By: Ali Syarief
“This may look like this on the outside, but it’s sweet and delicious inside, Ma’am,” said a fruit vendor at a traditional market in Indonesia. The sentence is simple, yet it holds a deep reflection on how we think as a society. It reflects a tolerant attitude toward imperfect appearances, as long as the substance inside is deemed good enough. But is that really sufficient?
I am increasingly convinced that Japan is different. In the Land of the Rising Sun, oranges sold in stores and markets are not only expected to be sweet and fresh but must also appear perfect. There is no room for blemished or rough-skinned fruit to sit on the display. Even fruit must have a good reputation—because appearance is a form of respect toward the customer, and more broadly, a reflection of the nation’s culture and work ethic.
I remember well when I hosted some Japanese guests. With the intention of being hospitable, I offered them local oranges—sweet, fresh, and fragrant. Yet, without a word, they politely declined. Not out of arrogance, but because the oranges did not look appealing. The skin had blemishes, the sizes were irregular. They, who are accustomed to a value system that upholds visual perfection as part of product integrity, were reluctant to touch them. For them, internal quality must go hand in hand with external presentation.
This is not merely about fruit. It’s about mentality. In Indonesia, we are often taught not to judge a book by its cover. “Don’t look at the skin, but the inside,” is a common piece of advice. But should we not begin to ask—why can’t both be good? Why do we settle for good content while allowing the outer appearance to be neglected?
Appearance is not a lie. In many ways, it is a form of responsibility. When a Japanese farmer wraps each orange carefully to avoid blemishes, he is showing dedication to his work. When a Japanese supermarket rejects fruit with visual defects, it’s not because they are being superficial, but because they have standards. There is a cost to consistency, and trust is built on worthiness.
If the Japanese care so much about the appearance of an orange, imagine how they treat the rest of their work—cars, technology, education, even public service. Quality is not just the end result, but a long process involving attention to detail and respect for the user. On the other hand, if we grow used to the philosophy of “as long as the inside is good,” we often tolerate many things—broken public infrastructure, chaotic service, a justice system that seems unfair—because we believe that “good intentions” are enough.
Perhaps, we need to learn from the orange. That outer beauty is not the enemy of honesty, but a partner to integrity. A great nation is not only capable of creating something of value but also presenting it in a respectable form. Because that is where true appreciation lies—for oneself and for others.
Are we ready to peel back and re-examine our mindset?
