20 Japanese Signs You See Everywhere (and Can Read Today)

You don't need to “know Japanese” to start reading Japan. The streets run on a repertoire of about 20 signs, and unlike sentences, signs work like logos: fixed shape, fixed place, fixed meaning. Learn 押おす (osu) (push) and 引ひく (hiku) (pull) right now, and you've already beaten the door that embarrasses every first-time visitor.

Start with the sign hanging on a storefront:

営業中えいぎょうちゅう (eigyouchuu)

Open for business.

You will meet these signs at doors, storefronts, and restrooms before you can read a single sentence. Do not look for a sign that says closed: a storefront that is not open says 準備中じゅんびちゅう (junbichuu), “in preparation.”

Better still, the signs aren't 20 random pictures. They're built from a handful of reusable parts, so the list compresses as you go. One character means “in progress,” one pair means “forbidden,” and one means “opening.”

By the end, new signs you've never studied will start half-reading themselves.

Here are the twenty, grouped the way you'll actually meet them: doors, exits, storefronts, warnings, and the facilities you'll be very glad you can find.

Every glass door in Japan quietly grades you. 押おす (osu) means push, 引ひく (hiku) means pull, and they're usually written right at hand height.

Here's a memory aid that sticks. 押おす (osu) packs its strokes in tight, and you push through resistance. 引ひく (hiku) is built from the character for a bow, and a bow is something you pull.

The same pair has counterparts in every elevator: 開ひらく (hiraku) opens the doors, 閉とじる (tojiru) closes them. This is the highest-pressure kanji quiz in daily life.

Someone jogs toward the doors, and your finger hovers. The open button's character contains a “gate” with legs walking apart. With luck, that image surfaces before the doors do.

口くち (kuchi) means mouth — and by extension, any opening. That single fact gives you a whole family: 入口いりぐち (iriguchi) is the way in, 出口でぐち (deguchi) the way out, and 非常口ひじょうぐち (hijouguchi) the emergency exit. Train stations extend the pattern to compass points — north exit, south exit — always ending in that same little square mouth.

About 非常口ひじょうぐち (hijouguchi): you already know its picture. The green running-man pictogram glowing above exits worldwide was designed in Japan around 1980 and later adopted as the international standard. It may be Japan's quietest successful export.

The sign hanging on a shop door is a small masterclass in Japanese indirectness. 営業中えいぎょうちゅう (eigyouchuu) means “open — business in progress.”

But flip it over and it rarely says “closed”: it says 準備中じゅんびちゅう (junbichuu), “in preparation.” The shop isn't shut, you understand. It is getting ready for you.

The third member is 定休日ていきゅうび (teikyuubi), the “regular closing day” posted by the door. Many small restaurants take a fixed weekday off. This is the sign that tells you before you've walked across town.

When Japan wants you to not do something, one character does the work: 禁きん (kin), “forbid.” 立入禁止たちいりきんし (tachiirikinshi) is “no entry” — on ropes at shrines, construction fences, station staff doors. 禁煙きんえん (kin'en) is “no smoking,” posted almost everywhere indoors.

Softer warnings come as 注意ちゅうい (chuui) — “caution” — usually paired with whatever deserves the caution: steps, wet floors, closing doors. And 工事中こうじちゅう (koujichuu) means “under construction,” which ends in the same 中ちゅう (chuu) as 営業中えいぎょうちゅう (eigyouchuu). Hold that thought — it's the key to the whole system.

The polite word for restroom on signage is お手洗いおてあらい (otearai) — literally “hand-washing place.” Doors are marked 男おとこ (otoko) (man) and 女おんな (onna) (woman). Most have pictograms too, but not all, and knowing these two characters has saved many travelers an awkward pause.

Two more opposites finish the set. On a taxi's dashboard sign, 空車くうしゃ (kuusha), “empty car,” means it is available. At a parking lot, 満車まんしゃ (mansha), “full cars,” means drive on.

And on the restroom door of a train or café, 使用中しようちゅう (shiyouchuu) means “in use.” There's that 中ちゅう (chuu) again.

Count what you actually learned. 中ちゅう (chuu) after anything means “currently in progress”: open (営業中えいぎょうちゅう (eigyouchuu)), getting ready (準備中じゅんびちゅう (junbichuu)), under construction (工事中こうじちゅう (koujichuu)), occupied (使用中しようちゅう (shiyouchuu)).

So when a vending machine wears 故障中こしょうちゅう (koshouchuu), you can now guess “out of order” without being taught. 禁きん (kin) means forbidden, 口くち (kuchi) means opening, and each new sign is a remix.

This is the secret of kanji at large. Two thousand characters are combinations of a couple hundred parts, and reading is pattern-spotting, not memorizing pictures one by one.

Street signs are the friendliest possible textbook: short, free of stakes, and everywhere you look. Every sign that resolves into meaning gives you a small dopamine hit.

So don't wait until you “know enough” Japanese to read the street. The street is where you learn. Here's the full set for your camera roll:

中ちゅう (chuu) at the end of a sign means that state is in progress right now.

禁きん (kin) means forbidden, and the characters beside it name what is banned.

口くち (kuchi) marks an opening, so a sign ending in it names a way through.

The fastest way to fix these in memory is the walk-and-read game: resolve every sign you pass before your feet do. Doors are the daily drill, 押おす (osu) or 引ひく (hiku), and storefronts give you a fresh 営業中えいぎょうちゅう (eigyouchuu) or 準備中じゅんびちゅう (junbichuu) on every block.

Not in Japan yet? Street photos and travel videos are full of legible signage, and reading it from your sofa counts.

Or let the quiz come to you right now: six signs and six situations. They include a door, a shop curtain, a taxi light, and a rope at a shrine.

See how much of the street you can already read. The door, at least, is no longer allowed to embarrass you.