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I think I’m always Foreigner.
Billy Joel grew up in downtown New York; he was a troublemaker back in the day but turned his life around spectacularly to become a Manhattan legend and a rock star.
I vaguely recall that he eventually came to be known by the nickname “BOSS” among those who respected him.
Nowadays, Bruce Springsteen is called “The Boss,” but when Bruce Springsteen first started being called “The Boss,” Billy Joel—who knew that Bruce was also a downtown survivor—said, “I’ll gladly stop being called ‘The Boss.’”
I think I’m always Foreigner.
I read an article saying that Billy Joel is a true-blue New Yorker.
When I learned that, I thought that while there are terms like “Tokyoite” and “Baliite,” a true New Yorker wouldn’t allow it.
Somehow, I don’t want to be called that.
We’re all just individuals in the city.
I felt like I might say something like that, and on that morning when I first wore sneakers with a tight skirt and sheer stockings, I was a little anxious, wondering, “Will they understand?”
I think I’m always Foreigner.
Even though I made the excuse, “I have to run today, so I’m not wearing heels,” the strangers who just repeated “Department store is better, department store is better, department store is better” with unsmiling eyes—while I casually wore a 1,000-yen outfit—were the same ones who, when I said “KENZO” the moment they asked “What’s that?” earlier, suddenly replied “That’s nice” and were met with silence from me.
I think I’m always Foreigner.
In the cafeteria, someone said, “Did you see that girl? She’s cutting back on her food budget to buy brand-name stuff at full price.”
I’ve already forgotten what I replied to that gossip that dragged me into it, but as I walked through that awkward silence—wondering, “What should I say?”—someone finally complimented me in a slightly low voice, “You look like a New Yorker.” So I guess I became a New Yorker that day.
I think I’m always Foreigner.
I think I’m always Foreigner.
I don’t know much about Billy Joel, but when I was in elementary school and said, “I want to learn about foreign music,” someone recommended “Nylon Curtain.”
Later, when I wanted to gather information on Billy Joel and started to say, “Billy Joel…,” people would usually interrupt with, “Oh, that’s cool,” “Oh, Billy Joel, huh?” and the conversation would immediately change.
Just before I started to suspect that maybe nobody actually knew him, people started telling me—as someone who loves “The Stranger”—the shocking news that Billy Joel hates “The Stranger.”
Billy Joel hates “The Stranger,” but since it was a hit, he reluctantly included it on the album.
Come to think of it, no matter how old they got, every time anyone played *The Stranger*, as soon as the whistling part of the intro finished, they’d say in a rush: “I hear Billy Joel hates this, but I still think this song is great.”
Then, one evening in early spring 2026, while listening to Billy Joel on Apple Music, I suddenly plucked up the courage to ask, “Can I listen to *The Stranger*?”
“...Huh? Sure.”
As soon as that intro finished playing, I felt incredibly sad, but I said, “I heard Billy Joel hates this song. He said he included it on the album reluctantly because it’s popular even though he hates it.”
“…… Why do musicians say things like… ‘No, I’m just kidding’ about their own massive hits?”
I think I’m always Foreigner.
“Even the record store clerk said, ‘Billy Joel loves this song. He still sings it all the time. That’s a lie.’”
How did it come to this?
Even though nobody actually listens to Billy Joel, do people talk about him as if he’s a must-know musician?
Come to think of it, the first clerk I spoke to said, “I like ‘Nylon Curtain.’”
And why is it that after the intro to “The Stranger” ends, we listen with our heads slightly bowed—feeling guilty toward Billy Joel and all his fans worldwide—while muttering under our breath that we supposedly hate “The Stranger” but actually love it?
I think I’m always Foreigner.
When people say, “You don’t know Western music,” why can’t I just snap back at them?
Major global hits are global hits precisely because they’ve reached so many ears and touched so many hearts, so it’s perfectly fine to like them.
The asphalt, freshly laid in the dead of night, glitters. Since each of those glimmers is a global hit, it’s only natural to love them.
Japan, as a country, didn’t have much interaction with the rest of the world until fairly recently.
As a nation, I think it has a long history. After all, it’s been around for about 2,686 years.
But everyone seems to harbor a sense of reserve, thinking, “Don’t we know very little about the outside world?”
It’s the same with music.
I think I’m always Foreigner.
I’ll always hold onto that sense of hesitation.
People who like global hits from Western music tend to hang their heads a little, worried they’ll be seen as not really understanding music. Even on that sunny autumn day when I was a New Yorker for just one day, I had this idea that liking only major hits meant I didn’t actually like the artist—I just liked the songs that were popular.
Since I’m the type who listens to albums thoroughly, I often listened to major hits simply because I had other favorite songs on the same album.
I think I’m always Foreigner.
Since artists create songs, if the moment—when they were unconsciously seated at the piano by some greater force, creating a song that might only be written once in a lifetime—can be conveyed to the audience, it will remain a shared experience that stirs the soul.
That hat with the lovely silhouette—I still remember it—which I couldn’t identify unless I mentioned the big name that was synonymous with style.
That Donna Karan New York shirt I found again at a thrift store; I was so happy to feel the silk against my skin.
I think I’m always Foreigner.
What someone else thinks is good will inevitably resonate with you as something good too.
It’s fine if you don’t like it, but I’m afraid of being told I just don’t get it.
I think I’m always Foreigner.
I think I’m always Foreigner.
I never wanted to wear the same clothes as you all, and I hated those unremarkable clothes—just enlarged versions of what you’d find in the children’s section—that left no impression at all.
You must have been to New York.
She must have been to New York.
So when I showed up in that New York style—which had finally become standard enough to be imported to Japan—she said, “I get it,” from a little distance away, loud enough for everyone to hear.
I still haven’t been there.
I think I’m always Foreigner.
In my New York, New Yorkers are called “New Yorkers,” and they actually speak a New York dialect with a distinct accent.
There’s the subway there, and even though the area isn’t exactly safe, rappers who consider it a sacred place perform hip-hop dances on the platform, dedicating them to the street poets.
They say that no matter where you come from, you get used to New York right away.
I think I’m always Foreigner.
Billy Joel happily sings about “Strangers,” and both Bruce Springsteen and Billy Joel are “BOSSes,” while Justin Bieber is the first to film a video of a little boy crying and saying, “You’re the ‘BOSS.’”
People who will never understand *Nine Stories*, no matter how much time passes.
As long as they’re drinking a Frozen Daiquiri, they act like they see the truth better than anyone else, claiming it’s a night to remember.
I think I’m always Foreigner.
At karaoke, comrades I barely know get hyped up over the latest hits, then don’t even exchange contact info afterward—and I mock them as musicians who don’t understand music.
They say that if you drink a can of beer, you’re just trying to act young, and if you go to a bar, they’ll tell you to “study first” and push down on a young person’s head.
It was probably a guy like that who convinced himself that Billy Joel hates “The Stranger” and shouted it from the rooftops in the media.
I bet you’re in New York right now, having made a rare reservation for French food tonight, and you’ll be heading home on the Go-Taku after the last train.
I’ll sit halfway up the stairs leading to Paris—a place you’ll never find in your lifetime—and keep gazing up at the Tokyo NightScape reflected on the asphalt.









