COLUMN ONE : Wild Dance Craze Cures 9-to-5 Blues : Chafing under tradition’s yoke by day, Japan’s young working women break loose at night. They flock to clubs where they can show off in leather and lingerie.

By day, Kumiko Takanishi wears white gloves, a prim hat and a placid expression as she bows and announces the floors in a high-pitched, singsong voice operating elevators for a major department store.

But don’t be fooled by this 19-year-old’s porcelain doll demeanor. Inside, she’s seething, thinking: Arrogant customers. Boring job. Dirty old men. What time is it? Gotta break loose!

And so she does--by stripping out of her proper uniform and donning a rose-colored lingerie set, a see-through blouse and gold lame heels. Then she uncorks her stress at a local disco by dancing with abandon.

Under pulsating strobe lights in the dimly lit club, she joins dozens of other OLs--”office ladies”--who transform themselves into nighttime vamps. They shake and sway atop a stage in G-strings and feathers, silver studs and strategically placed swatches of fur and fake leopard skin.

Young men in business suits watch, mesmerized. Whatever social order exists in the workplace, here at the Ronde Club in Tokyo’s Akasaka party town, women reign supreme.

Time was when traditional Japanese women covered themselves in kimono from neck to toe, their curves squeezed flat with tightly bound layers of fabric.

But Takanishi, and thousands of other young women, have literally thrown off the binds in a dirty dancing boom that has startled Japan and provoked wildly divergent debate.

Is it women’s liberation or exploitation? A passing fad or a fundamental challenge to traditional social mores? Does the exhibitionism represent a daring new self-expression in this conformist society? Or is it merely follow-the-leader as mindless slaves embrace the latest media boom? The debate is as sharp as the controversy that first surrounded Madonna--the ultimate feminist or a trivial boy toy?

“I think it’s an embarrassment to Japan,” said Yuko Ito, a 26-year-old administrative assistant who relieves her stress through shopping and says she would never strip and dance.

But trilled Misao Kawaii--a 67-year-old woman who ventured to Juliana’s Tokyo, the city’s most famous spot for dirty dancing, to get a peek: “It’s wonderful. My, the young women’s legs today are so pretty and well shaped! So different from our generation. I was really impressed.”

Juliana’s, a British-based firm, set the stage for the fad when it opened a cavernous disco in Tokyo two years ago, broke all attendance records and quickly became the talk of the town.

Although its main claim to fame was as a place where young women went to dance in revealing clothes, the club sparked other pop culture trends: the heavy beat of techno funk; the feather fan as modern dance accessory, and a twice-monthly TV show sponsored by Coca-Cola Co., featuring interviews and performances of bands.

Now the phenomenon has spread throughout Japan, inviting copycat dance clubs from Nagoya to Kyoto to compete to outdo their Tokyo rival in shock value. Some clubs offer “lingerie nights” or “T-back nights,” as G-strings are called here; weekly tabloids feature racy photos of dancers in pasties, and some report a few cases of frenzied women baring all.

In a peak this summer, 50,000 skimpily clad women packed into the Tokyo Dome from all over the nation for an orgy of dancing, waving feather fans and boas.

“Most OLs have to wear terrible uniforms all day and make copies and serve tea,” said Ken Lyle, Juliana’s manager in Tokyo. “This is their 15 minutes of fame, the chance to wear sexy clothes and say to men, ‘I’m a good-looking woman and now you’re looking at me.’ ”

But if the dance boom reflects a revenge of the OLs against subservient roles, others say it is no more than a lascivious beauty contest reflecting primal competition among women. Some psychologists label it a method of “self-confirmation” in a time of rapid social change, while others say it is the pathetic outcome of bad parenting.

Either way, only a small minority of women have the nerve or inclination to partake.

This new expression of private escapism also does not seem to signal a shift in women’s public roles.

Toyomi Nakayama, 18, may wear an audacious black bra and metallic belt by night, but from 9 to 5 she politely answers phones and greets guests as a receptionist in her gray company uniform.

She chafes under the firm’s conservative rules that dictate the office life for women: No makeup. No nail polish. No bangs, and long hair must be tied back. But she doesn’t question them.

“It’s always been this way and hasn’t changed at all,” Nakayama says.

Still, analysts say the fact that such dancing even exists marks a measure of growing tolerance for divergent expression and underscores Japanese society’s state of flux, as old mores and modern influences struggle for equilibrium.

“To suppress your desires is a traditional more, but nowadays it’s perfectly fine to directly project your sexuality,” said Nobue Nakamura, a psychologist who specializes in women’s issues.

The reason, she said, is that Japan’s longstanding identification with broad communal values, where self-restraint is necessary, is shifting toward more narrow and individualist concerns.

That social change--prompted by the move from rural communities to more isolated urban dwellings, from extended households to a nuclear family of fewer than two children--has afforded Japanese a bit more freedom to act out away from prying eyes, she said.

The birthplace of the boom is a converted warehouse in the middle of an obscure district in Tokyo called Shibaura.

Two years ago, Juliana’s approached two Japanese firms to put up the building and the $18-million start-up investment.

The team renovated the 10,000-square-foot building into a playground of strobe lights, raised dance platforms, hand-painted murals, custom-designed wire sculptures and a “body-sonic” floor that sends rhythmic waves through the soles of dancers’ feet.

Opening night was pandemonium, with lines snaking around the block and so much frenzy inside that they had to stop the music.

The club, which charges men $50 and women $45 for admission, food and drinks, draws up to 50,000 patrons a month. Its monthly turnover of $2 million to $3 million makes it the most successful disco among others that Juliana’s runs in London; Istanbul, Turkey; Portugal and San Francisco, Lyle said.

Juliana’s told its Japanese backers that they would recoup their investment in 18 months; it took 13.

From the beginning, in perhaps the club’s shrewdest strategy, it targeted young female office workers--a group with substantial free time, disposable income and a zest to try new experiences.

According to a 1990 survey by Nikkei Press, three-fourths of single OLs ages 20 to 35 live with their parents. As a result, more than half have an average monthly disposable income of $500 to $1,000. And most are eager to spend on culture, travel, food and fashion, the survey found.

In fact, Japan’s OLs--as much a social archetype and corporate institution here as the “salaryman” or dronish male employee--are satirized as lavish spenders little concerned about their firms’ fortunes.

Particularly in the high-flying bubble economy days, the media were filled with reports of OLs in their 20s jetting to Europe for spending sprees on Fendi furs and fancy French food.

At home, while their male counterparts slave at the office, OLs are portrayed as sampling new restaurants, aerobics, beauty salons and self-enrichment classes ranging from English conversation to Indian cooking.

Comics and commercials often portray the lavish aspect of OL life, such as this ad jingle from the Takano Yuri Beauty Clinics two years ago: “OLs have got it made: Get the work done and forget overtime! Sneak out behind the boss’ back and run off to aerobics, karaoke or an aesthetic salon! Isn’t it great to be a woman? Come on OLs, let’s go for it!”

Yet, at the same time, female office workers say they suffer from the stress of being expected to play “office flower” in menial jobs.

In the popular OL comic strip, “Feeling Metaphysical,” OLs get revenge by putting dirty water in their bosses’ tea or eyedrops and laxatives in Valentine’s Day chocolates.

In real life, Yoko Uezaki, a 23-year-old bookkeeper, is required to appear at the office 15 minutes before official starting time to wipe desks, make coffee, fetch newspapers and clean ashtrays.

Although the university graduate joined the construction firm hoping to use her expertise in architecture, “I spend more than half of my time serving tea, making copies and sorting materials,” she said.

When Shinobu Omiya, 31, worked at an auto parts firm, she and other women were expected to welcome the all-male sales staff as returning warriors with cheerful expressions and a soothing cup of tea.

Men aren’t the only oppressors. Many of the OLs say they’re harassed by female colleagues, especially those with more seniority who force them to toe the line and perform the same menial tasks they once were made to do.

“The OL culture is one where women hold each other back,” said Shie Tanabe, a capital markets analyst.

Enter Juliana’s, which found a market in disgruntled women with free time, bruised egos and a well-padded pocketbook.

The disco cordons off two ladies-only lounges to make them feel special and give them breathing room from leering men. About half of its patrons are women, a higher percentage than typical discos, including Juliana’s other overseas operations, Lyle said.

But along the way, what began as a little harmless exhibitionism began taking on a life of its own.

Gradually, body-hugging dresses inspired by Whitney Houston escalated to ultra-miniskirts revealing underwear to G-strings and bikini tops.

When a woman took off all of her clothes in a frenzy a few months ago--a photo that ended up in one of the weekly magazines--the club clamped down.

Now it rejects at the door those dressed too skimpily, such as the woman who turned up in a gold G-string, Lyle said.

What prompts the young women to bare and boogie?

“During the day, there’s a lot you have to put up with, but here anything is permitted--even showing your panties,” said Kiyomi Sato, 23, an office worker at a sports equipment firm outfitted in a red vinyl bustier and black lace.

“We want to stand out,” said Kaneko Shizuka, 26. “It makes us feel superior, like a star.”

Nakamura, the psychologist, said the dancers are searching for “self-confirmation” because a breakdown of the traditional community in modern urban life has left many young people unsure where to fit in.

While their parents had the student movement to identify with, today’s youths have become more narcissistic and rootless, she said.

She also noted that many mothers now have one child, on whom they lavish enormous care and attention.

Although such devotion is admirable, the tendency to cater to the child’s needs--even before the youngster learns to voice them--has eliminated an important step of self-development, creating further self-uncertainty, she said.

Nonsense, said Shinji Miyadai, a social studies professor specializing in youth at Toritsu University.

He regards such ideas as Western psychobabble with little application to Japan. Here, people gain a sense of identity not through individual action but through group recognition, he said.

Since the community has broken down, the new social arbiter is the mass media, which has declared that dirty dancing is an “OL thing to do,” he said.

That decided, young women compete with each other to wear the most eye-catching outfits with no individual sense of right or wrong.

“The point is to win, which feels good,” he said. “This is just primitive competition, like the guys who compete at video game centers.”

One thing is certain about this dance craze: Like all of Japan’s fads, it too shall pass.

Now that the rest of the country has copied its dirty dancing formula, Juliana’s is hard at work on a “new entertainment concept,” which it will unveil early next year.

But whatever new plan it rolls out, Lyle sees his club not as a breeding ground for social or sexual revolution but as a brief escape:

“Ninety-nine percent of females come here and go home alone, and five years from now they’ll be married with two children,” he said. “This is their moment to express themselves.”

Megumi Shimizu of The Times’ Tokyo Bureau contributed to this report.