Cookie banner

This site uses cookies. Select "Block all non-essential cookies" to only allow cookies necessary to display content and enable core site features. Select "Accept all cookies" to also personalize your experience on the site with ads and partner content tailored to your interests, and to allow us to measure the effectiveness of our service.

To learn more, review our Cookie Policy, Privacy Notice and Terms of Use.

clock menu more-arrow no yes mobile
Photo: Netflix

Filed under:

This Show About a Japanese Underwear Store Is the Best Series on Netflix

While most of the English-speaking world rang in the new year with Making a Murderer, I had already moved on to another Netflix show. This isn't me boasting about how quickly I take in TV or trying to impress anyone with my cutting edge viewing tendencies. Quite the opposite. Atelier, the show developed by Netflix and Japanese company Fuji TV and premiering in the US on December 1st of 2015, took me weeks to finish. Despite its PG treatment of mildly racy subject matter (bras), its plotlines were sappier than most of the Disney shows I watch in marathon chunks every few weeks. I loved it.

Racked is no longer publishing. Thank you to everyone who read our work over the years. The archives will remain available here; for new stories, head over to, where our staff is covering consumer culture for The Goods by Vox. You can also see what we’re up to by signing up here.

In Atelier, a fabric-obsessed country girl named Mayuko starts a job at Emotion, a haute couture underwear shop in Tokyo's upscale Ginza neighborhood. There, Mayuko learns about the biz from Ms. Mayumi Nanjo, Emotion's founder and lead designer. Mayuko calls her "the boss." The boss is styled after Anna Wintour —€” from glossy pageboy haircut to pointy slingback heels. In any American piece of media about workplace leadership, from The Office to The Devil Wears Prada, we'd see her underlings talk shit about her for half of a thirteen episode arc. That doesn't happen in Atelier. Mayuko unequivocally respects her tough employer.

Photo: Netflix

In the past couple of years, I've found myself devoted to a handful of Korean and Japanese dramas that have become crossover hits in the United States and Latin America. Like any red-blooded American, I love watching hot people in soft lighting use tiny cell phones. But what I love most about dramas from east Asia is how distinctly foreign they feel to me as an American girl roughly the same age as most of their protagonists. Geum Jan Di of K-Drama hit Boys Over Flowers may be headstrong like I was as a teenager, but she works hard on behalf of her parents above all else. The same thread runs through Atelier. The show is polite and deferential to its elders, concepts that I've never seen executed without some sinister motive on TV here.

In a lot of senses, I'm like Mayuko. I don't work in fashion, but I am a Midwesterner who is trying to make money as a writer in New York City. I'm not a native, and I'm certainly not as refined many people in the same industry. Unlike Mayuko, some of the things I've said about my bosses are too unspeakable to even allude to here. At one point, Mayuko apologizes to her boss for being late to the dress rehearsal of a fashion show after hitting her head and going into a coma. If I fell into a coma on the job, I'd probably tweet about it and then immediately pursue legal options. I complain a lot, and I've gotten drunk with co-workers too many times. Mayuko would never deign to do either. Atelier is primarily a show about taste — what it means, who doesn't have it — and my American proclivities are vulgar.

That's the particular charm of J-Dramas like this one. They're intense, but there's no bad-mouthing, no nudity, no violence, no drugs, and no rock and roll (Atelier's Lite FM-style credits theme is almost unlistenable). At one point, the viewer thinks there might be sex between Mayuko and her intern, but the entire romantic arc ends in a short series of text messages about believing in each other's business acumen and fabric dye-ing abilities. The world built in Atelier is minuscule and complicated, mostly concerned with whether or not the lingerie business should expand into a mass-produced second line. There's a lot of paperwork. But despite all those knocks against it, I stayed hooked.

Photo: Netflix

Some elements of Atelier were deeply confusing to me, American or not. The final three episodes, in which we discover Nanjo has a son that she gave up for Emotion, seem at once drawn out and tacked on. A Carolina Herrera salesperson becomes integral to Emotion's success after an already-successful runway show. Mayuko is repeatedly called frumpy and classless, even though she's gorgeous and passionate. Japan's hottest fictional fashion magazine Conscious devotes an entire issue to a single brand. There's some dialogue about spending time with a pet cat that appeared to be sexually suggestive and wholly elusive to me. Emotion's famed lingerie was just meh. Mayuko's own line of jersey-cotton camisole and boyshort lingerie-hybrids is downright ugly.

Atelier is sometimes boring, but it's a treat to watch a workplace show without malice or a mean spirit. Ultimately, the series empowers its viewers to understand that what others cannot see (like our Underwear, which is the Japanese title for Atelier) is the actual, truest reflection of a person. Fans of sports bras and bustiers alike will enjoy the gentle support of its primary message.

Claire Carusillo is a freelance writer in Brooklyn.


How a Stop-Motion Costume Designer Makes Tiny Clothing for the Big Screen


The ‘Mamma Mia!’ Costume Designer Explains How to Dress Like Young Donna


20 ‘Cats’ Apologists Explain Why Paying $100 to See ‘Cats’ Is Worth It

View all stories in Entertainment