Consento (n.)
The Japanese word for an electrical outlet. Derived from “concentric plug,” an early type of electrical fitting used in Japan, the term was shortened from consento puragu until consento eventually became the standard word for the receptacle itself.
One day, while sitting in a cafe somewhere in rural Japan, I happened to notice another foreign traveler who looked every bit the tourist. The man stood out like a sore thumb, with a massive backpack containing a few days’ worth of clothing dumped onto the chair opposite him. Almost immediately after sitting down, he pulled out an iPhone charger and plugged it into the power outlet conveniently located right beside his table. That was when things got rather comical. Within moments, the cafe staff rushed over and began making a giant X with their arms, emphatically communicating that no, he absolutely could not charge his phone there.
Unbeknownst to the poor bastard, he had found himself a perfectly functional consento. What he had failed to obtain, however, was consent. You see, unlike in the West, where it’s fairly common to ask restaurant staff if they can charge a mobile device behind the counter or something, Japan has always had a rather peculiar relationship with allowing people to use power outlets. For example, the common area at an agency where I do freelance work is rife with sockets, yet these are technically only for the cleaning staff to plug in vacuums and whatnot. Get caught using one yourself, and you can expect a chiding from the security guards.
As pedantic as all of this might sound, there is actually some legal weight behind the fuss. Under Article 245 of Japan’s Penal Code, electricity is explicitly considered property for the purposes of the country’s theft laws, meaning that taking power without permission can technically be treated much the same way as helping yourself to anything else that belongs to somebody. The few measly yen required to top up an iPhone are hardly going to bankrupt a cafe, but that isn’t really the point. The electricity still belongs to whoever is paying the bill, and an accessible power outlet is not an invitation to use it. In other words, when it comes to getting a charge in Japan, you really do need consent for the consento.
To the average Westerner, this probably sounds completely ridiculous. Back home, power outlets in cafes, airports, libraries, hotel lobbies, and other public-facing spaces are generally treated as part of the furniture, and nobody thinks twice about plugging in a dying phone if there happens to be an open socket nearby. Hell, even asking a bartender or member of staff to charge something behind the counter is hardly an outrageous request. Electricity, at least at the level required to keep an iPhone alive, is generally viewed as too trivial to warrant much thought. Alas, this thinking clashes with how a lot of Japanese establishments view charging.
Now, none of this means that the police are going to come hauling you away in handcuffs because you naughtily plugged an iPhone into the wrong socket. In reality, if you get caught using a power outlet that isn’t intended for customers, the most likely outcome is simply being told to unplug your device. Do as instructed, and that will generally be the end of it. Continue helping yourself to the electricity after being told not to, however, and you have graduated from clueless foreigner in Japan to troublesome customer knowingly doing something you’ve explicitly been told not to do. At that point, don’t be surprised if you are asked to leave the establishment altogether.
Where You Have Implicit Consent
As a digital nomad and freelance media buyer, I am perpetually paranoid about keeping all of my various devices charged. Over the years, this has resulted in me developing something of a sixth sense for spotting usable power outlets in Japan, especially in places where I already know that plugging in is fair game. At this point, I can practically sniff out a socket from across the room. And whenever I find myself somewhere that clearly provides electricity for customers, you better believe I am taking full advantage of it. Laptop, iPhone, pocket Wi-Fi router, power bank, whatever else happens to be running low, it is all coming out of the bag and getting plugged into that damn consento.
Let’s start with the obvious one: Starbucks. By and large, many locations in Japan have at least some seats where plugging in is clearly part of the deal, but knowing which ones can make or break whether your coffee stop turns into a proper charge-up or a waste of time and money. Your safest bet is usually the high counter-style seating, often positioned along the windows, where the table itself has been wired for power. Look underneath the lip of the counter and you will generally find the outlets tucked away there. Some locations have other powered tables as well, but the big comfy chairs and leisurely lounging areas along the walls are far less reliable. When I need some juice, those high counters are where I make a beeline first.
Another reliable place to get a charge is aboard the Shinkansen, though exactly who gets a consento depends heavily on what type of train happens to show up. Newer N700S trains on the Tokaido and Sanyo Shinkansen have outlets at every seat, while older N700 and N700A sets generally limit them to window seats and the rows at the very front and back of the car. Likewise, JR East’s E7 trains have power for everyone, whereas some older rolling stock can be less generous. In other words, unless you know exactly which train you are boarding, whether every passenger gets their own outlet can be something of a crapshoot. The safest bet is therefore always the window seat, which is the best seat anyway.
Another longtime favorite of mine has been family restaurants like Gusto and Jonathan’s. That said, more and more Skylark locations seem to be cracking down on customers using their power outlets, no doubt thanks in part to salaryman refugees like myself turning them into makeshift satellite offices during the pandemic’s work-from-home era. In the past, I have admittedly resorted to commandeering the outlet used to charge the ordering tablet on the table (cover your cables with the menu) when I was desperate for a little extra power. It worked, but it is also exactly the sort of thing this article is warning you not to assume you have permission to do.
Another decent option is the eat-in space at a convenience store, provided the location actually has one. Many of these seating areas come with power outlets specifically intended for customers, which makes them a handy place to top off a phone or laptop while knocking back an onigiri and a bottle of tea. The catch is that a convenience store is still a convenience store, not your personal branch office. Linger for too long with a laptop spread across the table and you can expect the occasional nasty side-eye from staff, especially when seating is limited. Use the consento, charge what you need, and move along before you become part of the scenery.
Of course, these are hardly the only places in Japan where you can reliably get a charge. Airports, major train stations, business hotels, coworking spaces, fast-food chains, highway rest areas, and even some public facilities also have outlets that are clearly intended for visitors to use. I could probably spend another thousand words cataloging every possible consento in the country, but there is little point. The places above are simply the ones I personally rely on the most when I am out and about and need to keep the proverbial lights on. As a general rule, if the outlet is built into the customer seating, paired with a workspace, or explicitly marked for charging, you can usually assume you have implicit consent.
When You Don’t Get Consento
So, what happens when the world turns you down and reality blue-balls you with a dying device? Unfortunately, sometimes no amount of outlet-searching is going to result in a successful consento encounter. You might be stuck somewhere without customer-facing sockets, every usable one might already be occupied, or the only outlet in sight may very clearly belong to a vacuum cleaner, vending machine, or some other piece of equipment that has greater claim to the electricity than you do. At that point, continuing to hunt around for a magical wall socket starts becoming a fool’s errand.
The best solution to this situation is to just never find yourself in it. Personally, the minute I step outside of the house, I immediately put my iPhone into low power mode. This ensures that I can eke out as much battery life as possible before I need to find somewhere to recharge. Oftentimes, this alone is sufficient for me to go the whole day without needing to achieve consento with a power outlet I just met. Additionally, I also tend to ration the battery on my MacBook Air and pocket Wi-Fi so that I am never in a situation where my devices start dying on me and I can’t use Jorudan or a similar service to look up when the last train home is.
Assuming you are in need of a charge and can’t find an outlet to have a one-night stand with, the best backup is to simply carry your own means of charging. Whenever I hit the road, I always bring two absolute behemoths of portable batteries with me, each capable of topping off my iPhone several times and even putting some much-needed power back into my MacBook Air. They add a fair bit of weight to my bag, but that is a trade-off I am more than willing to make for never having to desperately hunt for a consento when the battery icon starts turning red. Between those and aggressively rationing power throughout the day, I can usually keep everything alive until I eventually find somewhere legitimate to plug in.
When You Need to Ask for Consento
Of course, there are also going to be times when a perfectly enticing power outlet is sitting right there, but you simply cannot tell whether it is interested. Maybe the socket is next to your table but not actually built into it, or perhaps there is nothing indicating whether customers are supposed to use it. In these situations, there is no need to play guessing games. Rather than assuming that an exposed consento is yours for the taking, the easiest solution is simply to ask. After all, if this entire article has taught you anything, it should be that consent is considerably easier to deal with when everybody involved is clear about what is happening.
The easiest phrase to remember is “Konsento o tsukatte mo ii desu ka?”, which essentially means, “May I use the power outlet?” Another useful option is “Koko de juden shite mo ii desu ka?”, or “May I charge here?” Neither requires particularly impressive Japanese, and you can make the meaning even more obvious by holding up your charger while asking. If the answer is “Hai” or something along the lines of “Daijobu desu,” you are generally good to go. If you get a “Dame desu,” “Chotto…”, an apologetic head shake, or the dreaded X made with somebody’s arms, consider your advances rejected and keep your plug to yourself.
Likewise, pay attention to the outlet itself. A socket built directly into a customer counter, accompanied by a charging symbol, or otherwise obviously designed for people sitting there is generally sending a pretty unambiguous signal. A lonely outlet hiding behind a trash can, underneath restaurant equipment, or beside a vending machine is considerably less inviting. When there is any doubt whatsoever, asking takes all of five seconds and saves you from having an employee scurry across the room to stop you halfway through inserting your plug.
Ultimately, finding somewhere to charge your devices in Japan is hardly difficult once you understand the rules of engagement. Keep your batteries topped off when you can, carry a portable battery for those inevitable dry spells, and learn to recognize the places where plugging in is clearly part of the service. When the signals are mixed, just ask. Japan has plenty of consento to go around, but as with so many things in life, merely finding the hole does not mean you have permission to stick something into it.
Until next time travelers…
