Category Archives: philosophy

The Otaku Diaries Look at the FUTURE OF ANIME!!!

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In what is going to be (at least for now) the last major article of the Otaku Diaries, the Reverse Thieves reveal how at least some fans view the future of Japanese Animation.

When it comes to understanding the path anime will take, I think it’s important to look back at its past, though without being confined by it. But then I’ve already addressed that to a large extent through my 2000-2009 series, where I first looked at the past decade and then gave some ideas of where I think anime will go and where I want it to go.

Instead, what really fascinated me about this Otaku Diaries post was the fundamental idea of how your current mindset about anime goes a long way in determining how you regard its future well-being. Do you think anime is “dying?” If so, are you still optimistic about its future? The sample size, as they’re quick to admit, is not a particularly huge one, but it still provides an interesting variety, and it doesn’t make the fact that every single person said that they’d still be watching anime in 10 years, or at least hoped they’d be able to.

Another area of interest that comes out of all of this is the idea that a lot of relatively newer fans don’t mature their anime fandom but simply grow out of it. I have no idea how prevalent this actually is, but the idea is that once they leave high school or college, they leave behind all the shows they watched and move onto other media. I’ve seen it happen on occasion; the person who once loved anime has moved onto live action shows a la House and Heroes, as they offer something “more” than what anime has, or at least what they perceive anime as having.

Anime and especially manga have a fantastic range of stories to tell and decades of history. They can be mature, they can be childish, they can be sexually offensive, they can be enlightening, and sometimes they can be all of those things at once. If you’re a regular reader of Ogiue Maniax, then I hope that I’ve been able to convey that idea to you. But apparently this idea doesn’t reach everyone. Sure, it’s obvious why it doesn’t reach the people who see anime as nothing but tits and/or toons and who don’t understand why we take our hobby seriously, but it does seem somewhat odd that the people who get into anime are able to shed it just as easily.

Or maybe it isn’t odd at all. Maybe, as anime has become more well-known to people and as kids have grown up on the stuff, it just becomes yet another thing they feel they have to shed as they grow older and more “mature,” the process we all go through when we’re trying to reach that realm we call adulthood. In that respect, it is us nerds who are the real anomalies, those of us who can loyally stick to our beloved medium and have enough passion to defend it or decry its flaws.

To Understand Nazuna

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There are characters out there who are accused of being overly bland. They’re decried as dragging the quality of a series down below where it should be, and not contributing as much to their respective series as other characters. More recently, this accusation has been leveled at the new girl Nazuna in Hidamari Sketch Hoshimittsu.

While I believe it is possible for characters’ blandness to hurt a series (see a large number of harem shows), and I also understand the desire for characters that aren’t wishy-washy, I feel that in many cases, particularly with Nazuna, these criticisms do not do these characters justice.

By comparison with the other girls in Hidamari Sketch, Nazuna can definitely seem more “bland,” especially because of her passive personality, but I think that passive personality goes a very long way in making her a good character. While the entire rest of the girls in Hidamari Apartments are artists and creative types of all varieties, ranging from a computer graphics specialist to a published writer of short stories, Nazuna is not. Already meek and soft-spoken, this deals a subtle blow to her already wobbly confidence levels. Because she worries about not being “good enough” or “smart enough,” Nazuna is sometimes afraid to speak her mind. The other girls don’t really think any less of her, but in her mind there is a wide chasm separating her from the others. She worries that she might not truly “belong” with the others.

Personally, I think this quality of Nazuna’s makes her a fine character, though I can see why others dislike her. I’m somewhat hesitant to bring out the “moe” argument in all this, but I think it really applies here. Nazuna is a very strong example of a character with a lot of “moe” to her, in that those who like her enjoy the fact that she has such a complex, while those who think she makes the show worse probably think that such “blandness” is the last trait any character should have, especially in a comedy like Hidamari Sketch.

Now you might think that Nazuna is getting a free pass because she’s a girl and that she’s cute, but the idea of having trouble finding some place to belong is a common trait among people both male and female, and this extends to characters as well. To find one, we need go no further than my favorite series, Genshiken, and its main character, Sasahara Kanji.

Sasahara is a somewhat closeted anime fan who in the beginning hasn’t developed his taste in anime anywhere in particular. To some extent he is a reader surrogate, being a newbie to the wild world of PVC figures and doujinshi, but over time his experiences with Genshiken enable  him to mature as both a person and as an otaku. Overall, he is a well-written character.

Moe is not really a factor in real life and when dealing with real people, but it is an abstraction of reality. And so it’s a very real worry to have, to think that you’re just not good enough to hang with your friends and that they might just be humoring you. I once talked to a friend from high school who told me that while hanging out with our group of friends, they were always concerned about not being interesting or quirky enough. I don’t think any of us thought of that friend in that manner, but there it is.

Our Unique Approaches to Anime

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It sometimes amazes me just how many ways there are to approach a given creative medium or product. When we look at a piece of art or fiction (or non-fiction!), we bring with us all that we prioritize and seek in works. Even when the focus is on just anime and nothing else, the result is a plethora, possibly even a panoply of differing viewpoints, each with their own inherent sense of validity.

At Otakon 2009, Yamamoto Yutaka, director of Kannagi, mentioned his praise for Studio Ghibli’s Takahata Isao, and how Takahata’s classic TV series Anne of Green Gables is essentially the gold standard of how a long TV series should be. Yamamoto is also known for being an anime critic, though his opinion can be difficult to comprehend. But then you realize that he looks at anime from that director’s perspective, and that his priorities are less on the content or themes or story  of the work and more about how scenes move into one another, how well it all conveys the idea.

Narrowing the focus a bit brings forth the notion of watching anime for the animation, and Anipages is probably the best example I can think of for someone whose focus is mainly on the “moving image” aspect of anime. It affords him a perspective very different from that of most fans and enthusiasts, and nowhere is this more evident than in the fact that he will watch isolated episodes of Naruto because there is particularly good and creative animation in them. One look at his site and it’s clear that he is in no way a “Naruto Fan,” but that divide between people who love the series and those who consider it the worst showcase of anime is a battle in which he is simply not participating. Just like Kaiba, just like Macross: Do You Remember Love?, Naruto can be another vessel for delivering great animation.

That’s not to say of course that things such as characters aren’t or shouldn’t be important. While I don’t have any specific numbers to give, I think the vast majority of the current anime fandom focuses heavily on characters. We like to relate to characters, we talk about shows and characters as if we were violating Wikipedia’s rules of not having profiles that are primarily in-universe synopses. Even with characters there are divides, such as between those who want to see a story unfold from the characters, and those who want to see a story focus on the characters above all else. Wanting to see characters to whom you can relate is wonderfully human, I think.

However, relating to humans can go well beyond the characters themselves, especially when you factor in the people behind those characters. Here, you have fans who will watch shows based on following their favorite voice actors, something I have actually done on occasion myself. At first, it can seem like the most shallow reasoning for a person to watch even shows they personally admit as being terrible simply because their favorite voice actors are in them, but that is mainly if your priorities are on anime as a storytelling device. When you take the idea that anime is also a showcase for the actors in the roles, it starts to become a more exciting prospect. When following voice actors, it becomes about seeing how those actors take on their roles, how they own their characters, how they approach the challenge of not having a great script.

You can also watch anime for the mechanical or character designs. They’re two very different, yet similar categories, which is why I’m grouping them together. Again, like following shows based on seiyuu, the idea of watching something based on how the robots or the girls look can seem incredibly shallow, but that is another area you can follow in order to see how well certain elements are executed. There are plenty of people out there who won’t watch a show because it “looks old,” and while I lament this case, I understand that many people want to experience something that feels like the environment and era in which they’re currently living, the desire for the new over the old. And generally, I’ve found that this is more an issue with getting into a show. I’ve known friends who couldn’t watch a show because they disagreed with the mecha designs, and it has everything to do with that initial barrier. Still, anime is what’s given us all these great mechanical designs, so it’s kind of no wonder that there are people who will focus on such things.

And then for others still, characters and animation and actors and such hardly factor in at all, and the real meat of what they’re looking for is in the overarching themes of a given anime. Characters aren’t human so much as they are vehicles through which to express different concepts. Director Oshii Mamoru of Ghost in the Shell fame has increasingly focused on this idea over the years, and as such his works appeal to those who seek not a world which you can step into in order to experience it firsthand, but ideas you extract from a world and bring into your own reality.

It’s obvious to me, looking at all of these examples, how some heated arguments can start. People approach works from so many different angles that people can be arguing from entirely separate universes, and frustration sets in when the other does not “understand.” On a much broader level though, interest in anime can simply be derived from wanting to laugh, wanting to cry, wanting to smile, wanting to be aroused, and all of the previously mentioned focuses, from technical direction to themes, are in a sense all there to deliver to us the emotions we want.

As for me, I’m actually not entirely sure what my approach is. Perhaps this whole blog has been me trying to find it.

The Divide of Time, Space, and Imagination: A Look At the Concept of Nostalgic Merchandise

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A few days ago, when I wrote about the direction giant robot designs have taken over the years, I received a comment pointing out to me the “Master Grade RX-78-2 Gundam 2.0,” which was a new model kit version of the iconic original Gundam, only designed to more closely resemble the mobile suit as it appeared in anime. When compared to previous RX-78-2 model kits, this means less details, different proportions, and a more “cartoonish” look overall.

Interested in how hobbyists took to this version of the classic Gundam, I looked at reviews of the kit. Any time its aesthetics were criticized, it was largely because the model was not as detailed as they liked. Being “anime accurate” was not a positive trait, and they would point out other kits, notably the “One Year War” version with a higher level of grittiness and detail, as a preferred alternative. In response to all this, I made my own comment, which was to point out that these fans appeared to be saying, “I don’t want the RX-78-2 to resemble the robot in the show, I want it to resemble the robot in my imagination!”

Then today, I saw the Toy Fair 2010 GI Joe toys. These action figures were designed based on the 80s version of GI Joe, the 3 inch figures instead of the giant doll-like ones. The only thing is, they are much more detailed and gritty than the 80s toys they were based on! It was also made clear that these toys are there partially for GI Joe collectors, adult men who look back fondly on their childhood toys, and I think it is all the more apparent that, like the One Year War RX-78-2, these GI Joes are trying to fill the gap between the actual toy and the collectors’ memories of what the toys were like as children, memories fueled by the power of childhood imagination. And there, in the attempts to make up for the loss of childhood creativity and thinking with skilled craftsmanship, lies the foundation of the nostalgic toy.

That is not to say of course that adults are incapable of having strong imaginations. Fiction as a whole would be incredibly boring if that were the case. Nor am I lumping everyone in as wanting more “realism” in their toys, as the original commenter I referred to above was all in favor of more toys like the MG RX-78-2 2.0. Instead, the issue is simply that the mind of an adult is simply different from the mind of a child. I am reminded of this fact whenever I look at drawings from my childhood and compare them to what I have done as an adult or even as a teenager.

When I previously touched on the subject of childhood imagination as it applies to animation, I talked about how children tend to ignore significant errors in animation and make up for these deficiencies through their imagination. But now when looking at a similar topic, that of toys and model kits, I realize that it’s not just a matter of childhood imagination “filling in the gaps,” but that childhood imagination, unlike adult imagination, cares little about “structure.”

If you look at the Soul of Chogokin series of toys, you will find everything I’ve been talking about, with its more solid and realistic redesigns of classic mecha targeted towards adult buyers, but if you want to really see what I mean by adults caring about structure, take a look not at the Soul of Chogokin line, but the original-style Chogokin toys, or rather, reviews of them by collectors. You will find that the way the reviewers talk about the features of the toy, about what is good and what is bad, is almost inevitably a very “adult-minded” way of looking at the toy, giving words to topics such as “points of articulation” and what-not. Even when referring to the nostalgia factor this happens, whether the topic is Chogokin, Jumbo Machinders, or Generation 1 Transformers.

It’s common knowledge among collectors, but the first generation of Mobile Suit Gundam toys, resembling the “neat gadgets”-style Chogokin toys that preceded it, were a marketing failure, as the toys did not really match up with what was on the screen. It really wasn’t until the concept of the giant robot “model kit” revolutionized giant robot figures that Gundam merchandise became the monster that it still is today, and people claim that this has to do with the fact that the audience for Gundam was skewing older than giant robot shows had in the past. I may be jumping the gun here, but what it looks like to me is that the older audience of younger and older teens were looking for more structure and accuracy in their toys, and that is what they got. As soon as Gundam hit that older demographic, I believe the Chogokin-style toys were dealt a serious blow, even putting aside the shoddy designs and inaccuracies of the original toyline. I think that the attitudes towards the 2.0 MG RX-78-2 are actually an extension of this over time and international waters.

Actually, more than even Chogokin reviews, if you really, really want to see the difference between child and adult mindsets and creativity, take a look at the webcomic Axe Cop. Promoted as being written by a 5 year old and drawn by his 29 year old brother, the artist admits to the story not being truly written by his significantly younger sibling, but that he asks the young child questions about the setting and events that occur, and then builds a story around it. The adult adds structure to the boundless imagination of the child, structure that is necessary to keep it all together, even if it doesn’t make sense entirely.

The child’s imagination says, “This is what happens.”

The adult’s imagination asks, “Why?”

But when it comes to reality, the child and adult’s responses reverse.

Giant Robots, Growth, and Evolution (or Lack Thereof)

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Anyone who knows me knows that I’m a fan of big ol’ robots (a technical term). I love the genre and nearly all that it entails. That said, I am not without criticisms towards my beloved mecha. When I look back at how giant robot designs in anime and manga have progressed since their inception, I get the feeling that robot designs have grown too much without evolving enough.

There was a time when giant robots in anime were mainly known for having cylinders for limbs and looking more like superheroes than weapons of war. As the years went by, however, the robot designs became more and more detailed, to the point that today when you think “giant robots” or “mecha,” complexity in design is something that comes to mind.

It was really an inevitability. Even as far back as the mid 70’s, we could see that Daitarn 3 looked a little more detailed and structured than Combattler V, and Combattler featured more complex design features than Mazinger Z. And it’s not a bad thing either; in many ways it shows how far along mecha design has come since Tetsujin 28. At the same time though I can’t help but lament that the giant robot fandom seems unable to reverse gears and bring itself back to those simpler times.

“But giant robot fans love Mazinger!” you might say. Yes, they might, and they might even refer to its design as “classic” or even “enormously influential,” but as the mecha fanbase has grown older and more concentrated, their heyday of being the go-to shows for marketing to kids having passed, the idea of presenting an old-fashioned robot design as a modern one is something that I think simply would not fly. All recent attempts to create super robot series, remakes aside, still do not match the level of simplicity in robot design that once existed.

So what I mean by mecha designs growing without evolving is that the giant robots of today aren’t that different from those of yesterday in basic design, and that the major developments in mecha design that have persisted over the years have mainly had to do with how to make robots look sleeker and more detailed, whether it’s with the more angular robots of the 80s or the muscle-like excess of the 90s. Compare this with character design development, which people can criticize as being worse today than it was previously, but it still feels like character design trends moved a certain direction.

I can’t entirely fault giant robots for the direction they took over time. Like I said earlier, it was practically inevitable, as one show tries to top another, which then inspires another. It’s just that I think a lot more people might get into designing robots if “robot design” wasn’t the massive undertaking it’s perceived to be because of expectation as to what a giant robot is “supposed” to be.

If Your Mother Knew You Didn’t Like Giant Robots, It Would KILL Her!

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Over a year ago I explored the difficulties in recommending anime and manga to people, whether they were entirely new to the world of Japanese animation and comics or they were already in the fandom but looking for more. Since that time I’ve gotten a little better at the whole recommendation thing, but it’s still far from one of my strengths. Still, the dynamics of introducing new shows and series to people is a fascinating topic to explore, and seeing others’ recommendations posts as of late has revealed to me more and more of the tricky dynamics of suggesting shows.

Tim Maughan recently had a bunch of guest writers for his blog to provide content during his trip to Thailand, and among the articles was one by the Otaku Diaries creators the Reverse Thieves where they created a guide to introducing giant robot shows to people who are into anime but aren’t sure if they like mecha, or who avoid it entirely without knowing the variety of stories giant robot shows have to tell.

As if inevitable however, they received complaints that their list was not good because it did not contain enough of the classics, the things that brought people into giant robots over the decades. At that point, the problem became about the identity of the mecha fan. Shouldn’t someone who gets into giant robot anime like giant robots? But if they already like giant robots, then half the work is already done! The guide was clearly made for the people who don’t necessarily have that inherent potential to enjoy robot shows, the people whose interest in the genre has to be slowly cultivated over time. The classics are classics for good reasons, but they’re not beginner’s shows necessarily.

Over at comics blog Mightygodking, a more fundamental question was asked: “How do I start reading comics?” In his response, Mightygodking explains that, more often than not, comics fans go about it incorrectly, and make the same mistakes that many of those who questioned the Reverse Thieves’ guide did. He even lays out some criteria for recommending comics for newcomers, and though I don’t agree that a beginner comic has to be “fucking great,” I think he makes a very good point when he says:

…they’ll recommend something safe, like “you should read Sandman.” Or Watchmen, or Transmetropolitan, or [insert critically acclaimed comic by the Usual Suspects here]. Now, sure. These are great comics. But I’m not going to say “this is how you should get started with comics.” Watchmen should be nobody’s first comics read. Sandman has an impenetrable first volume. And Transmet is a commitment – not that Spider Jerusalem isn’t worth the ride, but I’m not going to introduce somebody to comics with it.

Even more than giant robot anime, COMICS!! can be such a gargantuan and daunting subject that even gaining the will to approach it can be an arduous task, and as such the problems with recommending the GREATEST gets magnified. And of course, this is in no way helped when the fans who are already there berate the potential new fans for not enjoying what they are “supposed” to enjoy.

I fully understand where people are coming from when they say the best place to start is with the classics. I have in the past recommended the ORIGINAL Mobile Suit Gundam when someone wanted to know where to start with the massive franchise. I have also lamented the fact that many newer fans in anime are unable to appreciate older shows because they cannot get past the older styles. But I also know that it is nearly impossible to attract people into a fandom or gain new enthusiasts by appearing obtuse and impenetrable. It’s one thing to have very firm ideas of what makes shows good or not, and to defend those ideas, but retreating into the folds of the existing insular fandom isn’t going to do anything but make it even more exclusive. It all comes down to how much you’re willing to not simply throw out suggestions from on-high, but to guide people, even if you can’t personalize it too much because you’re making broad recommendations.

In a way, I feel like recommending arguably difficult classics to beginners is not unlike being parents living vicariously through their children, like a soccer mom pushing her kids to the brink of competition.

“I never had it this good when I was getting into giant robots! I’ve boiled it down to everything you REALLY need to see!”

“But dad, I’m not sure I like giant robots!”

“How DARE you! I did not suffer through Magnos the Robot so that you could say you don’t like giant robots!”

But each generation is new, and casts off the bounds set by their predecessors, like a man with blue hair and stylish shades living in an underground village.

“I Follow It for the Side Characters.”

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Years ago when I was more active in the Pokemon fan community, I noticed that there were quite a few people who loved Team Rocket. To them, Jessie and James were the highlight of every episode and every movie, and they generally only begrudgingly accepted Ash Ketchum on their televisions. “If only the show starred Team Rocket, then it would truly be great!” they’d say, or alternately, “The only reason I even watch Pokemon is for Team Rocket!” This wasn’t the first time I saw a show’s fanbase rally behind its supporting cast instead of its primary heroes, but it’s the most prominent example I can think of and one that seems to set the pace for other similar instances.

From what I can tell, most of the time the idea of following a series for the side characters happens primarily with people who love the setting of a show but for one reason or another cannot get behind its main protagonist. Most often, I see this happen with shounen series when the fans are not that young boy demographic that can most easily put themselves into the hero’s shoes. Uzumaki Naruto, for instance, is considered by some portions of the Naruto fanbase as being loud and annoying and difficult to relate to (or perhaps his detractors are unwilling to try and relate to him in the first place), and thus turn their attentions towards Kakashi or Rock Lee or whomever. And before you think I’m criticizing people for doing this, keep in mind that while I like Naruto as a character, my favorite character in Naruto is Hyuuga Hinata by an unbelievable margin, and she barely appears in the series overall.

What fascinates me about this whole matter is that prioritizing supporting characters in such a way can empower fans and their creativity. By following a series through its side characters, it’s like fans are saying that they are going to read and interpret the story their own way, that to some degree they know what’s better for the story than the original author, but that they also totally respect the author for giving them their favorite characters. It’s like fans have arrived at postmodernism without even knowing what that word means.

A Convenient Metaphor for You Anime Fans to Remember

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Fanservice is like chocolate.

Sure you might like it, perhaps even a lot, and sometimes it’s just the thing you’re looking for. But you can’t live off of chocolate alone, and any attempts to do so will only end in agony. Similarly, fanservice can be a welcome addition to anime, but if all the anime consists of is tits and ass, then it’s not going to be a complete, well-rounded experience.

Which isn’t to say you should never watch fanservice shows; it’s just that the satisfaction you get from marathoning To-LOVE-Ru is as fleeting as the one you get from gorging on a box of Russel-Stover.


If you want fanservice and a well-rounded show, go with Godannar.

The Precarious Position of “Seinen Cute”

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I am a man who likes cute things. This is sometimes a problem.

As a general rule in societies around the world, cute often falls into the realm of the feminine and the girly, especially when the ones being cute are girls. This is something I experienced when I was really getting into anime in high school, and people who knew about my interest in anime would sometimes say, “Cardcaptor Sakura? Really?”

During that period, the shock that fanfiction of Gundam Wing existed that paired men with other men was still fresh, so the idea that Cardcaptor Sakura was capable of appealing to a lolicon crowd didn’t even factor into the equation. It was more a matter of me, a guy (almost an adult at that point!), enjoying something that was made for little girls. It’s a battle I had to fight, and it’s a battle I’m sure many of you out there are familiar with and may even continue to go through. How do you break through societal standards of what is considered “umanly?” It’s a little easier when we’re all nerds and we suck at throwing objects, but even in the realm of geekdom you will find that masculinity plays some sort of role.

So when I see people bothered by how often seinen manga have this girlish, cute, sometimes moe aesthetic, I think back to whenever I’ve run into the problem of being told that I’m not supposed to be enjoying cute things made for girls.

Consider the fact that guys are guys, and while some of us like cute things we all have a tendency to like sexy things, though personal preference affects what “sexy” is. There is cute, there is sexy, and there is cute and sexy. And sometimes they all exist in the same comic, sometimes in the same character, and it can be off-putting for a lot of people while being just as enticing for others. Ask yourself, is it all right that a comic can have both sexualized characters and non-sexualized characters interacting with each other on an equal level? Does having sexualized elements in a character sexualize the entirety of their character?

If I had to take a stab at how Azumanga Daioh creator Azuma Kiyohiko felt about these questions, I think his response would be found in the character of Kimura.

Kimura appears to be a pretty creepy guy. He’s a high school teacher with a thing for high school girls to the point that, for him, age is irrelevant because “high school is high school.” But then you see how the guys in his classes react to him. They consider him a “role model” of sorts because he’s honest with his feelings. Further exploration of Kimura’s character shows that he is both a loving husband and a good father, and that he strongly believes in charity, donating a significant part of his paycheck on a regular basis. At the end of the day, taking all that into account, is he still creepy? Probably, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t a lot of other things too.

Those of you who are creeped out by the state of seinen manga’s more questionable practices have every right to be creeped out, and those of you who enjoy it have every right to enjoy it, and everyone has the right to disagree with each other. To me however, no matter how much questionable material is released and sold, the very fact that cute comics aimed towards adult men are published and manage to be successful is a great triumph that can never be taken away.

Getting to Know the Characters: An Example

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In my look back at the first decade of the 21st century, I talked about the shift towards character and the idea of “getting to know the characters.” While I think I made it pretty clear as to what I meant in the original post, I thought of a good example to explain the idea: the mahjong anime and manga Saki.

Mahjong has been a topic frequently explored in manga for decades now, with even Frederik Schodt’s “Manga! Manga!” pointing out its existence. It’s a favorite topic among salarymen and older audiences, but it wasn’t until the game was paired with moe and a heavy dash of yuri that it began reaching out to the otaku market in the form of Saki.

Anime nerds are playing mahjong in greater numbers now, and it’s not like Hikaru no Go where the manga itself explains the rules to a certain extent; characters in Saki just come in and do their thing and winning magically happens. And yet the otaku still want to play.

The reason that fans of Saki play mahjong, instead of just admiring the girls through fanart and doujinshi (and possibly their own dreams) is that mahjong is the focus of the Saki world, and by playing mahjong a person can feel closer to the characters in the series. I’m sure Miyanaga Saki fans smile every time they get +/-0 in their final scores, while achieving Haitei Raoyue is a wonderful feeling for supporters of Amae Koromo.

Performing an activity that is done by the characters gives a sense of connection, and the characters themselves make you want to connect to them through the power of their cute, moe designs and notions of very close friendship. That is the feeling of being “one” with the characters.