story from over 20 years ago, but I still resent him.

I ended up talking a lot about myself, but there are many stories like this besides mine. There were indeed times when, in response to a request like, “We’d like to ask A for this job,” the agency would say, “A is set to leave, so please make it B instead.” Sometimes they would just say, “Please make it B,” without any reason. This isn’t just from my experience—I’ve also heard from magazine editors:

“I asked for C-chan, but they pushed D-chan instead, so I ended up asking D-chan. But on the day of the shoot, I saw on social media that C-chan had the day off. If she was off, I would have preferred to interview C-chan (laughs). Even though it’s the same manager, when I send a job request for E-chan, there’s no reply at all, but for F-chan, the reply is instant.”

I’ve heard stories like that many times. Since we’re human, it’s understandable to put more effort into promoting people you get along with, who are motivated, or who seem promising. However, when it comes to jobs that were specifically requested, there should be an obligation to ask the person whether they want to take it.

If it’s because the exposure would be too much or it’s against our policy, that’s understandable. But if you’re rejecting jobs based on personal feelings, do we even need talent agencies at all? Either way, they take a percentage of the guarantee.

I think there should be a system where not only the agency but also the individual can confirm when an offer comes in. Honestly, it doesn’t seem that difficult to set up. Also, for someone as successful as Hayashida-san, wouldn’t harboring personal feelings that prevent her from getting jobs be a negative for the company too? It should be a win-win for both sides to support her motivation healthily and have her do more work. Sorry for sounding so high and mighty despite being from the very bottom.

Anyway, I hope she can take her time to rest her heart and return to her activities.