In much of the world, milestone birthdays tend to cluster around youth—the Latin American quinceañera at 15, the American “sweet sixteen” for young women, or in many places, turning into a “legal adult” at age 18 and casting your first vote. The celebrations mark a rush toward adulthood, then largely fade away, and are eventually replaced with a fear of aging and jokes about grey hair. Japan also has its share of “coming of age” traditions for children and adolescents, but some of the most meaningful birthdays actually occur later in life: at age 60, 77, 88, and beyond. These traditions, known collectively as chōju no iwai (longevity celebrations), reflect a distinctly Japanese philosophy of aging—one where growing older is not something to fear, but an accomplishment to be honored.
The Japanese calendar of milestone birthdays is richly detailed, with each significant age carrying its own name, symbolism, and traditional color. These customs trace their origins to the Chinese zodiac and calendar systems that Japan adopted centuries ago, though as with many imports, they were shaped by Japan’s own culture, spirituality, and aesthetics. Records show that the standard series of longevity celebrations had become firmly established among the aristocracy and warrior class by the Muromachi Period (1338 – 1573). Rather than simply marking each new decade, Japanese culture selected specific ages from which auspicious (and sometimes playfully clever) meanings could be derived through the written characters.
Early in a Japanese child’s life, families traditionally celebrate key milestones: Shichi-Go-San honors children at ages 3 (san), 5 (go), and 7 (shichi) with shrine visits and special garments, while Seijin no Hi (Coming of Age Day) traditionally celebrates 20-year-olds as they mark a major milestone in their journey to adulthood each January. But it’s at 60 that the longevity celebrations truly begin with kanreki, a birthday marking the completion of one full 60-year cycle of the Chinese zodiac. The honoree has returned to the sign of their birth year, and traditionally wears a red vest called a chanchanko, the same color associated with newborns, representing not the twilight of life but a joyful “return to childhood” and the beginning of a second journey through the years.
The milestones continue from there, each marking a new occasion for family gatherings and celebratory feasts. At 70 comes koki, whose name derives from a line by the Tang Dynasty poet Du Fu: “Men seldom live to be seventy.” The honoree wears purple, a color associated with nobility and believed to offer protective benefits to aging bodies. The color purple returns at 77 to mark kiju, the “joy age.” But perhaps the most beloved milestone is beiju at 88, the “rice age,” named because the character for rice (米) can be broken apart into the numbers 8 (八), 10 (十), and 8 (八). Rice carries deep associations with prosperity and nourishment in Japanese culture, and the celebration traditionally includes a family banquet featuring sekihan (red rice with adzuki beans) and sea bream. A traditional gift for those in their 80s, that is no longer commonly continued, is a hato no tsue, a walking stick carved with a hato (translated as both pigeon and dove) on its handle—a custom borrowed from ancient Chinese courts. Those who reach 99 celebrate hakuju (白寿), meaning “white longevity,” and if they’re lucky enough to cross the 100 year mark, centenarians are honored with hyakuju (百寿), meaning “one hundred longevity,” traditionally accompanied by a commemorative gift from the government, though the sheer number of recipients in recent years has prompted a shift to more modest tokens.
Not every age is cause for celebration, however. Japanese tradition also recognizes yakudoshi—so-called “unlucky years” when a person is believed to be more vulnerable to misfortune or illness. These years typically occur at ages 25, 42, and 61 for men, and 19, 33, and 37 for women. Rather than following the standard age system, yakudoshi are calculated using the traditional Japanese kazoedoshi method, in which a person is considered one year old at birth and gains a year with each New Year—resulting in a difference of one to two years from commonly used age counting. Many people in Japan mark these years by visiting shrines for yakubarai, a ritual purification intended to ward off bad luck.
The calendar itself also carries weight: certain years are seen as particularly inauspicious for people and the world in general. This year, 2026, happens to be one of them. In the 60-year cycle of the Chinese zodiac, it is the Year of the Fire Horse (hinoeuma), which is marked by a centuries-old superstition that women born in this year will be “headstrong” wives and bring misfortune to their husbands. The belief has roots in Edo-period legend, but its effects have been surprisingly real: in 1966, the last Fire Horse year, Japan’s birth rate dropped by nearly 25 percent as couples avoided having daughters that year. Whether the superstition will have any echo in 2026 remains to be seen, and most observers expect modern families to treat it as an outdated relic. But the very fact that the Fire Horse still lingers in cultural memory says something about how deeply calendar cycles continue to shape Japanese life.
All of this takes on particular resonance in a country where the population is aging rapidly. Japan has the world’s highest proportion of elderly citizens: nearly 30 percent of the population is 65 or older, and as of September 2025, the country is home to over 90,000 centenarians. The national holiday Keirō no Hi (Respect for the Aged Day), celebrated each September, illustrates how this demographic is valued. Japan’s reverence for longevity extends beyond individuals to institutions as well: the country is home to the world’s oldest companies, some operating continuously for over a thousand years, guided by traits like craftsmanship, service to community, and long-term thinking. (To learn more about these remarkable shinise businesses, read an article from our archive here, and watch a pair of related webinar programs here).
This appreciation for what endures runs through Japanese culture in many forms. The aesthetic term sabi denotes the patina that comes with time and loving use (often paired with wabi, meaning a humble, rustic beauty), while shibui describes a quiet elegance that only emerges with age. Ancient trees are treated with near-sacred respect, for example, a particular Usuzumi cherry tree in Gifu prefecture that is one of the nation’s three oldest cherry trees, believed to be 1,500 years old (to learn more about the traditions and treasures of Gifu as a travel destination, read an article from our archive here). In addition, centuries-old cedar and cypress remain the preferred materials for temple construction and restoration, their grain and fragrance deepening over decades (to learn more about the sacred shrine and temple carpentry of Japan, read an article from our archive here). Even national cultural policy reflects this sensibility: Japan’s Living National Treasure program, established in 1950, designates master artisans as “Preservers of Important Intangible Cultural Properties,” ensuring that skills refined over lifetimes—in ceramics, textiles, metalwork, and more—can be passed to future generations.
As more Japanese reach the ages of beiju, and beyond, these milestone celebrations are becoming more widespread, but no less special. In a world that often dreads the passing of time, Japan offers a different model—one that honors aging with love, respect, and the spirit of celebration.
