Japan, 2009. It is a morning in August and, in a parking lot in Saitama – a regional center about 30 kilometers north of Tokyo – a rental car is spotted with a man lying in the back seat. His name is Yoshiyuki Oide. But it turns out that he’s not having a quick nap – he’s dead.
The cause of death is carbon monoxide poisoning and is initially thought to be a case of suicide. But the police are not convinced, so they knock on the door of the woman Oide had been dating, 35-year-old Kanae Kijima.
This marks the beginning of the investigation into what would become known in the media as the “Konkatsu killer” case. The name derives from konkatsu, meaning marriage hunting.
The investigation uncovered evidence that suggested Kijima had killed three men she met on dating sites. The three deaths were initially considered as suicides but were all deemed to have been staged. The court agreed and Kijima – who has always maintained her innocence – was found guilty in 2012, based on what was widely held to be largely circumstantial evidence, and sentenced to death. The decision was upheld in subsequent appeals, and she is now on death row awaiting execution.
Kijima’s case was similar to the of Chisako Kakehi, who died in prison on December 26 2024 while under sentence of death. She had been found guilty of murder and fraud and given the death penalty after a court found she had entrapped and swindled money from three men (including her husband) before killing them using cyanide.
But there was also a distinct aspect to Kijima’s case. From the start, much of the media focused on the defendant’s appearance rather than the heinous nature of the crime. Popular forums, newspapers, and magazines buzzed with variations on the same question: how could a woman described as “ugly and fat” manage to attract these men?
There was speculation that her success lay in her “homely” qualities – the stereotype of chubby women being cheerful, nurturing and excellent cooks. It was suggested that men might prefer such a woman’s warmth and hospitality over a stylish woman’s “air of superiority.”
In Japan, when somebody is sentenced to death, they tend to disappear from the public eye. But Kijima maintained a blog where she detailed her life and relationships – and continued to write on it during and after the trial, probably through her lawyers. She still publishes on various issues: from the kind of cookies available in the detention house to the conditions in the death row, from dietary advice to reflection on the lay assessor trial in Japanese criminal procedure.
The media eagerly mined her posts to reinforce stereotypes about gender roles and appearance, but Kijima pushed back. She has sharply criticized the focus on her looks and gender over the legal evidence, using her reflections to spotlight these biases.
Novelist Asako Yuzuki took inspiration from Kijima’s case to create a fictional narrative for her novel “Butter.” It’s a story in which a journalist covering the story of a woman murderer is sucked into her swirling obsession with butter and indulgent food, exposing fat-phobia and sexism in Japanese society.
Kijima, who has published a memoir and a novel of her own, expressed her deep discontent with the publication of the novel on her blog: “What Yuzuki and the publisher are doing is nothing short of theft. If they interfere with external communication rights, they are not just thieves but complicit in murder. They continue to use my name without permission … I truly think it’s a vulgar book, BUTTER.”
But, when I interviewed her, Yuzuki insisted that she was interested in the implications of Kijima’s case, in how Japanese media often sensationalizes stories, rather than the details of the crime:
Japanese media … often reflect the perspective of powerful men. … This realization was a turning point for me. Until then, I hadn’t really questioned much or paid close attention to politics or media bias. But when it came to something I love – cooking – it struck a nerve.
In her book, Yuzuki questions some deep-seated Japanese stereotypes – particularly around women and cooking. She says that the concept of “marriage hunting” is still popular in Japan, and women who love cooking are often labelled as “domestic” or “obedient.”
But, in her experience, someone passionate about cooking is far from submissive. On the contrary, cooking is powerful, and a woman skilled in the kitchen could just as easily harm someone as she could nourish them. “There’s a fine line between nurturing and dangerous precision,” she told me.
Social media has become a powerful tool for activists and writers like Yuzuki to connect with others and amplify their voices. She has joined other authors in advocating for marginalized groups, including sexual minorities, highlighting the intersectionality of issues such as gender, class, and criminal justice.
The Kijima case – through the facts, her blog posts from prison, and through the work of writers including Yuzuki – invites a deep reflection on the weight of societal expectations on gender and appearance. Beyond the question of guilt or innocence, it illustrates how female criminals are judged not only for their actions but for defying norms of femininity.
This dual scrutiny aligns with historical biases in Japan, where women who challenge societal norms are often framed as dangerous outliers. Kijima’s portrayal as an unconventional femme fatale evokes the 19th-century “poison women” trope – known as dofuku. This casts women as destructive forces who upend the lives of those around them.
The severity of Kijima’s punishment – the death penalty was not used at all in 2023 and only once in 2022 – seems designed to deliver exemplary justice. In the minds of many Japanese people, she was guilty not only of murder but of manipulating societal expectations of femininity while failing to conform to conventional standards of beauty and behavior. The case has reinforced the narrative that her transgressions extended beyond the courtroom and into the realm of societal betrayal.
This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.
