YURI, MOE AND THE (FE)MALE GAZE IN ANIME: What Japanese Lesbian Media Can Teach Us On Gender From Its Performativity To Its Demographics
In the anime community, critical discourse related to the male gaze tend to gravitate around two terms. Fan service: a gratuitous gender performativity — of course, most people will be familiar to female hypersexualization, but you can also see male hypersexualization going around, for instance in yaoi — that seeks to arouse a reader, presumably male, in the context of a narrative that could perhaps be just as interesting without the eroticism. As an example, there’s Yosuga no Sora with the amount of sexualization found within the anime as compared to its manga adaptation as narrative counterpart, since the anime is part of a media mix that sought to promote the visual novel, and including the maximum amount of sexual relationships was seen as the most economically rational choice with a consciousness of the audience to attract.
Another concept has surged, that of moe. If you have a certain degree of literacy in otaku theory, you may have heard of Patrick W. Galbraith, an important author and scholar in understanding the reception of Japanese popculture. He even wrote The Moé Manifesto: An Insider’s Look at the Worlds of Manga, Anime, and Gaming (2014). In an interview with Henry Jenkins, he says
“The meaning is closer to a homonymous verb, moeru, which means “to burn.” […] In this way, moe became slang for what gets the motor running, tugs at the heartstrings or enflames the passions. At a very basic level, there are three important things to keep in mind. First, moe is a verb, something that occurs, not something that is. Second, what occurs is a response, which is located in a human being. Third, the response is to fictional characters or representations of them. This last part is crucial, because it indicates what makes the word moe distinct and hints at why it’s worth talking about at all. The term moe comes out of growing awareness in Japan of human affection for and attachment to fictional characters.”
In essence, while moe can coincide with fan service at the exact same time in a design or composition, the two have to be distinguished as sexual attraction doesn’t typically align with emotional attachment.
It’s important to stress Galbraith’s moe roots itself in the animanga tradition, as he goes on.
“To give a specific example, Usagi, the main character of Sailor Moon, is a bishoujo character, originally drawn by a female artist for a manga targeting young girls, who became popular with a diverse audience, including adult men, when adapted into anime. Now, compare Sailor Moon to Wonder Woman. The “cute” or manga/anime aesthetic is clear. What is the significance of this distinction? Historically, it seems to be a break with “realism.” After Tezuka’s initial manga revolution in the late 1940s and early 1950s, a style emerged in contradistinction to his work. Called gekiga, these works were something like graphic novels, and focused on a “realistic” style of drawing to capture realistic people and settings and comment on real social issues. Gekiga typically featured more “mature” characters and stories and was intended for a more “mature” audience. These works became extremely popular as part of the counterculture movement in the 1960s, when students and protesters rallied around stories of outcasts and working-class folk rising up against the system. However, after losing steam with the failure of the student movement and the incorporation of artists into the mainstream industry, the gekiga movement died down. After a period of relative obscurity, Tezuka roared back onto the scene, telling mature stories for mature readers, but using his manga/anime style of cute characters. Further, shoujo manga was undergoing a major renaissance in terms of quality content, which attracted even adult male readers. This is the creative ferment from which the bishoujo emerged in the mid-to-late 1970s and into the 1980s.”
Now we have started to introduce ourselves with the concept of moe, and there has been feminist criticism regarding moe. I know the bulk of the article so far has been quotes but we’re discussing communication and media theories, so please bear with me as I’d like to engage in an inclusive and plurilateral intellectual endeavor. Amelia Cook, writer for The Mary Sue, and founder of The Anime Feminist, wrote:
“As a woman keen to see increased representation of female characters on screen, I find moé alienating. Moments of cutesy clumsiness or misunderstandings only believable from a five-year-old are so far away from anything I experienced as a teenage girl with female friends my age that it is impossible for me to relate to those characters. Such moments have the same effect on me as sexual fanservice: I get yanked out of my immersion in the story, roll my eyes and either switch off entirely or wait for the anime to win me back over again. If we can acknowledge the genuinely positive aspects of moé while also criticizing the ways in which it contributes to a long-standing problem of female representation, perhaps we can build a more inclusive anime culture together.”
The Anime Feminist had an article I quoted for my own Bocchi the Rock review back then, by Marina Garrow and on neurodiversity and its inclusion in moe anime, which I feel may be one of the good points of moe.
“Analyzing so-called “moe anime” simultaneously through the lens of feminism and neurodiversity reveals new layers to the conversation, reemphasizing the need to further expand the popular understanding of intersectionality. While these “moeblob” characters may seem to be the opposite of “strong female characters”, reading them through a neurodiverse perspective provides new ways to appreciate them and the shows that spotlight their motivations and interests. This reading is, again, a sharp juggling act: some criticisms against moe raise important points and should not be waved away entirely. However, on the other side of the knife is the potential for valuable, intersectional character analysis that goes beyond the points that a lot of mainstream feminist critiques hit, and reveals something empowering from a different perspective.”
Though I identify as demigirl (both trans girl and non-binary simultaneously), and this entire article is a way for me to share my thoughts on otaku theory and its reception to the world, I’d like to step back from the conversation and reconsider the plurality I mentioned earlier and elsewhere. The point of view adopted by Patrick W. Galbraith may be that of an heterosexual man, whereas it is likely Marina Garrow and Amelia Cook base their theories of moe reception on their individual subjectivities as women. I don’t want to essentialize theory and reception with any given author’s gender identity or expression, but formulating that as hypothesis may allow to go farther when discussing media reception as well as gender performativity and gender demographics. At least in assuming the way I handled quotations was inclusive to a degree? Having women tell about their perceptions of moe anime is a way to deconstruct the male gaze and to have new tools to build a concept that would be opposite, the female gaze, and that might help make the medium more inclusive.
Now, my Bocchi the Rock review went deeper in its research as I read the manga and another manga by the author, seeking to understand aesthetic influences.
“But the title isn’t Hamaji Aki’s first time working with the magazine, since her Kirari Books Meisouchuu was serialized from 2015 to 2017. The manga is a love letter dedicated to the magazine, as its name suggests, and features a certain amount of referencing — thus denoting a keen eye for the genre where legendary titles like K-ON! (keep it in mind!) were born.”
What’s more interesting is that Bocchi the Rock! and K-ON! were both late-nate anime, and I analyzed the time slot elsewhere, discussing the notion of meta-otaku:
“New Game! (2016) was meta-otaku because it was an anime about game developing, particularly 3D art and animation. Credited to Doga Kobo, the anime aired on Mondays at 22:30 (JST), a time slot more favorable for daily fulltime workers, and according to my interpretation of Simon Auger, the way the manga was published in Manga Time Kirara, targetting a seinen demography, and the way adult women are depicted as cute girls with moe characteristics may be to sell merchandises to adult men.”
Amelia Cook also discussed New Game! as a moe anime in a similiar light. She adds to her analysis the economic necessity of disposable income.
“Then there is the fact that moé characters are designed to appeal to adult men with the income to afford DVDs and models, but the vast majority of moé anime have teenage protagonists. Even in the handful of anime set in university or the workplace, main female characters are often infantilized to bring them closer to the moé ideal. Moé is all about building empathy for characters, but only those least like the real women the target audience is likely to interact with every day.”
Afterwards, she recognizes the murked nature of gender demographics and IP marketing, and it’s true yuri anime can be thought of as originating from genderqueer relationships that deconstruct cisheteronormativism, as we’ll see later.
“I should acknowledge that a moé anime’s target audience could be children as well as adult men, and of course moé anime have fans from all demographics regardless of how it was marketed. One of the truly positive things about moé is that it is historically rooted outside societal norms of gender and sexuality, and has resonated with many individuals who identify outside these norms. Moé began with adult men consuming cartoons and comics designed by toy companies and marketed to young girls, then forming fan communities and saying publicly “This is meaningful to me too.””
And then she goes on to denounce the infantilization of women through moe anime, which to a degree is what I seek as a viewer, having not had the experience of girlhood, being raised to conform to masculinity.
“However, adapting certain anime to better suit these adults while still appealing to its original audience means giving children messages about what women are and should be which are rooted in deliberate unreality. This leads to some uncomfortable promotional imagery and merchandise decisions for such children’s television.”
This uncomfortable exposure to sexuality can also be found at dedicated events where some stands can be selling rather mature content, leading to occasional sparks on social media, proving that the culture has some alienation going on and might need more inclusivity.
Let’s stop talking about moe now, and start diving more into yuri from a critical standpoint. Emily Suvannasankha wrote an interesting article on the history of yuri, using Class S literature and the Takarazuka Revue.
“First up in yuri history is the Takarazuka Revue, an all-women theater troupe in Japan that started in Hyōgo in 1913. In Takarazuka, women play all the roles — including the male ones, called otokoyaku (男役). Originally, it was founded by a man who wanted the members to “model” the ideal way to be a man and woman, so the otokoyaku would know what being a man is like and become better wives. Oof! Over time, though, Takarazuka became more empowering, showing how women can defy gender roles and cross societal barriers with their gender presentation.”
And as it turns out, they also adapted The Rose of Versailles in 1974, featuring a French noble, assigned female at birth and having been raised as a boy, once more breaking gender normativism. Gender performativity is very interesting to study with their plays and the narratives.
“Especially before World War II, girls in Japan were often sent to all-girls schools. Can you guess how this world of no men influenced the yuri genre? That’s right, the origins of yuri are largely steeped in “romantic friendships?” between schoolgirls, mirroring the real-life closeness of girls in these all-female environments. The novel that started this was called Hanamonogatari (花物語) by popular writer Yoshiya Nobuko. Hanamonogatari is set in a girls’ dormitory and actually depicts both romantic and sexual bonding between the female students.”
Class S literature started a little before the Takarazuka Revue was founded, and you can clearly see how it profoundly serves a mythological place in yuri culture. An anime airing this year, Yuri is My Job!, directly inspires itself from Class S literature, and the subsequent yuri influence in shows like Maria-sama ga Miteru, visually and in terms of subplot for its parody factor.
There is an overlap between yuri and moe, as moe — referring to the symbol through its subjective and intense perception — characteristics can be design elements or narrative elements that help to shape and define (objectify and reify?!) the feminity of a character (both gender expression and identity!). This deconstruction of feminity as design elements, in the context of otaku theory, also coincides with Hiroki Azuma’s database framework. Surely some women are bound to be attracted by feminine traditional attractiveness. And with the influence from Class S literature, I wonder how much can yuri be a reflection of the female gaze, as the male part of the moe anime demographics plays an economical role in determining how anime production turns out in practice. Queerbait elements are also a reality: that yuri is seen as less genuine or worthy of symbolical conclusion in its depiction than heterosexual relationships, is something me and others have taken notice of. And perhaps that the female gaze in yuri can only be achieved if not just screenwriters and animators and directors work towards the female gaze as an aesthetic, but if determining actors in the funding of such works play a conscious, decisive role. By that I mean either crowdfunding individuals or producers deciding of budgets, providing assets…
