Parental Proxy Matchmaking: A Report Highlighting How Income, Occupation, and Youth Take Priority Over Personality
Kind, serious, steady, and hardworking. With a decent academic background and a stable job—yet there are many parents who worry that for some reason, my child cannot get married.
I am one of them. My two sons in their late 30s have neither a marriage partner nor even a romantic relationship, and they lack the casual social ease to interact with the opposite sex in the first place.
Of course, whether to marry or not is a matter of individual freedom, and marriage does not guarantee happiness. Still, concerns such as “What if they remain alone in the future?” or “What will happen to the family line if there is no heir?” have given rise to a booming matchmaking industry targeting such anxious parents.
For example, parental proxy matchmaking, in which parents of unmarried children gather, interact, and try to create opportunities for meetings and relationships on behalf of their children, is being held across Japan, with parents themselves actively searching for marriage partners for their sons and daughters.
For details of its reality, readers may refer to my book published in March, “I Can’t Find a Marriage Partner for My Child! — Discovering the ‘Barriers to Marriage’ Through Parental Proxy Matchmaking” (Bungeishunju). As both a mother and a reporter, I have personally experienced parental proxy matchmaking three times since 2022.
“I think it cost about 10 million yen.”
At the first session, held at a hotel in central Tokyo, the participation fee was 16,000 yen. After submitting an application form listing my then-36-year-old eldest son’s height, place of residence, occupation, education, hobbies, and his strengths as seen by his parents, I received a list one week before the exchange event.
The men’s list contained information on unmarried sons, and the women’s list contained information on unmarried daughters. Participants attended after narrowing down potential candidates in advance.
On the day of the event, around 100 parents wore numbered badges linked to their sons’ or daughters’ profiles. They held detailed personal profiles and family background sheets in hand as they negotiated with the parents of prospective matches.
The main purpose of the gathering, incidentally, was the exchange of profiles. Parents showed each other their children’s personal information and photos, and if both sides agreed, they would take them home and later suggest to their children, “How about this person?”
The first 30 minutes were an approach time where parents of sons approached parents of daughters. I immediately met the mother of a prospective partner for my son—but I was unexpectedly hit with a counterpunch.
“How much is your son’s annual income?”
I was speechless. Despite it being our first meeting, she immediately asked about money.
“Are you particular about your son-in-law’s income? May I ask what level you are hoping for?”
“Well, around 10 million yen.”
Contrary to my shock, she remained calm. Faced with such a strict financial requirement, I had no choice but to quietly withdraw.
The next person I met was a father with a 34-year-old daughter. After exchanging friendly greetings, he immediately asked an unexpected question:
“Is your son working for a listed company?”
He then began talking about himself. He worked for a well-known company and owned two houses in Tokyo. He added, “I’m thinking of letting my daughter live in one of them after she gets married,” exerting a strong and one-sided pressure.
Barely managing to make it through the first half, the second half shifted to an “approach time” where parents of daughters approached parents of sons. I was approached by a friendly father carrying the profile sheet of his 34-year-old daughter.
As we talked about each other’s children, it turned out by coincidence that our families had once been neighbors. Excited by this unexpected connection, I began to think a meeting between the two children was almost a done deal—until he dropped a rather surprising remark:
“My daughter has been told ‘we definitely want her’ by various parents until now.”
“We haven’t even let them kiss.”
“Not even allowed to kiss,” he added.
Trying to present his daughter as “in high demand,” the father said she had previously met and dated an elite man with whom she had exchanged profiles at another matchmaking event.
“The other party’s conditions were more than satisfactory, but in the end we turned him down. And you know, we haven’t even allowed our daughter to kiss anyone.”
I was stunned. It may have been meant as an appeal to her purity, but it felt surreal that a father and his daughter in their mid-30s would be talking about “kissing” in such a context.
At the post-event gathering, another father of a 50-year-old son confronted me with a harsh reality. He explained that what mattered most was the information listed under the family section of the profile sheet—in other words, the parents’ and siblings’ educational and occupational backgrounds.
“People who come to these exchanges want to find a suitable match for their child, so it can’t just be anyone. It’s not only about the children themselves—we also consider compatibility between families and whether the households are well-matched.”
I was struck by the realization that, in addition to the child’s income, education, and occupation, even the family’s status was being evaluated. But after listening more carefully, it began to make sense. After all, most participants’ children had similar profiles: “kind and serious,” “stable job,” and so on. Among such men and women, family background becomes a kind of added value that differentiates one candidate from another.
The second and third rounds of proxy matchmaking were no different. The emphasis was not on personality, but on conditions such as money, occupation, and youth. The child’s own intentions or feelings came second to parental expectations and desires. Yet the parents all said the same thing: “We are not being overly demanding,” “We just want an ordinary partner.”
At first glance, it seems contradictory—but why, then, do they participate in proxy matchmaking at all? That question will be explored further in Part 2.
Interview and text： Yuki Ishikawa (Journalist) PHOTO： Afro