If you’ve ever been in an elevator in Japan, China, or South Korea and noticed that the fourth floor button is missing, you’re not imagining things. This isn’t a manufacturing error or a design shortcut—it’s an intentional choice deeply rooted in cultural beliefs. In many parts of Asia, the number four is more than just a number. It’s a symbol of bad luck, even death, and its avoidance has become a quiet but widespread part of modern infrastructure.
The Fear Behind the Number
In Japan, the number four is pronounced as “shi,” which is phonetically identical to the word for death (死). This linguistic overlap is more than a coincidence—it has led to a superstition known as tetraphobia, or fear of the number four. According to an article from Tofugu (2012) , this fear is so pervasive that it’s not just elevators that skip the fourth floor—hospitals, hotels, and apartment buildings often exclude room numbers like 104 or 404 entirely to avoid unsettling guests or residents.
The Medium article “Japanese Elevators Don’t Have the 4th Floor Button—Here’s Why” highlights how commonplace this practice is in Japanese architecture. In many buildings, you’ll find floors labeled as 1, 2, 3, and then suddenly 5. Others might label the fourth floor as “3A” or “F” to disguise it. While this might seem extreme to outsiders, the choice is often a practical one. Developers understand that people are less likely to buy or rent a unit labeled “4,” so skipping it is good business.
Not Just a Japanese Thing
Although most discussed in the context of Japan, tetraphobia is present across East Asia. In Mandarin Chinese, “four” (四, sì) sounds nearly identical to “death” (死, sǐ), which has led to similar floor-skipping habits in Chinese-speaking countries. In South Korea, “four” is also pronounced as “sa,” similar to the word for death, and buildings often use the letter “F” in place of the number altogether.
This belief system isn’t limited to real estate. Many Asian hospitals will avoid putting patients in rooms with the number four, and product designers often skip labeling their fourth models—some phone brands, for instance, have gone straight from version three to five.
More Than Just Superstition?
While tetraphobia might sound irrational, its psychological and cultural weight is real. According to Tofugu (2012), it’s not just about fear—it’s about respect for tradition. In cultures where honoring ancestors and maintaining harmony are core values, superstitions around death aren’t taken lightly. Even if someone doesn’t personally believe in the curse of the number four, they might still avoid it out of sensitivity to family members, clients, or colleagues who do.
In an increasingly globalized and modernized society, many younger Asians view this belief as outdated, or even amusing. But the impact is still visible. Real estate listings may highlight that a unit is not on the fourth floor, and developers actively market this as a selling point. In competitive markets like Tokyo, where buyers scrutinize every detail, a “3A” apartment might sell faster than a “4F” one—simply due to a shared superstition.
Is It Comparable to the Western Fear of 13?
Western readers might draw comparisons to triskaidekaphobia—the fear of the number thirteen. Hotels in the United States or Europe often skip the 13th floor for similar reasons. The difference, however, lies in the origin. While the Western aversion to 13 is largely historical and religious, tetraphobia is directly tied to spoken language and the fear of death.
In both cases, numbers hold meaning far beyond arithmetic. They reflect the hidden values, taboos, and cultural codes of the society that uses them.
Final Thoughts
The absence of a “4” button in Asian elevators is a quiet but powerful example of how culture shapes our daily environment. Whether you see it as an old superstition or a form of social awareness, tetraphobia is a reminder that tradition still finds its way into modern design, even in the smallest details.
So the next time you find yourself wondering why your hotel jumps from the third floor straight to the fifth, now you know—it’s not a glitch. It’s a cultural marker hiding in plain sight.