Marcel Winatschek

Rina Hashimoto

People always ask me: if you love Japan so much, shouldn’t your type be Japanese women? I’d always have to think about it. Selena Gomez? No. Scarlett Johansson, who’s been there? No. Kate Upton? No. None of them.

So I lived with this contradiction—loving Japan like it was my favorite place on earth while not actually being attracted to Japanese women. Maybe I’m just a hentai otaku. Someone who likes the idea of an East Asian woman way more than actual people. It made sense. It explained everything.

Then I saw her on one of those girls’ Tumblrs: Rina Hashimoto. Sweet face, dark skin, black eyes, that summer-bleached hair. I was completely fucked. Couldn’t stop saying her name. Rina Hashimoto. Rina Hashimoto. Rina Hashimoto. And it was like flipping a switch—I was in love with Japan again, but this time it felt real.