When I was 16 - that's (ahem) 25 years ago now, right before Japan spiralled into economic stagnation - I stayed a year with a Japanese family as an AFS exchange student.
I attended a girls school in a suburb of Osaka, in the south of this amazing country. It was quite the cultural leap from Pukekohe, to put it mildly. School six long days a week, an hour's trip each way to school (bike, train, another train, then bus, was the one-way journey) and strict obedience to the phalanx of top-notch teachers brought in for every subject, from music, to calligraphy, to basketball, to advanced physics (and English, always English).
But oh, the money. This was Japan's gilded age. All the girls wore designer gear - and every bit of the school uniform was made by high-end designers as well. Every handkerchief, every umbrella, every hair tie, was Gucci this, Prada that. The school trip was to Korea. My host father proudly drank whisky with gold flecks every night when he got home from his job around 10pm.
Soon after I left he died of lung cancer from the two to three-pack-a-day smoking habit so common to men in that relentless corporate culture.