Essay on the Mechanism of Moe in Otaku Culture

Otaku culture is a learning experience. It’s also a personal experience. Different niches that speak to different people – there’s never a shortage of things to hear about for the first time. There are people who dedicate their entire lives to researching anime, manga and video games, as well as their creators and consumers. Some, like cultural critic Eiji Ootsuka, would say that it is for naught, that, that scholarly attention to ‘otaku’ is a farce, and that the academia is better geared towards solving real issues. Maybe they’re correct, and there’s really nothing to it. But otaku culture is a learning experience, and a personal experience. There are many who feel indebted to this world, and want to give back – columnists in local fanzines writing about their interests, restoration teams that preserve old works, small online dedicated fan servers, all kinds of hobbyists and enthusiasts and even pirates – a collective integral to the loosely defined ‘otaku’ community and its associated culture. Step by step, I also tried contributing in several ways, this decrepit blog one of them.

            The following is an adaptation of an essay of mine, titled “Gender Performance and Salvation – Moe Healing in Otaku Culture”, originally intended to be in the general theme of women in modern Japan. Technically, that’s indeed the case, with one small caveat - the women are fictional. Cute girl characters, henceforth referred to as ‘bishoujo’, were plastered all around otaku culture since time immemorial, or perhaps better put, since there was anything like otaku culture to begin with. Cybele introduced a generation of manga fans to the incorporation of erotica into manga art and kicked off the bishoujo trend.  The DAICON IV opening animation introduced a generation of science fiction fans to the incorporation of bishoujo into science fiction anime. Even MCMLXC, the doujin CD album known as the first of its kind, featured a bishoujo character on its cover – a cheery and youthful little witch, adorned with ribbons and little stars. This despite having only one vocal track, which does little to suggest it having any relation with bishoujo. When I take a single glance into contemporary otaku, I see cute girls everywhere. Bishoujo’s latest iteration, Virtual YouTubers, have spread far and wide, capturing the hearts of millions of fans around the world. My blog’s namesake, denpa songs (or moe songs), are equally dependent on these fictional girls to work their magic. There’s something at hand, but what? Surely there’s a logical approach that can contain all of these examples and explain them as one.

Synergy Music Network's MCMLXC (1990/1)

This is how I initially thought of it. I spent many restless nights trying to come to a conclusion of what ties all of these together, based on the academic research and other evidence I had available. That hasn’t happened, maybe for the best. I haven’t come across anything new, anything groundbreaking. Patrick Galbraith in Debating Otaku warned against the academic discourse that haphazardly connected between several key instances associated with otaku culture: the supposed coinage of the word ‘otaku’ in bishoujo magazine Manga Burikko in 1983, the capture of serial killer Tsutomu Miyazaki in 1989, or perhaps the airing of Neon Genesis Evangelion in 1995. These are not unimportant things. But they dazzle so brightly that it’s easy to miss the things that happened long before them, the things that happened alongside them and the things that happened between them. My intention is to try to draw lines between the different iterations of the purported ‘otaku’ community and from that cast a new light on the function of the equally flimsy term ‘moe’ (as per the title).

 

Understanding the Rise of Otaku

Yoshihiko Fujii is a veteran musician and one of the original participants of Synergy Music Network’s doujin CD albums with singer-songwriter Ikuko Ebata as part of band Nekoya (猫屋). In a series of essays from 2009 (titled “The Age of ‘Otaku’ Pioneers”), he wrote extensively about the meaning of the word ‘otaku’ and the different generations of fans and enthusiasts associated with it. While the experience of a single person does not and cannot reflect the reality of many, his writing nonetheless provides relevant insight to the intricacies of the period.

            The word ‘otaku’ is ambiguous by the virtue of English transliteration not properly reflecting its Japanese use. As I understand it, it is generally agreed upon in academic research that the origins of the word are in the way visitors of fan conventions in the late 1970s addressed one another, adapting the honorific second-person pronoun ‘otaku’ (お宅). For enthusiastic fans, it was a way to respectfully talk to other people with whom they weren’t yet acquainted. So far so good, but fans of what? According to Fujii, mostly fans of manga. However, Ootsuka, in an interview conducted for Galbraith’s The Moe Manifesto, said it was first used among science fiction fans. Which one is correct? Probably both. In Gainax founder Yasuhiro Takeda’s The Notenki Memoirs, the early history of the Japanese science fiction conventions (日本SF大会) is described in extent. If I recall correctly, there were numerous animation contests in the wake of the success of Osamu Tezuka’s Astro Boy, and the artist alleys had all sorts of fan comics made after science fiction media. But there was a split between fans of “pure” science fiction content, like literature and cinema, versus those who took pride in science fiction anime, like the space operas of the 1970s. Thus amateur manga artists, a dominant faction in the science fiction conventions’ artist alleys, influenced the nature of the commercial Comic Market to be established in 1975. In conclusion, I think it can safely be said that while the two communities weren’t the same, they had much in common. 

 

MEGCON (1962)

All things considered, ‘otaku’ (お宅) is still a fairly formal word, comically so even, so why use it instead of simply ask for one another’s names? Fujii described it as part of the nature of the “mania of the time”. Mania. The word is not exactly figurative. The slang ‘mania’ (マニア) or ‘maniac’ (マニアック), was used to refer to all sorts of fans who took pride in their enthusiasm. But that’s not all. As Fujii put it, the very expectation of meeting other ‘maniacs’, people who likewise spent a major portion of their free time on their science fiction and/or anime-manga hobbies, meant that one had to be ready to face off one another in a battle of knowledge. Or at least, to avoid this situation, the convention visitors of the period used respectful language that considered the standing of the people they met, and by using ‘otaku’ (お宅), they could create a sense of distance in their relationship, as if they were colleague scholars. Moreover, to maintain this relationship, it was necessary to be not only a consumer, but a creator – most notably in the production of the hobbyist manga called ‘doujinshi’, but also in writing and even programming. Impressive, but not exactly unique. There were badminton and tennis players, amateur potters and wood carvers, collectors of model trains and ships, etc. – many sorts of ‘maniacs’ in their own ways. What separates the titular ‘otaku’ community of science fiction and anime-manga fans from the rest?

            Going further back to the 1960s, Fujii reveals an important clue regarding what made sci-fi and animanga stand out from the rest. The 1960s were a turbulent period for youth all around the globe, with major student protests against what were deemed cruel and brutal policies of the authorities of the time. Most notable were the protests against the Vietnam War and American imperialism. The Japanese government, as host of US military bases and a major resupplying location for the American war efforts, faced harsh criticism from the left and right over bowing down to American interests, with Japan seeing increasingly violent student rioting in the late 60s. By the end of the decade, with student activists failing to realize their goals, the protests lost their momentum, and eventually political student activity receded. However, the disdain from authority and adult life in general didn’t necessarily wane. Students, particularly from urban areas, gave up global justice for the consolation of being able to live a relatively free life according to their own interests. It was not in their power to change Japan and the world, so at the very least, they should be able to do what they want. Hobbies, such as those described above, and particularly in the way of student clubs or ‘circles’ (サークル), were a method of momentarily putting aside the political issues of reality and concentrating on something enjoyable.

            One type of student club to appear in this period was the ‘Manga Research Society’ (漫画研究会). To concentrate one’s life on manga was, according to Fujii, an antithesis to the political way of life. Comics and cartoons were considered to be made for children, not adults, due to their youthful and humorous way of being. Therefore, for students on the verge of adulthood, to base their identity on the pursuit of manga knowledge meant to anchor themselves to their childhood state. They rejected becoming another cog in the machine of society and giving up their individuality – a political message in itself by a minority that refused to grow up and kept to its adolescent hobbies in adult life. While only manga fans were explicitly mentioned, I imagine similar motives laid in the foundation of the first science fiction conventions in Japan. Fortunately for both groups, which were likely almost entirely composed of men, the economic miracle in Japan spelled the advent of mass consumerism by the mid-70s, with the rise of domestic popular entertainment such as film, television and music. In other words, this period of economic growth allowed more and more people to engage with their hobbies, including the two groups that comprised the first iteration of otaku. It is this economic condition that likely helped propel other subcultures alongside otaku.

            Mass consumerism of the mid-70s manifested not only in hobbies, but in other trends among youth. For instance, the spread of television with televised song contests led to an influx of amateur teenage singers, scouted by record labels for fleeting professional careers, what is commonly referred to as ‘idols’. But it didn’t only manifest in entertainment, but also in consumer products. Cheap mechanical pencils are seen as the leading actor in the trend of rounded handwriting among teenage school girls. They allowed neat and informal writing, complete with stars and hearts, becoming a major part of the “cute wave” to wash over Japan over the following years. Yes, the keyword is ‘kawaii’ (可愛い, or perhaps better put as かわいい, since kanji is “not cute”). Not only pencils, many other accessories, stickers and confectionary, all with a predominantly childish demeanor, spread across Japan over the course of the late 70s, reaching nationwide status by the 1980s. Animal print clothing with vibrant colors or conversely frilly dresses in pure white, infantile speech and other childish slang, physical gestures that suggested a (much) younger age – all slightly reminiscent of the demeanor of the predominantly male student clubs described above. The young female student too, in a way, wished to remain in a childish world and postpone their adult life. Being cute was to ignore the social responsibilities associated with the modern reality of young women, to marry early, become housewives and bear children, as put by Sharon Kinsella in her 1995 article Cuties in Japan. It is no surprise, then, that kawaii had great compatibility with otaku, and that the two would eventually join hand in hand to protest adulthood.

 

Mixing Eroticism and Cuteness into Bishoujo Characters

The same way space opera manga and anime opened a channel between the science fiction fan community and the anime-manga fan community, ‘shoujo manga’ and the magical girl or ‘mahou shoujo’ genre in particular allowed the predominantly male ‘otaku’ (お宅) crowd to intersect with predominantly female ‘kawaii’ crowd. With word ‘shoujo’ referring to an ambiguous age range of preadolescent and adolescent girls, shoujo manga created with a young female crowd from the get go. As Kumiko Saito put it in her 2014 article Magic, Shoujo, and Metamorphosis, shoujo manga and anime were based in many ways on the contrast between childhood and adult life, especially in the 1960s. Magical girl manga and anime are fantastic examples of this contrast. Their young and cheery heroines are leading and proactive, compared to the submissive and passive ideal of Japanese women in the period. Beginning as ordinary girls, they acquire supernatural magic power by coincidence, using it to become “cute warriors” that save humankind from danger. However, at the end of their journey, they are all destined to lose their magic power and return to reality. This, according to Saito, symbolized the relative freedom young girls had prior to their arranged marriage that loomed over their teenage years. The magical girl characters did not threaten the gender roles of adult life, and in practice, placed the magical girls often in roles already associated with women. In other words, even a magical girl had to realize that childhood is fleeting, and it is her responsibility to become a “good wife and wise mother” that sacrifices her own interests for the sake of her family.

            This grim message of social responsibilities changed with the turn of the decade. In the 1970s, magical girl anime such as Fushigi na Merumo (1971) and Majokko Megu-chan (1974) compensated for the original traditional cues into something more free and liberal, by having the girl protagonists engage in romance and even sexuality. Only in 1972 was the Japanese Association for Sex Education (JASE) established, with Japan gradually shifting from a model of “sexual purity” to proper sexual education, as compared to the erotic experimentation artists and producers had with shoujo manga and anime. For instance, the heroine Merumo of Fushigi na Merumo received the power to magically transform into her older self, flaunting an erotic body on the verge of adulthood. The magic transformation did not impact her clothing, forcing her to undress or otherwise remain in a tight and exposing attire. These experiments with sexuality, accompanied by the split of amateur manga artists from the Japanese science fiction conventions, and with a female majority attending Comic Market, were all significant catalysts to the creation of erotic doujinshi over the course of the late 70s.

            Beginning with amateur works parodying shoujo manga, the first doujinshi paired select characters from the cast in unlikely relationships, of either romantic or sexual nature. These imagined encounters, far removed from the original plot, were early erotic fantasies put into writing. At the time, it was only ‘gekiga’, a type of comic aimed at adults, that freely explored mature themes of sex and violence between men and women. Therefore, the youthful drawing style associated with shoujo manga remained an unexplored territory ripe for female eroticization. Hideo Azuma is said to be the one that first put young girl characters in erotic situations in 1979 doujinshi Cybele, making him the forefather of bishoujo. The further production of magical girl anime with romantic and erotic cues in the 1980s, even if milder than their counterparts in the 1970s, also helped propagate the association of young girl characters with sexuality and lead ‘otaku’ in a new direction. Most notably Mahou no Princess Minky Momo (1983) and Mahou no Tenshi Creamy Mami (1984), who both magically transformed their title heroines into eroticized older selves, drew the attention of male fans in peculiar ways. By weaving into the plot the tedium of adult life and the futility of magic, that cannot even save adults from themselves, another type of magic power was emphasized – the magical girls’ ability to capture the hearts of the viewers, young girls alongside adult men, through their cheery, childish and cute attitude (as told by their respective producers in The Moe Manifesto).  

            Akio Nakamori’s series of opinion columns titled ‘Otaku’ Research (『おたく』の研究) are commonly said to be the starting point of ‘otaku’ in public discourse. While that may be said from a perspective of popular use, it is incorrect to assume that the word simply referred to fans of anime and manga, or otherwise used in a derogatory manner against “uncool geeks”. Reading further into each of the columns, Galbraith in 2015’s Debating Otaku shows how Nakamori focused an increasingly specific demographic. What began as a calling out against unfashionable attendees, developed into the targeting of bishoujo – despite, or rather because, the columns were published in the bishoujo magazine Manga Burikko. These hiragana ‘otaku’ (おたく), in Nakamori’s eyes, were failed men, with no interest in real women, instead fantasizing adolescent cute girl characters such as those in magical girl anime, or in moderate cases were rabid fans of idol singers. The ‘otaku’ in Nakamori’s column were not meant to be the ‘maniacs’ of the mid-late 70s, but a group of young men who have an obsession with bishoujo (“lolicon”) – separating fantasy from reality and willingly favoring the former over the latter. Magazines such as Manga Burikko that initially had erotic photography of young women, sometimes bordering on pedophilia, ceased printing them due to a lack of interest from the audience, further emphasizing the preference for pure fantasy. However, as described in Yoshihiko Fujii’s essays on otaku, the meaning of hiragana otaku (おたく) that saw common use in the 1980s was simply that of ‘maniacs’. That is, the second iteration of ‘otaku’ was also used to refer to enthusiasts that not only consumed media such as manga and anime but also created content of their own.

Manga Burikko (1984)

            To paint a more complete image of the situation in the opening of the 1980s, another term seldom associated with otaku culture should be thoroughly decoded. The keyword is ‘burikko’ (ぶりっ子), the same one in the name of Manga Burikko. Originally popularized as ‘kawaiko-burikko’ (かわい子ぶりっ子, akin to “cute pretender”), this slang word was used to pejoratively to a certain type of cute gender performance. As Laura Miller described it in her 2004 You Are Doing Burikko!, burikko performance feigns a childlike, naive and even ignorant attitude, in a way that benefits the performing women. The performance is described as one that puts men at ease and is comfortable for them to communicate with, in turn making it easier for women in social environments like work and university as well as in romantic courting. In other words, it can be said that interaction with genuine women was seen as challenging or even threatening men’s social position. I am of the opinion that it can be treated as a highly specialized form of the kawaii behavior that became trendy just several years earlier. Initially reaching widespread recognition by Kuniko Yamada’s 1981 novelty song parodying the behavior, over the course of the 1980s it reached its peak with burikko-type idols such as Seiko Matsuda, but waning in popularity by the 1990s, at which point it was commonly disliked by women and men alike. It retained an extent of its former fame through the 1990s with teenage idols such as Tomoe Shinohara. The inclusion of ‘burikko’ in the title of Manga Burikko thus reflects the influence real life trends still had on otaku culture despite supposedly rejecting adult life.

 

The Social Implications of Consuming Bishoujo in the Post-Bubble Period

Throughout the 1980s more and more bishoujo works geared towards otaku were explored. Starting in 1982 with PSK’s Lolita: Yakyuuken, erotic video games were increasingly made for consumer computer systems like NEC PC-88 and Fujitsu FM-7. By 1984, the first pornographic ‘hentai’ original video animations were produced, beginning with Lolita Anime and Cream Lemon. Hideo Azuma continued his activities in pioneer bishoujo magazine Lemon People, and his own manga Nanako SOS was adapted into an anime series in 1983. Film projects like Project A-ko from 1986 garnered mainstream appeal. Science fiction anime such as Super Dimension Fortress Macross in 1982 and Gunbuster in 1988 incorporated pretty girl characters into the writing. Idol units such as Lemon Angel, formed in 1987, provided music for the Cream Lemon series and burikko-like image songs were produced for OVA adaptations of bishoujo manga like 1986’s Outlanders. The attendance for Comic Market has also risen significantly over 1980s, and with it, a large number of doujinshi and doujin games featuring bishoujo characters. More than ever, it was possible for otaku to surround themselves with bishoujo and immerse themselves in fantasy. Eventually, the increasing presence of bishoujo content and the pressure exerted by the growing otaku community were noticed by the Japanese public as a cause for concern.

 

Outlanders original soundtrack (1986)

"Sex Comics Have Become a Hit in Japan", Yedioth Ahronoth (1987)

            While it is difficult to gauge the true influence of the capture of Tsutomu Miyazaki in 1989, it can be said that the way the Japanese public understood the words ‘otaku’ and ‘lolicon’ as they appeared in newspaper and television put the otaku community in newfound danger. A new iteration katakana ‘otaku’(オタク) focused solely on the consumption of bishoujo, while the term ‘Lolita complex’ was associated with the line of crimes committed by Miyazaki – from rape and murder to cannibalism and necrophilia. He was associated with otaku culture both due to his extensive collection of video tapes, including some erotic anime, as well as his participation in Comic Market. The new katakana otaku were considered by the public to be like Miyazaki, young rabid consumers that cannot distinguish between fantasy and reality – a permanent threat to the cohesion of society that could turn violent at a moment’s notice. This understanding was a far cry from Akio Nakamori’s columns, which indeed portrayed obsessive consumers of bishoujo content, but ones that were a burden on society because they rejected reality and embraced fantasy, rather than mixed up between the two. However, to say that a single person brought moral panic to the Japanese public by his own virtue paints an incomplete image of public opinion.

The second drug epidemic in Japan which peaked in the 1980s saw a rise in violent crime associated with methamphetamine abuse, such as the 1981 Fukugawa Street Murders (深川通り魔殺人事件), in which the murderer claimed in court to have been controlled by radio waves. The Japanese economy was also in a turbulent period of growth and recession, followed by aggressive stimulation and uncontrolled growth. The appreciation of the yen compared to the US dollar forced the Japanese government to focus on increased local consumption and promote loans for the establishment of small businesses. From moderate consumers with significant deposits, the Japanese public suddenly started taking heavy risks with its investments. Thus to introduce the growing otaku community to the Japanese public through mass media would be paramount to adding fuel to the fire. While I cannot say that these were the reasons for the social rejection of otaku the wake of Miyazaki’s crimes, in my opinion, to suggest that media coverage alone dictated moral panic is to ignore the very conditions of the period.

Tsutomu Miyazaki's capture in 1989. The end of otaku? Not quite.

            By 1991, the Japanese economic bubble has exploded, leaving the Japanese public in a state of uncertainty. New university graduates experienced a decrease occupational security, no longer signing contracts for life, to assure them employment in the same company until the day of their retirement like the generation of their parents. Many others had to settle for temporary part-time jobs which offered even less both in a monetary sense and in the looming fear of dismissal. Whereas in the 1980s, a breadwinner husband could provide for his wife and his children on his own, in the 1990s, a young man could barely provide for himself, let alone another person. The nuclear family model of the decade prior could no longer be sustained in the opening of the decade. The working middle class, once the backbone of the Japanese economy, started to be associated with depression and suicide. Fears of a new generation of forever bachelors was rampant, and youngsters who lost hope in making it through life increasingly became dependent on their parents into their 20s and 30s.

            Even in the most desperate of situations, there are those who come to help, and there are those who come to reap the rewards. From the mid-90s onwards, new businesses such as animal cafes started providing an assortment of tension relieving services, marketed as ‘iyashi’ or “healing” (癒し). Of particular note are changes in the nature of sexual services. In the 1980s, places such as host clubs were places for working men to maintain and strengthen the relationships with their work peers, as well as show off the middle class luxury they had. Likewise, in the 1990s, female sex workers served an auxiliary role in the maintenance of the male work-life balance, but in a different way. Instead of group activities, there were more and more personal sessions, in which the women performed a rejuvenating role, using a combination of mature femininity bordering on maternity as well as sexuality in order to support their male clients and make them feel like they are needed in society. These “healing” sessions were provided new employment avenues for young women, as is seen to this day with compensated dating (that might or might not involve sex).

            The commercial success of Neon Genesis Evangelion in 1995 was evidence of the otaku community’s unchanging consumerist tendencies even in the face of nationwide recession. That is, despite their economic situation, the enthusiasm involved in the mass consumption of manga, anime and games all helped propagate a new notion that despite their misgivings, they yet have a revitalizing role in society. At the very least, the period provided surprising opportunities for companies to commercialize the desires of otaku, with bishoujo games at the forefront. Dating sims like 1995’s Tokimeki Memorial and visual novels like 1997’s To Heart paved the way for games featuring a cast of pretty girls with which the player character, and in extent the player himself, can engage in romantic and sexual relationships. Akihabara, a hub for maniac-type computer otaku since the 1980s, also gradually shifted, with electronic appliance stores making way for computer software and hardware, and bookstores for manga and doujinshi. Cheaper computers with the relatively convenient Windows 95 operating system, and the spread of both BBS systems and the Internet, possibly hastened by the national tragedies of the mid-90s, were also important parts of the growing industry of commercialized romantic and erotic fantasies. Thus the introduction of the ‘moe’ (萌え or 燃え) in BBS networks and Internet forums in the mid-90s comes as no surprise.

Example of doujin software:￥100 Musik Disk (1990)

Example of bishoujo game: Sostugyou ~Graduation~ (1992)

            The use of the slang word ‘moe’ is described as an alternative, indirect way to express romantic feelings that would have otherwise been expressed with ‘suki da’ (好きだ) or ‘ai shiteiru’ (愛している). Most commonly, it is used when the recipient of the romantic feelings cannot experience them in reality – for instance, when it is a fictional character, or when it is a fetish for a certain characteristic. On its own, it might seem like a novel concept. I do not know if I can define it in any better way. However, I think that it’s easier to understand it by thinking of it as “commercialized lolicon”. Not the one popularized in the wake of Tsutomu Miyazaki, but the one used in Akio Nakamori’s columns. In other words, it’s the application of mass consumerism to attraction to bishoujo, and the preference of fantasy over reality. In other words, the feeling of “lolicon” experienced by otaku in the 1980s is the same as the feeling of “moe” experienced by otaku in the 1990s. The difference is that while in the 1980s, otaku were considered unwanted audience by original creators and had to manifest their fantasies in reality with their own hands as hobbyist creators, the otaku of the 1990s had both enthusiastic creators from the inside as well as commercial businesses from the outside serving bishoujo content made-to-order, fitting any romantic and erotic fantasy that could be brought to mind. The economic situation of the post-bubble period allowed “lolicon” to undergo this “magic transformation” and turn from a notorious niche to a mainstay of Japanese popular culture. But that alone is not enough. The concept of moe could only bloom in this period because it was needed by otaku – the same way other “healing” services made their way to the Japanese mainstream, moe products and services were made to sooth the accumulated tension of the otaku youth. For a generation of men without avenue for romantic relationships, bishoujo came to serve a momentary realization of fantasy in reality at no risk. The growing dependence on moe to substitute real life interaction by itself could only worsen the social exclusion of otaku. So there was no risk but one – the consumption of and by bishoujo content, trapping otaku in a feedback loop of tension and relief, being in love with fantasy and being ostracized by reality over it. That is what I refer to as “moe healing”.

 

Case Study: Maids, Catgirls and Robots

The three titular tropes of moe, appearing alone or in combination, are living examples of commercialized fantasy fetishism. Starting in the latter half of the 1990s, erotic bishoujo games started including girl characters with these attributes, fulfilling a common goal – compensating for the risks associated with interaction with real women by having a fantasy condition anchor the relationship in place. Maid characters were associated with submissiveness by the virtue of their social standing. In the erotic fantasy of a master-servant relationship, they were required to answer any and all demands of the male protagonist, whether by consent, solicitation or coercion. Moreover, the naivety of the maid, that doesn’t necessarily realize the ways in which the master uses her to fulfill her erotic desires, created a contrast between the maid’s own sexuality and immaturity that by itself was desirable to otaku. Girl characters with animal attributes such as cat ears were similarly put in situations in which they had inferior social standing – for instance, by being in an owner-pet relationship, in which they are reliant on their owners for survival but are also obedient in nature. Robot girls, likewise, couldn’t disobey humans, and were indebted to their human creators for bringing them into existence. These three tropes are of girls that are loyal in nature to the male player character, and won’t ever betray his expectations. They will not leave his side and continue to love him no matter what he does. Such girls truly did not exist in the real world – or at the very least, were much “safer” than real women, who had their own thoughts, interests and motives, and thus always had the risk of breakup and abandonment.

            Maids were immortalized in commercial venues not unlike the animal cafes targeting the general public – cosplay cafes and maid cafes in particular, beginning too in the latter half of the decade. It is difficult in practice to generalize maid cafes, since they offer different types of food and services, but it can be said that they provide the experience of interaction with “real-life maid” waitresses. Some respectfully welcome in their guests and provide them with light entertainment such as party games or singing, with simple meals that only exist as another way to interact with the maids. Others take on a more minimal role, serving meals proper meals and interacting little with the customers, instead opting to provide them a calming environment in which they can look at maids without having them directly approached by the maids. Unlike the host clubs of the 80s, in which women only served an auxiliary role in the maintenance of male work relationships, maid cafes see their male customers return again and again to strengthen their bonds with the maid staff, maintaining a relationship with a maid character manifested in reality through the cosplaying waitress. Some venues even place time limits on the duration of the stay, requiring persistent customers to enter again and pay the entrance fee. Maid cafes thus do not pester their otaku customers to be working members of society, and instead answer their desire to experience a romantic-erotic fantasy.

 

 

 

 

            Like maids, catgirls and robots, there are many other archetypes of moe fetishism that have become mainstays of otaku culture. Items of clothing such as school uniforms, school swimsuits and physical education clothes (“bloomers”) symbolize the youthfulness and immaturity of school age, a period removed from the worries of adult life, in which pure romance can develop. It is no coincidence that many bishoujo games such as Tokimeki Memorial were set around student life, for it was an optimal way of immersing the players in a fantasy world lacking the tension of reality. Childhood friends and little sisters are affectionate to the male protagonist due to their longtime relationship and strong bond from early age, thus having a stable relationship with minimal risk even when romance or sexual engagement is attempted. Adoptive daughters, especially those encountered suddenly, imitate fatherhood and care-giving without the responsibilities of planned family making, which blurs the line between parental or romantic relationships. In general, chance meetings with unlikely girls are important to the marketability of bishoujo media, since they disregard the otaku's "inability" to form relationships with real women. They provide opportunity to conveniently insert unlikely and perhaps supernatural girls into an unassuming, ordinary male protagonist's life. At times, they might directly imitate the unintended performance of magical girls in the 1980s - devoting their lives into "saving" the male protagonist and by extent the audience with their cuteness.  Even when these characters don’t fill an explicit romantic role, such as the maid-robot Mahoro in Mahoromatic, or don't have romantic roles at all, such as with the maid-animals in Di Gi Charat, the moe tropes remain anchors to the world of fantasy. Moe provides a soothing, "healing" feeling on its own without needing plot elements to connect with the audience, as moe tropes are powerful symbols of youth and immaturity. In conclusion, moe creates a sense of freedom and security that was lost in the post-bubble period, postponing even if just by little the pressure exerted by real life responsibilities, such as work, marriage and family.

Case Study: Moe Songs

As early as 1999, otaku have started taking note of “moe songs”, or songs that had a sense of moe. The vast majority of these songs were from erotic bishoujo games, but there were alongside them also many theme songs from anime series and also idol songs. In the latter half of the 1990s, amateur singers such as Haruko Momoi appeared in the streets of Akihabara, where they performed in front of an audience of visiting otaku. One administrator of a moe song website described moe songs as songs written like a bubbly shoujo manga. In those songs, the singer gets into the shoes of a timid and likable girl, exposing her inner feelings with an immature childlike tone. The feeling of moe transmitted by the singing was heartwarming and addictive to the point of “brainwashing”. Academic research on the origin of these songs is lacking, and it is hard to point as a single point of origin, but it is possible to cite influences from the themes of magical girl anime, image songs of bishoujo anime and idol songs over a duration of more than 50 years.

Magical girl anime, being a long running staple of shoujo writing for decades, is likely the oldest contributor to the idea of “moe songs”. Haruko Momoi, for instance, covered theme songs from magical girl anime going as far back as 1969’s Himitsu no Akko-chan in her 2007 Famison 8BIT albums, and Troubadour Record, pioneering doujin music circle of the 1990s, parodied magical girl theme songs in the 1997 album Majokko de Pon, going from Mahoutsukai Sally of 1966 to Mahou Shoujo Pretty Sammy of 1995. Magical girls, such as Minky Momo and Creamy Mami of the early 1980s, were already considered not just saviors of collective humanity, but saviors of male individuals, providing heartwarming affection with their cuteness through the screen of the television. Their songs portrayed a combination of maidenly love and maidenly salvation, not meant only for the ears of their intended girl audience, but to a growing audience of adult men. The ensuing economic turbulence of the late 1980s, and fears over plummeting birth rate in the post-bubble period, all brought change to the magical girl genre. Some, like Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon parodied television genres out of the original scope of the ‘shoujo’ crowd. Others, like Pretty Sammy, were designed as bishoujo anime from the get go. Producers had to take into account the growing adult crowd with gender-crossing themes, additionally relevant to adult women who like their male counterparts immersed in fantasy and rejected adulthood. Magical girl theme songs carried part of the magic that their titular heroines flaunted, cast by the voice of the magical girls themselves, or rather, the singing of the voice actresses.

            Bishoujo games had a much more direct influence on moe songs, since their theme songs were written intentionally to arouse feelings of love in the listener. The songs presented a distinct character archetype, emphasized by the visuals accompanying the singing, or otherwise by the visage of the girl character on the cover of the game’s disc. Not only in singing, the composition itself had to be cheerful and bubbly, setting a dream-like atmosphere that brings moe feelings to fruition. However, they are not innovators in this field. The burikko character of many idols in the 1980s was also put into the writing of their songs, them too presenting a cheery, youthful and sometimes silly attitude. Both put into use ‘kawaii’ infantilized speech, with frequent use of onomatopoeia and simple romantic themes. The similarities extend to voice actors bishoujo anime attaining idol status, carrying over parts of the characters they voiced into face-to-face events. Even stronger parallels exist in the formation of idol units such as I’ve Sound, producing opening and ending themes to many successful bishoujo games and anime series. Taking inspiration from the heart of Japanese pop music, the prevalence of burikko-like singing in bishoujo anime and later in bishoujo game theme songs is a strong sign of the commercialization of otaku fantasy.

Doujin music has also had its fair share of influence. Band Nekoya, performing live since around 1988,  contributed a "first" amateur-independent song of otaku nature to Synergy Music Network's MYSTERY CASE IN HI!SCHOOL!! in 1992. Nekoya vocalist Ikuko Ebata joined hands with Shinji Hosoe to form band Manikyua-dan in 1993, expanding to include a total of five members with one major label album. They had upwards of a dozen live performances and many recorded songs to their name, parodying themes of romance, science fiction and even horror with Ebata’s high-pitched and immature singing. Over the course of the decade, other hobbyist musicians appeared with their own contributions to the new scene of "otaku music". Troubadour Records hosted several contributing artists featuring moe-like songs in their albums, alongside other compositions taking from games and anime. ANAKREON, a joint collaboration of Ikuko Ebata and Aki Hata between 1996-1997, saw the production of several songs of immature and maidenly romance. Following the success of To Heart in 1997 alongside other bishoujo games, small doujin music circles started producing their own arrangements of the games’ score. Some initially only had lyrics with no one to sing them, but before long they had vocalists singing moe songs in the spirit of the games. In the late 90s and early 2000s, doujin circles like Neruneruneruge and Eterna Musik collaborated with amateur vocalists such as Tohko Morinaga, REM and Haruka Shimotsuki in making image songs based on bishoujo games. Doujin units like DeviceHigh produced music in a similar vein with the prior image songs, combining romance and cues from otaku culture (like the unit’s own name). Doujin animation projects like Docchimo Maid in 2004 also incorporated music themes with moe symbolism.

Shinji Hosoe over a poster of Troubadour Record's KAKI-IN 1993・夏, where Manikyua-dan first appeared (1993)

REM performing as part of DeviceHigh (2001)

Tohko Morinaga accompanied by pianist Kasumi Sawatari (2002)

By 2003, moe songs reached immense popularity on different websites and particularly within dedicated threads in the 2channel online forum as "denpa songs", equating their addictive qualities with drug-induced psychosis and science-fiction brainwash. The addictive qualities of moe songs are inherited from the romantic-erotic fantasies they transmit, even when they are not explicit in their wording. Rather, assigning songs of pure romance to clearly pornographic media is in line with the betrayal of expectations at the heart of otaku culture. The more absurd it is, the more unreal it becomes, which in turn feeds into a stronger contrast and feeling of moe. It is at the point that otaku tropes are distilled into their most blatant forms that moe songs are most effective in their "healing".

Leaping a space of one hundred million light years
At last I arrive at such a hard to reach star!
I'm here to invade!
The weapon is my song and a flerovium dress
Pew pew pew pew I'm shooting at your heart
650 nanometer laser beam

 

Case Study: Virtual YouTuber ASMR Videos

While it is not in my ability to fully explore the nature of the interaction between ‘virtual youtubers’, online entertainers predominantly using bishoujo avatars to communicate with their audience, I wish to make note of a peculiar modern application of “moe healing”. ASMR streams and videos are not unlike the aforementioned cat cafes or sexual services in that they provide a soothing auditory sensation with dedicated microphones. The focus here is on female entertainers creating content for a male audience, in line with the previous sections and in fact sharing close similarity with the sexual services of the post-bubble period. In virtual youtuber ASMR, a plethora of methods are used to simulate intimacy and closeness, often in the name of “healing”. Instead of infantilizing themselves with the use of childish onomatopoeia, they infantilize the listeners, essentially placing them in the social position of children taken care of by a motherly figure. However, they are not just motherly figures, they are also romantic companions – they hug, kiss and proclaim their love to the listeners, all the while talking to them in whispers. The backbone of ASMR videos is a combination of sounds that imitate real pleasurable sensations (including erotic ones) – mostly having to do with the cleaning and stimulation of the head and especially the ears. For example, the use of cotton swabs in fake silicone ears housing microphones, or otherwise cleaning them with gels, shampoos, wet towels and other tools. Most importantly, these sessions are “personal”, despite sometimes being delivered live to thousands of people at once, who communicate with one another praising the entertainer’s skills and donating meager sums through YouTube’s ‘superchat’ feature. Their intention is to simulate a one-on-one encounter with the fictional character portrayed by the entertainer. In other words, it is an avenue for realizing fantasy in reality, and a performance in which the female entertainers take on motherly, romantic and sometimes erotic roles.

The daughter will take care of her favorite daddy

 

 

Conclusion

Otaku is a learning experience. It’s also a personal experience. I think this can be said regarding many of us who’ve spent a considerable time in a niche of our own. There are those who play rhythm games, those who read visual novels, those who follow virtual youtubers, and also a significant crowd of humble anime watchers and manga readers. There’s never a shortage of things to hear about for the first time, and the second time, and the third. Otaku hoard information, and sometimes share it. They never have the full image, but they work bit by bit to add to it, hearing about new things from their friends or coming by them completely by chance. This isn’t the full image, not nearly. I’m a foreigner who has never stepped in Japan. Even if I moved to Japan, I’d miss the intricacies of those who lived there from birth. And even then, I cannot turn back the wheel of time. But both otaku and moe are still around, and in my opinion, still have much to be uncovered. It seriously is a large part of our lives and our identities. So I cannot disregard it as a waste of time.

            Existing information so far as I can tell suggests that a mechanism of tension relief can be attributed to the trend called ‘moe’. It can also be linked to a previous iteration of attraction to fictional girls referred to as “Lolita complex”. All of this wouldn’t have happened without people wanting to disassociate with the reality of adult life, going as far back as the 1960s in manga and science fiction fan groups. It wouldn’t have happened if young women in the 1970s didn’t reject the responsibilities of adult life by immersing themselves in commercialized childish cuteness. It also wouldn’t have happened if anime enthusiasts in the 1980s didn’t deliberately adapt young girl characters intended for a young girl audience as the ultimate expression of their disdain from reality. Last but not least, without the economic conditions of the highs of the growth of the bubble period and the lows of the recession of the post-bubble period to propagate bishoujo content in the 1990s, moe would have not been in the same place it is today. I think this is crucial, fundamental to the understanding of otaku culture and the trends that continue to appear to this day. But this isn’t the truth or reality – it’s a painting of a fictional history I have in my mind, built with the information I have on hand. It’s impossible to go back and verify what truly happened. But with my own hands, as long as the pioneers of the different generations of otaku are still there, and as long as I can continue to meet new people who will expose me to new angles I haven’t considered, I wish to complete the painting of otaku culture.

CHEMOOL's Firecracker series of PC-88 music diskettes is STILL going?!

 

Sources

I gave up on including any form of in-text citation pretty early, though I intentionally didn’t cite in an academic fashion - this isn’t academia, it’s a blog post. However, the following is a general list of academic and non-academic sources I used in writing this in line with the original essay.

 

Comic Market Committee. Comic Market Chronological Table. Retrieved from https://www.comiket.co.jp/archives/Chronology.html

Fujii, Y. (2009). Ganso “Otaku” no Jidai. Retrieved from http://www.t3.rim.or.jp/~boogie/essay091.htm

Galbraith, P.W. (2013). “Maid Cafés: The Affect of Fictional Characters in Akihabara, Japan”. Asian Anthropology, 12(2), 104-125.

Galbraith, P.W. (2014). The Moe Manifesto: An Insider’s Look at the Worlds of Manga, Anime and Gaming. Singapore: Tuttle Publishing.

Galbraith, P.W., Kam, T.H., & Kamm, B. (2015). Debating otaku in contemporary Japan: historical perspectives and new horizons. London: Bloomsbury Academic.

Ideguchi, A. (2006). “’Desiring’ Communities: An Analysis of the Moe Songu Genre”. Journal of Comparative Studies in Japanese Culture, 10, 113-133.

Kinsella, S. (1995). “Cuties in Japan”. Women, media and consumption in Japan, 220-254. Honolulu, Hawaii: University of Hawaii Press.

Koch, G. (2016). “Producing iyashi: Healing and labor in Tokyo’s sex industry”. American Ethnologist, 43(4), 704-716.

Kubota, M. (2004). Doujin-Yougojiten, 275-279. Tokyo: Shuwa System

Kyun-nou. (2004). Dempa Song ni Tsuite. Retrieved from https://web.archive.org/web/20040419045128/http://kt40.web.poporo.net/aboutdempa.html

Project Angel Wing. Project Angel Wing Home Page. Retrieved from http://hp.vector.co.jp/authors/VA015183/

Rubinstein, E.B., & Sakakibara, R.V. (2020). “Diagnosing hikikomori: Social withdrawal in contemporary Japan”. Medicine Anthropology Theory, 7(2), 58-81.

Saito, K. (2014). “Magic, Shojo, and Metamorphosis: Magical Girl Anime and the Challenges of Changing Gender Identities in Japanese Society”. The Journal of Asian Studies, 73(1), 143-164.

Sharp, L. (2011). “Maid Meets Mammal: The ‘Animalized’ Body of the Cosplay Maid Character in Japan”. Intertexts, 15(1), 60-78.

Sharp, L. (2014). “The heterogeneity of maid cafés: Exploring object-oriented fandom in Japan”. Transformative Works and Cultures, 16.

Smith, N., & Snider, A. (2019). “ASMR, affect and digitally-mediated intimacy”. Emotion, Space and Society, 30, 41-48.