It was only when I clicked the “payment” button on a hard-gained hotel reservation for a weekend in Fukuoka, gateway to Japan’s western main island of Kyushu, that I noticed the small print: “We are an unmanned business hotel.”
Unmanned? I had missed that little word. I wasn’t even sure what “unmanned” really meant. And anyway, in this gender-sensitive day and age, shouldn’t it be “unpersonned”? And did this mean no human staff at all? Would there be anyone to help with luggage or check-in problems? Either way, I had already signed up and paid. I could have canceled—but then, I thought, this could be the time to leap into the automated world. And I was curious.
Japan, with its increasingly acute labor shortage and aging population, has been at the cutting edge of what it generally calls unmanned hospitality and services. We saw the debut of driverless trains in Tokyo decades ago, and more recently the advent of unstaffed convenience stores, canteens, and even bookstores. In the countryside, it is not uncommon to see unstaffed roadside food and beverage stalls that operate on the honor system: take what you want and leave the money. The system invariably works, given Japanese people’s stellar reputation for honesty.
But now, unstaffed hotels and automated hospitality have reached new levels. It is particularly striking that this would be happening in Japan, known for age-old traditions of etiquette and hospitality. When I looked into it, it turns out that one of the world’s first automated hotel chains, the Henn na Hotel (“strange” hotel) chain, launched its first hotel in 2015, in Kyushu at the Dutch-themed resort Huis Ten Bosch. The brainchild of specialist travel company HIS, the Henn na Hotel was recognized as the world’s first robot-staffed hotel by Guinness World Records.
The model quickly gained a following. Citing quirky features such as holograms of ninjas and dinosaurs greeting guests in the (automated) reception, and nifty room gadgets such as steam closets for clothes, the chain has now grown to more than 20 hotels around Japan with two overseas branches, in New York and Seoul.
But it was only relatively recently, since the Covid-19 pandemic and Japan’s subsequent resurgence in tourism, that this evolving model of automated hospitality really took off. Younger people, both Japanese and foreign, are prime customers for unstaffed hotels, according to social trend research, driven by desires for more privacy and perceived convenience of fully automated check-in and booking procedures.
Price differentials don’t have much to do with it, it seems. Certainly the cheapest single automated hotel room can be highly competitive, from about JPY 5,000–6,000 (USD 32–38), but my room with a semidouble bed and a partial view was even more expensive than full-service budget hotels nearby, at around JPY 28,000 (USD 179.2) per night.
For me, the prospect of a couple of nights loomed as an adventure, of sorts. But my doubts grew when I saw questions from other guests on the feedback page: “What if there is an emergency in the middle of the night?” “What if I get locked out?” “What if someone tries to attack me?” “What if the bathroom floods?” and so on.
The hotel’s catchall answer was hardly reassuring. A blithe line insisting: “You can call us anytime on this hotline number.” I doubt that would be much help if you’re being stalked down the corridor by a hostile fellow guest or you have a plumbing crisis late at night.
The booking process was another aspect that belied the supposed virtues of automation. Filling out the initial form unleashed a seemingly endless barrage of communications, including a fiddly questionnaire about my details, and instructions that seemed more complicated than breaking into a central bank. There were advance forms, cryptic passwords, requirements to download QR codes, and interminable guidelines for everything from accessing free breakfast to rules of the house.
When I finally fronted up for my “experiential” stay, the hotel looked like a nondescript, narrow, eight-story office block. Armed with my QR code to enter the elevator, I proceeded to the check-in to do battle with the machine.
Entirely predictably, the atmosphere was as impersonal as you could get, reinforced by the dim lighting and a slightly eerie, black-and-red-themed color scheme. But the bed was comfortable, the sheets good quality, the amenities station on every floor abounding with toiletry sachets, hair brushes, slippers, and the room (albeit tiny) comfortably equipped with fridge, desk and chair, and TV screen.
The “free breakfast” in the morning was entirely DIY—guests in the silent dining room were met with rows of bowls filled with udon noodles and a large thermos of broth to pour over them. The alternative dish was small “yaki onigiri” roasted rice balls you could heat up in the microwave. On the side were coffee or tea. Well I guess you could call it breakfast.
There was, however, one reassuring glimpse of human interaction in the form of a disengaged young man who turned up after breakfast to shunt away all the used dishes. I spotted the same man later in the day, pulling out used bedding from rooms. Some hotels like Henn na claim to rely mainly on robots. But I have not yet seen a robot that can change bedding and clean rooms as comprehensively as a human.
Interestingly, the most illuminating aspect of my stay was observing my fellow guests, nearly all young, some Japanese, some foreigners (although all Asian—particularly South Koreans and Chinese).
They were sitting silently on their own or in twos or threes, often clad in caps or hoodies, heads down, and staring intently at phone screens or just dozing. They seemed to match the types targeted by a newish fully automated hotel in Fukushima, which claims it is “perfect for introverts or super tired people.”
The hotel experience was better than I feared but didn’t fill me with desire to return. Similarly, in another experience of Japan’s push for service automation, I recently visited an unmanned bookstore, in the basement of a smart office block in Tokyo’s affluent Akasaka district. The convenience and late opening hours, until midnight, were attractions. But it ended there. Glass-walled and brightly lit, I guess it may have deterred shoplifting and helped draw customers in. But it made me feel as if I were in a goldfish bowl, a specimen on display to anyone walking by. At least the system was simple enough: If you took a book, you just scanned, paid, and checked out.
So I am wondering, is this the way of the future? How much do we need human interaction? Judging from the attitudes of (mainly Asian) fellow guests in my automated hotel, this non-contact model perfectly suits many younger customers.
Unmanned is definitely one path to the future. But in the rush to automate everything I wonder if age-old traditions, both Asian and Western, of “hospitality,” “service” and “customer engagement” are being lost. What will they teach in the hotel and hospitality schools of the future?
To me, “unmanned” or “unpersonned” equates to “dehumanized.” But not to my younger fellow guests. What does this tell us? For those concerned about the impact of artificial intelligence on young people, perhaps it reinforces social alienation and isolation syndromes. On the other hand, even older people might occasionally crave a place where you don’t have to speak or deal with other human beings.
This article first appeared on Nikkei Asia. It has been republished here as part of 36Kr’s ongoing partnership with Nikkei.