Small Factory Content: Making Japan Smile

Morimoto: Today, I'd like to ask you about the excellent content you initiated, the "Useless Things Grand Prix." First, could you tell us about Daiwa Kako?

Oyabu: Daiwa Kako is a rubber molding and processing company in Aichi Prefecture, primarily manufacturing automotive parts. My father founded it, originally handling parts for washing machines and such. As a former trading company employee, his main work was connecting manufacturers with users. Later, we started manufacturing ourselves, and now my husband is the second-generation president.

Morimoto: Having grown up surrounded by small factories, what challenges do you perceive in the small and medium-sized manufacturing sector?

Oyabu: Speaking specifically about small and medium-sized manufacturers in Aichi Prefecture, we operate right in the heart of major manufacturers' territories. Consequently, a culture has taken root where we act as the unsung heroes, striving to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

However, the world has changed significantly. Town factories can no longer just quietly produce what they're ordered to make; they must actively communicate their strengths to survive. Yet, this spirit of staying inconspicuous is deeply ingrained in us. Our company included, we've always struggled to express our own merits, and that has long been a challenge.

Morimoto: I see. So that sense of challenge was the setup for holding the Pointless Things Grand Prix. Could you explain the overview and background of the Pointless Things Grand Prix again?

Oyabu: It's a competition centered around small factories and manufacturing companies, where they use their own technologies to create pointless things and determine Japan's best.

It started in April 2020. With Tokyo exhibitions being canceled or postponed one after another due to COVID-19, we felt we couldn't just let things end like that. So, we reached out to companies we knew and held an online exhibition with five companies.

During the post-event review via web conferencing, one president remarked, "Even if COVID subsides, the situation for small factories—just mechanically making whatever they're told—won't change. This isn't real manufacturing, is it?"

Then our president chimed in, "You're right. I was bored, so I made this thing," and showed us a contraption for drinking beer while wearing protective film. It had nothing to do with rubber and was so ridiculous everyone chuckled (laughs). But another president said, "I made something like that too," and showed off an executive-style mask stand, and suddenly we were bragging to each other.

Morimoto: What do you mean, for executives? (laughs)

Oyabu: It's just a stand with a stick attached, but since it's for executives, we made it gold (laughs). It's truly pointless, but the guys themselves were having a blast talking about it.

Then, one participant said, "Why don't we have a 'Silliest Thing Grand Prix'?" The moment I heard that, images just flooded my mind, and I thought, "This is fun, let's do it!" I started moving on it right away.

Creating pointless things dramatically changed internal communication

Morimoto: It's amazing how quickly you organized it—just about six months later. The first, memorable event had 20 companies participating. How did the participants react?

Oyabu: While they usually just make things based on customer-provided drawings, one company found that when they started brainstorming silly things freely, ideas for their own in-house development started flowing.

They said they'd struggled to come up with good ideas for their own products during serious meetings in conference rooms, but the more they brainstormed silly things, the more great ideas they got—to the point it became a problem (laughs).

Morimoto: I get it (laughs). Sometimes, instead of tackling things head-on, shifting your perspective a bit leads to better ideas. It's like flipping a switch in your mind.

Oyabu: We also heard from companies struggling because their experienced engineers were so strict and intimidating that younger staff couldn't keep up. By having everyone work together on something silly, new communication emerged and the workplace atmosphere changed. Some companies even saw improved communication between the president and employees.

Morimoto: That must bring tremendous positive effects for the company. Was that the goal when planning the Grand Prix?

Oyabu: We never imagined this would happen. In their main work, seniors feel pressure to lead, while juniors hesitate to voice their opinions.

But this project threw everyone into confusion—it was an order for something "pointless" that no one had ever experienced before (laughs). In a good way, it flattened the hierarchy, and I think it ultimately changed the relationships within the company.

Morimoto: Beyond internal changes, didn't the relationships between participating companies also shift?

Oyabu: Exactly. Participating companies started requesting work from each other. Before, we'd hesitate to ask for things like company tours, thinking it might be an imposition. But now, we actively visit each other, share manufacturing know-how, and our horizontal connections have become incredibly strong.

Morimoto: That's precisely the outcome of the Silly Things Grand Prix. Even in the "Company Anthem Contest," where Daiwa Kako won the "Passion Award," communication blossomed among participating companies, organizers, and collaborators, leading to new relationships.

We talk about the era of co-creation, but I believe creating content everyone can relate to is ultimately the fastest path to co-creation.

Oyabu: I truly agree. There are also positive business effects: two companies are now developing their own products by improving the silly items they submitted to the Grand Prix. It made me realize that sometimes progress happens not by tackling product development head-on, but by taking a slightly different, roundabout approach.

Silly things = Things you just have to comment on

Morimoto: When I thought about the appeal of this project, I interpreted it as "ridiculous things = things you just have to comment on." In any industry, I think the worst thing is to be forgettable. But when people feel compelled to comment, it means they care enough to notice and develop an attachment.

Maybe because I grew up in Kansai culture, where relationships deepen through banter and comedic timing, I felt a strong affinity for this structure (laughs).

Oyabu: That makes me happy (laughs). We hoped this event would foster a sense of familiarity with small factories, aiming to create personal fans who think, "I want to hire that person!"

While it's undeniably a competition showcasing our own manufacturing skills, if we emphasized the technical aspects too much in the planning, everyone would just try to look cool. Instead, I thought it was more important to show their unexpectedly playful sides and personalities that make you want to root for them.

Morimoto: That's a crucial point. If we'd just made it a cool project, we wouldn't have achieved that level of relatability. Precisely because it was framed as "something silly," everyone could be themselves naturally.

Oyabu: Work in small factories is a world where you can't cut corners—like matching dimensions down to the micrometer. That's why there are so many honest people, and a culture of speaking frankly to each other is deeply rooted. It can be a bit rough around the edges, but precisely because we don't deal superficially, we can produce good work.

I think the Shitty Things Grand Prix really brought out the best in these small factory folks. Even when they tried to act cool, their charming sides just came out (laughs).

Morimoto: Everyone's presentations were analog, yet they conveyed their messages effectively. It was a great learning experience. It really made me think again that PowerPoint is just one tool among many.

Oyabu: I wasn't confident enough to switch screens during my live streams, so I got the whole company to adopt a no-PowerPoint policy. Looking back, I think that turned out to be really great.

We did things like paper theater, made it look like in-person sales at a department store, or created that nail-biting, one-shot-wonder feeling by drilling a hole in a mechanical pencil lead and threading another lead through it. In a good way, it felt completely unbusinesslike, right?

Morimoto: Precisely because it wasn't overly polished, it felt relatable. Despite being a long event, the presentation was so captivating that viewers felt time flew by.

Oyabu: While the creators were working hard and might feel embarrassed if pointed out, there's something endearing about how they take it dead seriously yet still manage to be a bit off-kilter.

The creators' passion is essential to the content's appeal

Morimoto: Reflecting on why the Silly Things Grand Prix resonated so deeply, I think it's because the creators' enjoyment truly came through. If the creators don't find their work interesting, naturally, the audience is less likely to find it engaging too.

Our work involves a lot of presentations. Conveying how much we believe in a project is just as important as explaining its benefits. If that conviction doesn't come across, you can't do good work. Conversely, when it does come across, we build incredibly strong relationships with our partners.

Oyabu: I agree. While it ultimately led to new projects and internal improvements, initially no one knew if it would yield profits or benefits. In an environment where every company pursues productivity and efficiency in their core business, getting them to invest time and cost in something seemingly trivial—that's absolutely impossible with superficial relationships.

Morimoto: Working daily in planning and development, I constantly feel that creating content that moves the first viewer is crucial. If you can do that, it indirectly helps solve core business challenges too. It might seem like a detour, but in the long run, it's actually the fastest route—and above all, it's enjoyable. The Silly Things Grand Prix is a perfect example of this.

Oyabu: When your passion comes through, more people genuinely want to join you. First, creators must truly enjoy what they make and share that passion with others.

I believe that if we can increase the number of fun projects like the Silly Things Grand Prix, projects driven by exciting energy, we can brighten the future of small and medium-sized manufacturing companies.

Morimoto: I agree. By the way, I supported Maruhachi Kogyo's "Toilet Stopper" from the preliminary voting stage all the way to the finals. Having a two-year-old son myself, I deeply resonated with its approach to preventing toilet paper waste.

Morimoto: Mr. Oyabu's challenges are truly inspiring. I'd be delighted if we could continue collaborating across industries. Looking forward to working with you!