Trying hard has never been cool – except in Japan

At a tea ceremony held recently in Tokyo, I asked the hostess how long she had been studying the art of tea. "Nine years," she responded. "But I am only a beginner."

The tea ceremony dates back to the ninth century, when the Buddhist monk Eichu returned to Japan from China and prepared sencha, or unground green tea, for the emperor. Over centuries the ceremony has developed many components, ranging from the selection of utensils to the pouring of hot water. (To illustrate the deficient nature of her skills, the hostess said she could not yet form a crescent shape, which is seen as desirable, in the bubbles of frothed-up matcha.) Nonetheless, to the Western ear, nine years sounds like an awfully long time. You could complete training in most medical specialities over that time, or earn a doctorate if you didn't dilly-dally.

The humility with which the hostess approached her life's work was so striking that it had to point to a profound cultural difference to do with expertise, and the value we assign to it. In the US, and arguably also in Australia, to have accrued experience is increasingly seen as undesirable, and even, in some cases, a liability.

The US Democratic presidential candidate who, in a crowded field, has raised the most money this quarter is Pete Buttigieg. He is 37, just two years older than the minimum-age requirement for the presidency. The second-oldest candidate, 76-year-old Joe Biden, boasts a lifetime of experience in Congress, including, yes, some questionable decisions made in an earlier time.

It's precisely this record of service which threatens to undo Biden's candidacy. This is not to say that Buttigieg is not, by many measures, a sensible choice for America's highest office. He is a military veteran; a mayor in the midwest, which the Democrats desperately need to win; and by all accounts a very nice guy who happens to speak Norwegian. Still, it's telling that youth is an intrinsic part of Buttigieg's appeal.

But if Japan is one end of the spectrum, and the US the other, both have their downside. In Japan, promotion is traditionally based on seniority rather than performance. Although this made for enviable job security, it probably wasn't the best way to promote innovation in the workplace. And when it came to developing expertise, the deck was stacked against women, many of whom were pushed out of the workforce on becoming mothers.

In Australia we are often embarrassed by evidence of effort. At this year's TV Week Logies, the winner of the Gold gong said, "I don't take the awards seriously at all … that just makes the idea of winning it even more hilarious." I get Tom Gleeson's point. TV isn't neurosurgery. Most people wouldn't think you'd need 10,000 hours of practice – the amount of time Malcolm Gladwell, a Canadian, has estimated is needed to gain mastery of a skill – to make it as a TV star. Besides, who could argue with Gleeson's speech in which he declared everyone needed to lighten up?

Yet – what is the bar for taking something seriously? And why can't we admit that getting really good at one thing, whether hosting tea ceremonies or telling jokes, is pretty hard to do by accident? Trying hard has never been cool, but admitting to it these days can feel downright subversive. As Dolly Parton, who knows a thing or two about upending norms, once said, "It takes a lot of money to look this cheap."

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