The Moé Manifesto
Page 2
After Gundam came Super Dimensional Fortress Macross (1982 –1983), again praised for its realistic robots, but at the same time featuring extended scenes of melodramatic romance. In his book, Bishojo no gendaishi (Contemporary history of bishojo), published in 2004, Sasakibara Go goes as far as to argue that the narrative drive of Macross is the love triangle, not the battle with invading space aliens. For all of their attention to mechanical design and battle sequences, Macross fans pay equal attention to the beautiful character designs and idol performances included in the work. The production of this mash-up work, and its popularity among anime fans, can be seen as evidence of interest at the time in both robots and bishojo.
While anime specialty magazines such as Gekkan Out, Animec, and Animage were publishing articles about the booming interest in bishojo characters in the early 1980s, fans were seeking out cute female characters in TV anime such as Magical Princess Minky Momo (1982–1983) and Creamy Mami, the Magic Angel (1983–1984). Creators were shocked that the number of adult male fans had swelled to the point that THE MOE
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they were forming fan
clubs for favorite char-
acters and appearing
at promotional events.
Enthusiasm for bishojo
characters gave birth
to magazines like
Lemon People (from
1981), and games and
animation like Lolita
EIJI
Syndrome (1983) and
SUKAT OY
Lolita Anime (1984).
EST
UR
An important fo-
OC
rum for expressing
affection for fi ctional
characters was
provided by Manga
Burikko (1982–1985),
a subcultural maga-
zine that included
manga in various
Manga Burikko
styles, from realistic, gritty drawings to
cute illustrations of bishojo. From June to August 1983, Manga Burikko published a column by Nakamori Akio, mentioned above, that made fun of fans of Azuma Hideo, Minky Momo, and lolicon fanzines (so-called Lolita-complex works, which feature youthful or young-looking characters), calling these fans otaku. This was the fi rst time the word had been used in the media to describe manga and anime fans, and the criticism seemed to be aimed squarely at the readers of the magazine. Naturally, there was blowback, and the reader response section of Manga Burikko became a forum for discussing the appropriateness of affection for fi ctional characters.
INTRODUCTION
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16
Because Manga Burikko marketed itself as a “Bishojo Comic Magazine for Dreaming Boys” ( yume miru otoko no ko no tame no bishojo komikkushi), it is not surprising to fi nd that most of its readers supported love for fi ctional characters—what we might now call moé. The author of one letter published in the August 1983 issue goes so far as to call himself, with more than a hint of pride, someone with a “two-dimensional complex” ( nijigen konpurekkusu). In time, Nakamori’s column was canceled, and the fans got what they wanted: more bishojo characters and less fl ack for loving them.
In another inter-
esting development,
the realistic drawings
that were once part
of Manga Burikko gave
way to a softer shojo-
manga aesthetic.
Otsuka Eiji, the edi-
tor of Manga Burikko,
was a fan of shojo
manga himself, and
EIJI
the magazine regu-
SUKAT OY
larly featured con-
EST
UR
tributions by female
OC
manga artists such
as Okazaki Kyoko,
Shirakura Yumi, and
Sakurazawa Erika.
Manga Burikko was
also a platform for
male artists who
were appropriating
the style of female
Takanezawa Moé in Manga Burikko
THE MOE
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artists, much as Azuma Hideo did in the 1970s, and this resulted in further evolution of the bishojo character.
Take for example the August 1983 issue of Manga Burikko, where Hayasaka Miki, a male artist, uses four color pages to introduce a girl character named Takanezawa Moé (notice the name). On the third page, Moé’s elder sister, a female manga artist, is revealed to be in charge of taking some photos of Moé for this spread in Manga Burikko. What the viewer is seeing on the page in the drawings by Hayasaka are the “photos” taken by Moé’s elder sister. In drawing what the older sister saw through the camera’s viewfi nder, Hayasaka is not just drawing a girl in a style inspired by girls’ comics, but he is also visualizing Moé from the viewpoint of a girl.
Character design and desiring reached new heights in the 1990s with the manga series Sailor Moon (1991–1997), which, though written by Takeuchi Naoko—a woman—for young
women and girls, explicitly calls its main heroine a bishojo.
The cute, round character designs that were used for the TV anime (1992–1997) attracted many adult male fans. Also in the 1990s, the bishojo character moved from niche, subcultural, otaku publications to mainstream manga magazines.
Bishojo games, in which players “date” bishojo characters—
often called dating simulator games outside Japan—also reached a non- otaku market when Konami’s Tokimeki Memorial was ported to the PlayStation in 1995. Finally, the success of TV anime Neon Genesis Evangelion (1995–1996) saw an ex-ponential growth in demand for fi gurines of its main female characters. As stores began to carry bishojo games, fanzines, and fi gurines, the Tokyo district of Akihabara transformed into the center of moé culture.
In 2004, a report by the Nomura Research Institute revealed that sales of manga, anime, and games were strong in the 1990s, despite an economic recession in Japan, and called INTRODUCTION
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18
AMAMAA
OKOKYBY
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STRSTULULLIL
DTD., ILT
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P OOP PY PYPYB B
ON ITTIONARATRSTSULULLLIL I, I,S
ION TTION
DUC ORODUCPR P
ZUKA EEZUKA T© T©T©
Astro Boy and Hello Kitty
y
revamped as moé characters
cters
THE MOE
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TO
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19
for the “revaluation” of otaku. Japan was ready to reconcile with its outcast sons, as can be seen from the social excite-ment around the Densha otoko (Train Man) novel, fi lm, and TV series (2004–2006) about true love between an otaku and a career woman. The fi nal episode of the TV series drew an astonishing 25.5 percent of the national audience, and Japan scholar Alisa Freedman notes that otaku were now positioned in the media as potential dates for lonely women. At the same time, some otaku protested the normative message of Densha otoko—grow up and get a date!—and planted signs in Akihabara reading “Real Otaku Don’t Get Hot for the Three-Dimensional” ( somo somo shinjitsu no wota wa 3D ni yokujo shimasen).
Regardless, following memorable scenes of the protagonist of Densha otoko blissfully saying “Moé!” the word became popular in the media in 2005. What followed was a “moé boom,”
where nationally beloved characters such as Astro Boy and Hel
lo Kitty were recast as moé characters, which is to say revamped by artists popular with otaku.
Newsweek Japan in its March 21, 2007 issue devoted its cover story to the spread of manga, anime, and games around the globe, a phenomenon it called the “moé world”
( moeru sekai). But American fans preferring sci-fi and mecha were not so sure what to make of all these cute girls in their anime. The April 2009 issue of Otaku USA magazine features a special report on moé in which American otaku experts give their opinions. One of them, Daryl Surat, calls moé “a sham, a heroin substitute to the narcotic they call ‘love’” and “the Dark Side of the Otaku Force.” In a separate blog post, manga critic Jason Thompson writes about feeling ashamed by moé, which he associates with a Japanese obsession with cuteness and youth. Many of the debates hinge on moé media’s melodramatic emphasis on human relationships and the INTRODUCTION
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20
shallowness and
excitability of moé
otaku, which recalls
the disdain that
traditional sci-fi
TD.
fans held for fans of
O., L
S C
Mobile Suit Gundam
TIONAC
decades ago.
This book, The
MMUNIO
Moé Manifesto, has a
KYU C
title that brings back
C., HANN
memories for me. I
K, IEE
remember marching
SWWE
with the Revolution-
© N
ary Moé Advocates
Alliance ( kakumei-
teki moé shugisha
domei) on the streets
of Akihabara on June
Moé in the headlines
30, 2007. I remember
men and women,
young and not so young, dressed up as anime characters or in the classic attire of Japanese student radicals of the 1960s.
I remember people joining the march, and their numbers swelling to fi ve hundred people. I remember singing and dancing as well-practiced political slogans trailed off to be replaced by the growing roar of the crowd. One group near me shouted over and over again, “Let me keep my Haruhi!”
referring to the main female character of the anime series The Melancholy of Suzumiya Haruhi. Many women, and some men, were dressed up as Haruhi.
This revolutionary moé alliance came together in shared love of fi ctional characters, and in protest to developments THE MOE
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21
in Akihabara aimed at curtailing public displays of affection for characters (in which people would dress in character costume and make a spectacle of themselves singing and dancing in the street), which were said to be disturbing to businesses and tourists. What these protesters wanted was to maintain the space where they could publicly express their love for bishojo like Haruhi. Years later, I was at an anime convention in the United States, and saw fi rsthand the criticism of so-called moé otaku, who there, too, were thought to be somehow disruptive and disturbing.
After all this time, I still can’t quite understand the position of the anti- moé camp, which calls certain fans “moé pigs”
or worse. Why should it matter so much if someone is in love with a character and wants to share that love with others?
Such actions aren’t harming anyone, and in fact might be both helping the individual and invigorating the manga and anime industries and fan communities. Love is never an easy thing to understand, and it can be embarrassing to watch the silly things that people do when they are in love, but I for one think we should embrace love rather than condemn it.
I decided to call this book The Moé Manifesto in hopes of capturing some of the spirit of camaraderie that I felt on the streets of Akihabara in 2007. Let me speak as an advocate of moé, and propose an alliance between all those who love manga, anime and games. It is no secret that I love anime; beginning when I was fourteen years old, I started tattoo-ing my favorite characters, all bishojo, on my body. I personally fi nd that I have a lot in common with Japanese fans of moé media. It’s too easy to draw lines in the sand and point fi ngers at those who are different; sci-fi fans did so with Gundam fans, Nakamori Akio with otaku, and some American otaku with moé otaku. Rather than push others away, I wonder if it might be more fun to enjoy manga and anime together.
INTRODUCTION
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Think about Super Dimensional Fortress Macross, an anime that brought mecha and bishojo fans together, and that brought me together with some of my best friends, none of whom are into moé. Manga and anime spread around the world because of fans who love and share them. Let’s not turn to hate.
When I was younger, my hero was Okada Toshio, an anime producer who was once called the King of Otaku. I still respect Okada, but I increasingly disagree with him. For example, Okada has made it clear that he does not like moé, which he considers merely an obsession with cute girl characters by superfi cial fans. To me, that characterization is unfair.
Few people are as sincere in their love of manga, anime, and games as those I encountered in Akihabara. Even if their love is for characters rather than the work as a whole, why should that make them superfi cial? All this talk about love brings up OO
CHY
NNA DY B
PH
RAGOTO
PH
The Revolutionary Moé Advocates Alliance marches in Akihabara THE MOE
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my second problem with Okada’s critique: I don’t think the moé phenomenon can simply explained as ogling cute girls.
That doesn’t explain Hayasaka Miki drawing from the perspective of his character’s elder sister, or men dressing up as Haruhi on the streets of Akihabara, or the impulse to marry a fi ctional character. Something else is going on here, something that we’ve missed in our rush to judge and trivialize.
The Moé Manifesto aims to provide a space to linger on the issue of love for fi ctional characters. It provides interviews with artists and creators, cultural critics, fans, and scholars. The focus of the interviews is primarily Japanese men considered otaku, because the image of the Japanese male otaku crystallizes social anxiety about moé. When talking about moé, the interviewees often take a political stance; some are critical while others are supportive. The reader will notice that I have also included interviews with women, for example Ito Noizi, who draws Haruhi. Women have long been involved in the production of bishojo characters (which therefore can’t rightly be described as male fetishes), and they have interesting things to say about Japanese male otaku and moé. The point is to expand the range of opinions that we hear about moé so that we can see beyond stereotypes and open up room for discussion. Contrary to the opinion expressed through James Franco in 30 Rock, moé is not something that we should just have a laugh about and move on.
In a book of this size it is impossible to offer a complete survey of all aspects of the phenomenon, but I hope that The Moé Manifesto provokes a debate about moé and the possibil-ity of a different kind of love.
And so it begins.
Patrick W. Galbraith
INTRODUCTION
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Interview with
Ito Kimio
Ito Kimio, born in 1951, is a
pro fessor at Kyoto University
Graduate School of Letters.
His area of academic specializa-
tion is cultural sociology, and he
is one of the founders of “Men’s
Studies” ( danseigaku) in Japan. Ito
believes that although gender
roles have changed in the post-
industrial world, this is more true
for women than for men, who
still tend to be defi ned by a nar-
row set of expectations. The ideal
man in Japan, for example, re-
mains the salaryman, who is pro-
ductive at work and a provider at
home. In this interview, Ito recalls
his personal anxiety about mas-
culinity as a young man growing
up in the 1960s and 1970s. At that
time, surrounded by a militant
student movement and on the
NNA
cusp of adult manhood, Ito took
CHUM S
pleasure in things feminine, such
ZT
FRI
as shojo manga (manga for girls),
Y B
PH
and sought in them an alterna-
RAGO
tive to masculine bravado.
TO
PH
MOE MANIFESTO
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From
Social Movements
to
Shojo Manga
An Alternative to Masculine Bravado
Patrick W. Galbraith (PG): What do you research?
Ito Kimio (IK): My research is on politics in a broad sense. Not political parties and voting, but rather the everyday politics of oppression, resistance, and compromise. I observe issues of authority and power relations in culture. I mean culture in a broad sense too—as in the way of thinking about and looking at things.
So my work at the broadest level is about politics and cultur p
e,
,
and I’m particularly interested in the
the
effect of politics and culture on men
en
and masculinity in Japan.
PG: You have also written on popular
ular
culture.
IK: I have written several books on
n
manga and anime as part of my
larger interest in boys’ culture.
SEUMU
You might not be aware of this,
I MUSEUM