令和のヒットはなぜ「ドパガキ」を量産したのか？ GO三浦が”普段はできない話”に答えまくる

Why Dopamine-Bait Content Gets Mass-Produced

Miura uses the term *dopa-gaki* (ドパ書き)—dopamine-writing—to describe short-form content engineered for immediate excitement. He is quick to point out that the appetite for cruel or transgressive content is nothing new: the 1990s already had primetime dramas built around incest and a high-school teacher falling for a female student. The real shift, he argues, is not in human nature but in the business model.

"Technology has completed a system for monetising short-term excitement," he said. Tip jars, short-video ad revenue, and bite-sized paywalls now let a creator profit from content with a lifespan of hours rather than years—a fundamentally different proposition from the old model of selling a One Piece volume for ¥500. Once that infrastructure exists, the content follows.

The ceiling on what counts as a "hit" has also dropped sharply. Miura asked the audience to raise their hands for a series of recent titles; not a single piece of content got unanimous recognition. Even among six college friends at a reunion, there is virtually no content everyone has seen. Netflix originals travel across platforms when clips go viral on TikTok or Instagram Reels, but within each person's algorithmic filter bubble, a phenomenon that feels massive may be "just buzzing inside your own circle." Truly mass content in the mould of Ohtani Shohei is still possible, Miura said, but it will be a rare exception.

Filter Bubbles and the Media-Literacy Crisis

There was a time when readers knew that Sankei Shimbun and Asahi Shimbun would cover the same story from opposite ends of the political spectrum—and they read both with that awareness. Today, most people encounter articles through Yahoo News or an X link, absorbing the content without registering which outlet produced it. Miura noted that roughly half of Yahoo News articles originate from Sankei Shimbun, yet most readers are unaware. "News, wherever it is born, is cut up and handed to you in fragments," he said. He offered the gap between Prime Minister Takaichi's approval ratings on X timelines versus national polls as a vivid illustration of how deep inside our filter bubbles we actually sit.

The same structural danger applies to trusted individual voices. Miura named book critic Miyake Kaho (三宅香帆) and history podcaster Fukai Ryunosuke (深井龍之介) of Koten Radio (古典ラジオ) as people he genuinely respects—and then stated plainly that their output is their own interpretation and editorial selection, not historical or literary truth itself. The image most Japanese people carry of Sakamoto Ryoma was almost entirely constructed by novelist Shiba Ryotaro (司馬遼太郎); depending on which historical scholarship you consult, Ryoma can be read as someone of limited actual achievement. Treating any creator as an absolute authority, Miura argued, is a far greater media-literacy risk than worrying about information being too hard to understand.

The Human Value in the AI Era Is 'Hearing'

An audience member asked: when clients already assume AI will handle the heavy lifting, what can humans actually contribute? Miura reached for a counterintuitive example—QR-code ordering at ramen restaurants. Press the buttons and the order is placed; the system works. But a skilled floor staff member who says "the chashu is exceptional today" or "miso pairs really well with the fried rice" can change what a customer orders. People, he said, usually do not know what they truly want. Uncovering that is something only a human can do.

The difference between a great salesperson and a mediocre one lives entirely in this space. A poor salesperson asks directly, "What do you really want?" An average one needs five or six drinks before the client's real feelings emerge. An excellent salesperson extracts the truth in a single meal or meeting. The differentiator is *observational skill*.

That skill, Miura insisted, can only be sharpened through real human encounters where a wrong read feels catastrophic. He cited two personal examples: sparring (*kumite*) in his high-school judo club, and navigating a relationship with an emotionally volatile partner. Sales role-play exercises are useless. Only the genuine, one-on-one tension of a real encounter trains the eye.

Decide What You Will *Not* Consume

Miura's own content diet is governed less by what he chooses to watch than by what he rules out. He never consumes something simply because it is popular or widely read, and he rarely touches business books. His filter is narrow: things that gave him a flutter of excitement when he stumbled across them, or things that someone he trusts recommended in earnest. He added a caveat, though—the editorial instinct of someone like prolific editor Minowa Kosuke (箕輪厚介) is built on an enormous foundation of reading and accumulated knowledge. Dopamine-only content diets make it structurally hard to develop depth or creativity.

Getting an Essential Message to the Right People

An entrepreneur in the audience wanted to reach people who struggle to value themselves. Miura turned to religious recruitment as his model. The first thing a canvasser learns, he said, is never to lead with the religion. Instead they open with the prospect's most fundamental pain points—"Prices are brutal lately, aren't they?" or "It's lonely when you don't have close friends"—and guide the person to discover the solution themselves. The same logic applies here: never say "value yourself" directly. Build entry points around "it's fun," "you'll accumulate points," or "it'll help your career," so that self-affirming behaviour emerges naturally as the outcome.