Colonial extraction and digital commodification of Japan’s Yokai: How immersive tech monetises folklore while obscuring indigenous cosmologies

Yokai originate from animist traditions where spirits (kami) inhabit all things, serving as intermediaries between humans and the natural world. Indigenous Shinto and Ainu cosmologies view these entities as neither purely benevolent nor malevolent, but as forces requiring respect and reciprocity. The immersive exhibition strips away this relational ontology, reducing Yokai to digital props in a consumer spectacle, thereby severing their cultural and spiritual significance.

Yokai have evolved from oral traditions dating back to the Heian period (794–1185), where they were used to explain natural phenomena and moral lessons. During the Meiji era, the Japanese state suppressed many folk traditions in favor of Western-style modernization, reducing Yokai to children’s tales. The current digital commodification echoes earlier phases of cultural appropriation, such as the 19th-century fascination with 'Japanese monsters' in European occultism, which exoticized and decontextualized these traditions.

Similar to Yokai, the Māori taniwha are river and forest spirits that embody both protection and danger, requiring rituals to maintain balance. In Lakota tradition, wičháša wakháŋ (holy men) interact with spirit beings to heal and guide communities, a practice that cannot be replicated in a digital simulation. These traditions highlight how supernatural beings are not mere entertainment but living forces within a reciprocal relationship with humans and the environment.

Anthropological studies, such as those by Lafcadio Hearn in the late 19th century, document the role of Yokai in Japanese folklore as cultural mechanisms for explaining the unknown. Cognitive science research suggests that belief in supernatural agents may have evolved as a survival mechanism to account for unpredictable natural events. However, the immersive exhibition’s lack of scholarly engagement with these traditions reduces Yokai to a form of 'edutainment,' devoid of academic rigor or cultural depth.

Yokai have inspired centuries of Japanese art, from ukiyo-e prints to Studio Ghibli films, where they are depicted as dynamic forces of nature rather than static monsters. The immersive exhibition’s use of digital technology to 'bring Yokai to life' mirrors the Western tradition of animating the inanimate, such as Disney’s approach to fairy tales. However, this artistic framing strips away the spiritual dimension, where Yokai are not merely characters but active participants in a sacred cosmology.

If left unchecked, the digital commodification of folklore risks eroding indigenous knowledge systems, replacing them with algorithmically generated 'cultural products' tailored for global consumption. Future scenarios could see Yokai franchised into video games or VR experiences, further divorcing them from their original contexts and turning them into tools for corporate profit. Conversely, a regenerative approach would involve indigenous-led co-creation of digital experiences that honor the spiritual and ecological roles of Yokai.

Indigenous Ainu scholars and Shinto priests, who have preserved Yokai traditions for generations, are notably absent from the exhibition’s narrative. The voices of marginalized communities in Japan, such as the Burakumin or ethnic Koreans, who have historically been excluded from mainstream cultural narratives, are also silenced in this commodified retelling. Without their input, the exhibition reinforces a top-down, colonialist approach to cultural heritage, where knowledge is extracted rather than shared.