Making Sense of Dollers

(Source)

The fearsome Asaro Mudmen of Papua New Guinea: A rare example of a lost tribe that has succeeded in remaining autonomous following their first contact with the outside world. Not all are as lucky. Perhaps their proto-Zardoz clay masks help ward off evil. Perhaps just enough missionaries go missing in the region each year to keep the yoke of globalization at bay. Regardless, their unspoiled culture offers rare insights into our own human nature and fascinates us with its mysteries.

Estimates suggest there to be only around 100 uncontacted tribes remaining throughout the world. Well, you can cross another off the list! Last week TSB ventured down into the uncanny Valley of the Dollers to observe their largest annual gathering. Little is known about what lies behind the mask--until now. Join us as we explore the secrets of the Dollers, or as they are known in their native land, Kigurumi.

Welcome to My Doll 2012!

My-Doll celebrated its fourth year with over 250 participants, 100 of those being in costume. We enjoyed charades, dancing by established Department H personality Cheriss Q, helpful vendor stalls willing to put up with our prying questions, and photos, photos, photos! If it weren't for the plastic masks, I could have almost sworn that we were at your average cosplay event. Almost.

Cheriss Q rocking out to Space Sheriff Gavan, a track near and dear to the TSB family.

Before we can discuss what Kigurumi are, we have to understand what they are not.

Kigurumi are not Disney Land mascots or those hooded pajamas sold at Don Quixote. The term “ani gao” (anime face) is used to delineate our subject from the pedestrian vernacular.

Joe Public's interpretation of Kigurumi. (Source)

Kigurumi are not super sentai heroes, though they do wear flesh colored, full-body zenshin tights. There is a strict No Power Ranger rule in effect.

Kigurumi are not allowed to speak or de-mask while in character, though they may write messages via pen and paper, iPad, Etch A Sketch, etc.

Kigurumi are not cheap. Masks start at 60,000 yen, with a custom mold going up to five times that. Wigs are styled by professional beauticians. Clothing needs to be tailor made. And silicon breasts don’t pay for themselves. The process is a labor of love.

Bed head should not be confused with aho-ge. Remember to comb your wigs, boys!

Kigurumi are not as far away from you as you think. Masked dancers are featured in the Madonna music video Give Me All Your Loving which recently debuted at the Super Bowl, while David Guetta's Turn Me On delivers the whole package with full-body tights, albeit with realistic masks as opposed to anime-inspired proportions.

 I'd skip ahead to the 1:20 mark.

This leaves us with the positive defining characteristics of Kigurumi:

Kigurumi are a subcategory of cosplay that is paradoxically secretive while at the same time proactive in recruiting new members. Hence, our invitation as outside observers.

Kigurumi are nearly exclusively men, while the characters they play are primarily bishojo--that is to say, beautiful young girls. The ritual of suiting up opens otherwise unattainable vistas into realms of the cute and fabulous.

Fujiko works it for the camera.

Kigurumi are closely related to mimes. They rely on over-exaggerated body language and gestures to compensate for their fixed expression and mutisim. According to photographers, this “playful” nature makes them better subjects than de-masked cosplayers. Likewise, playful touching is another communication tool in the Doller's bag of tricks.

Posing outside with nature as a backdrop makes you feel like the heroine of of a visual novel such as AIR or CLANNED.

Kigurumi are loved by children and feared by adults. In addition to the sanctioned stage performers (Pretty Cure and their ilk), groups of wild Kigurumi can be found roving amusement parks on the weekends. Spouting off, “It’s for the kids” is also a handy Get Out of Jail Free card.

No, this wasn't salvaged from a fire-bombed apartment: A plastic mask hot of the presses begins its life looking like a dirty potato before being crafted into a stunning bishojo by a talented painter.

Kigurumi are extremely near-sighted and hard of hearing. The pinhole eye sockets in the mask greatly restrict vision. The mask itself covers your ears, turning it into an equilibrium-shattering echo chamber. Also, the full body tights make overheating a very real danger. In the interest of safety, a Kigurumi shouldn’t wander too far away from their wrangler, or “handler” as they're known.

Invisible eye slits marked in pink. (Source)

Our guide for the processions, the lovely Mirai-Chan of Danny Choo fame.

It's like my favorite anime playing out before my eyes IRL!

When the curtain rises on the Dollers, that's your cue to turn down your ears and crank up your heart.

Military otaku are welcome as well, so long as they play beautiful child soldiers.

I take that back; it really is just like any other cosplay event.

Now that I’ve piqued your interest, intrepid reader, I’m sure you only have one question--how do I get involved with the Kigurumi community? That all depends on if you want to be behind the camera, or behind the mask.

You should have a contact card even if you’re there just to photograph. Our biggest faux pas of the day was leaving the business cards at home. Every successful shoot should climax with the intimate exchange of information. You’re there to make a personal connection with the subject, not just snap bromides!

For those of you adventurous enough to start suiting up, there’s online support groups. Animegao is a bilingual blog aggregate to keep you connected to the community. Kigurumi Cosplay Society houses a repository of tutorials with knowledgeable forum-goers. Ayame Shoten offers rental and custom costumes for all your physical needs. Zukokan does international orders, while Cospatia is the preferred cosplay tailor for domestic customers. Once you've assembled the components, let everyone know about your new identity on the Facebook group Kigurumi Interntional “Know”.

Words and photos alone can not do justice to the inscrutable world of Kigurumi. It must be experienced first hand. Before you ask, TSB does not offer chartered tours, nor will we be held responsible for your transgressions in the Valley of the Dollers. Fear not the unknown, and make danger your sole traveling companion. But be forewarned--the first step down is longer than it looks.

Job well done girls! Until next time, may you stay ventilated and well hydrated.

TAF VS ACE

For coverage of the Tokyo International Anime Fair (TAF), go here. For coverage of the Anime Contents Expo (ACE), go here. For an analysis of how they bleed after a few rounds in the ring against each other, see below:

Annual festivals coalesce the disparate individuals of Japan into a cohesive national persona. They bring people together, invigorate business, and enrich the community while marking the changing seasons—in the case of TAF and ACE, the spring anime season. How do these two competing events stack up against each other, and what happens when festivals betray their intended purpose by dividing instead of uniting?

Over its four day span TAF narrowly missed the 100,000 visitor mark, with a quarter of its traffic coming from the business days. By comparison, ACE's weekend run barely managed to eek by with just 40,000. Clearly, TAF is by far the more popular event. If only it were a simple numbers game!

Despite boasting nearly double the headcount, TAF felt like a ghost town, partially because big names like Kodansha and Aniplex were boycotting the event over the controversial Bill 156, aka “Tokyo Manga Ban,” which was signed into being at the end of 2010 by event chairman and governor of Tokyo Ishihara Shintaro.

The lingering exhibitors didn’t help—no one had their hearts in it, not even the attendees. There was no energy. That sterile miasma unique to trade shows permeated the hall. Which is oddly fitting considering that, at its core, TAF is a trade show.

To its credit, TAF is taking care of business. While overall attendance on the industry days fell 8%, foreign company presence rose by 25%. Reaching out to new clients and negotiating international broadcast rights is hardly the stuff of headlines, but it needs to be done to keep the entertainment machine well fed.

AKB 48 has nothing on this guy. (Source)

Similarly, a steady stream of fresh acquisitions is the key to sustainability. Go ahead and dismiss TAF for being kiddy-oriented—those children shaking hands with Anpanman now may well grow up to shake hands with seiyuu bikini models, or in other ways support the industry. I take back what I said about their being no energy. The kids brought enough for everyone, I just didn't notice until I thought to look down to their level. And when they’re ready to step out of the sandbox and into the exciting world of late-night anime, ACE will be there with open arms.

If TAF is the nurturing parent, then ACE is the “cool” older brother who inadvertently ruins his siblings by introducing them to Dungeons and Dragons before the concept of girls. ACE had it all—concerts, cosplay, limited-edition goods, Kadokawa—and most importantly, atmosphere! There’s a reason that people were camping out in front of the convention center before it opened. It was to be the first event of its kind, an industry-sanctioned fan appreciation day, and we were standing on the edge of opportunity.

With all the buzz and excitement (and lines), it seemed like the long-anticipated “Spring Comiket” had finally materialized. Forget the general public, ACE was all about giving otaku exactly what they wanted. Therein lies the pitfall. Voice actresses and one-day-only merch are going to draw a crowd—the same crowd, the core audience, each time. And lest we forget, insularity is what started the vicious cycle that currently plagues the industry, where studios court the niche in hopes of recouping enough in DVD sales to stay afloat.

10 cents at your local grocers. (Source)

After all the sizzle, we certainly got our steak. But at what cost? 300 yen for a bowl of bean sprouts seems to be the going street price, inflated for gullibility. Catering to the fans soon became exploiting the fans. Consider that, at 1500 yen a ticket, you are forking out the cost of a movie ticket for the privilege of viewing advertisements and queuing up for luxury merchandise. Despite turning the consumer-advertiser model on its head, the organizers still managed to loose money.

Speaking of movies, if you wanted to get your hands on advance tickets for the upcoming Madoka Magica films, you had better set aside the requisite 4,800 yen and pack your sleeping bag—available for ACE attendees only, sorry!

This exclusivity is another crippling symptom of late night anime. Whatever popularity Madoka enjoys with civilians has been won hand-over-fist through word of mouth recommendations and government patronship. But if the limited-release of the film is any indication (16 theaters nationwide with just 2 in Tokyo at time of writing), it hasn't attracted the number of viewers it deserves based on its accolades. Another series fit for prime time, wasted on a midnight time slot. The real tragedy here? So long as they keep making Homu-Homu Figma models, fans could care less.

The lost opportunity created by this dichotomy is analogous to the two events. TAF has mass-market appeal and supports the industry, but lacks the cooperation of big companies to make it relevant to fans. Conversely, ACE knows its niche and delivers the goods, but is too hardcore for the burgeoning light user sector.

The obvious fix for next time would be to move ACE to a larger venue, slap on an industry day, and maybe section off the “older teen” content to keep things family friendly. Assuming, of course, there is a next time. ACE's official statement makes a follow-up event sound ambivalent at best. To paraphrase,

“Our mission is to create a place for fans and anime to come together, with ACE being our offering for this year. We will keep our minds open to the possibility of their being a better means available to deliver something even greater.”

For an event created solely as an act of protest, ACE is running low on piss and vinegar.

In a December 27th interview in Weekly Playboy, Aniplex producer Takahashi Yuma explains that they walked away from TAF not in objection to the bill, but to keep in step with the publishers. The tone of the article implies that, to the studios, ACE is nothing more than a shell game they’re forced to play to keep their client happy. They’d rather focus on making quality shows and push the politics out of the peripheral.

Even Kodansha no longer sounds as hardline as they initially did after orchestrating the split. They may not have been physically present at TAF, but they were certainly on the steering committee. Representatives from Kodansha are quoted as saying that, “We have the same goals and don’t think that a permanent schism is a good thing.” Apparently no-one has filed for divorce quite yet.

Will ACE throw itself back into the bosom of the abusive TAF? Or will they stay their ground to take a beating the following year? Neither option seems very good, as the former weakens the publishers, while the latter further drives a wedge between the industry and the administration who should be supporting the arts.

Despite grumbling about the prices and lines, the fans are already clamoring for next year's ACE and have hoisted it to festival status, albeit a local one. TAF had the wind knocked out of it but still stands, supported by its public popularity. They're both poised to do great things for the industry and community, if only they can stop being so divisive.

ACE's greatest assets. (Source)

Maybe having two events isn't such a bad thing after all. Choice is always welcome. Do you want to shake hands with Anpanman, or giant anime funbags? I only ask that they keep other options on the table for everyone else between the extremes.

History of Akihabara Part 3.5: 2.5D

Somewhere along the way, otaku culture has gotten mixed in with mainstream culture. This interlude in our History of Akihabara series steps out of Electric Town to explore otaku elements pervading Japanese youth culture as well as the lifestyle alternatives they provide.

From Nemu's personal homepage.

Meet Yumemi Nemu, star of Denpa Gumi, the alternative idol unit for those who think that Momoiro Clover Z has gotten too mainstream. A Renaissance woman of sorts, when not behind the mic she moonlights as a DJ at the anisong club Mogra and models for gravure. I should also add that she doesn’t have a steady income, likely isn’t planning for the long term, and may or may not be defaulting on her pension payments. But this isn’t intended as an attack on her free-wheeling ways. If anything, Nemu represents the growing number of young people searching for new lifestyles and values amidst the scrap of a broken employment system.

She’s a member of the so-called “Lost Generation,” a clumsy branding for those raised during the two decades of economic deflation following the collapse of the housing bubble. These are the convenience clerk NEETs, the hikikkomori shut-ins, the drop-outs that felt their channels to mainstream society strangled by unforgiving educational elitism. Rather than put themselves back on the accepted path to success worn bare by their parents footsteps, they have continued on their outside vector towards unexplored venues of self-fulfillment.

Mainstream media is only now starting to acknowledge what youth of Japan have always known, deep down—that the old paradigm doesn’t work, that company life means no life at all, and that net culture can produce objects of real value.

Raised on low-fi fare like the Famicom without being spoiled by the high-rolling decadence of the bubble era, this generation isn’t afraid to spend the rest of their days working part time jobs, so long as it means scraping up enough cash to pursue their hobbies and social activities. Some describe this worldview as 2.5D, which is exactly what it sounds like—the halfway point between 2D and 3D. It marks the intersection of fantasy space (anime, video games, the net) with real world space (art, gatherings, events).

Pink Sugar Heart Attack

For a visual example, look no further than the Neo Cosplay Collection.

Held at La Foret, Harajuku’s flagship clothing mall, the collection featured brands such as GALAXXXY who flip anime heroines into Punkey Brewster street wear. (Source)

If the crux of cosplay is to faithfully recreate the clothing of a character, than neo cosplay is concerned with layering upon that look to make it your own. Imagine if an Akihabara maid went through the looking glass and emerged out of the closet of a Harajuku Fruits fashionista: The resulting spectacle would be enough to get any one's pulse pounding.

Consider it the next step for pastel fairy kei fashion, augmented with otaku elements from Studio Pierrot’s magical girl shows like Creamy Mami. A natural fit, considering that the “sensational lovely” style pioneered by 6% Doki Doki drinks from the same carton of strawberry milk that fuels loli idol culture.

Shamelessly ripped from their homepage.

To paraphrase their homepage, the appeal of 6% Doki Doki comes from being blindsided by a flash of the extraordinary through the fog of the dreadfully ordinary. Entering the store, you are transported to another world where Care Bears never stopped caring, and purple becomes the natural compliment for pink. The shop girls are dressed like princesses from a parallel dimension. Brand maestro Masada Sebastian hand picks the heirs to his kawaii kingdom from a pool of over 200 applicants to preen into fashion models and performers for his avant garde stage shows.

Providing a reprieve from the everyday, producing young girls to serve as the brand image—6% Doki Doki shares its core concepts with amateur idol factories, the most productive being Akihabara’s Dear Stage.

Free Agents in the Game of Happiness

The interior of Dear Stage is intentionally lo-fi to create a home-made, school festival vibe. (Source)

Dear Stage is the mothership for the Moe Japan label captained by Tokyo University of the Arts graduate Fukushima Maiko. Her business model is 100% self-sufficient. Girls perform as idols on the first floor stage, play maid on the second floor cafe, and flirt like hostesses in the low-lit upstairs bar—every male fantasy under one roof. And when a girl’s popularity hits critical mass, Fukushima is ready to produce and release their CD through her own record company, Meme Tokyo, a sub-label of Toy’s Factory.

While Fukushima’s girls aren’t going to steal the spotlight from AKB48 anytime soon, there are a handful of success stories amongst the hopefuls. And how does one even measure success? Each performer has their own personal dream to fulfill. Some want to top the charts, while others simply want a top-rated Nico Nico Douga account. They seem happy enough with whatever fame comes their way, so long as they can set the terms of said happiness.

The simple act of being active in a community you can call your own has become more important than the results of these actions. In her book, The Youth of Japan Are Not Unhappy (日本人の若者は不幸じゃない), Fukushima explains this phenomenon through the concept of “clusters.” Groups no longer need a centralized structure with designated leaders; rather, they can exist independently through a loose network of like-minded persons so long as there is a shared meeting place. These commons can be as expansive as Twitter, or as pinpoint a venue as Dear Stage.

Clusters form around a concept or hobby. Take Hatsune Miku, for example. Though technically owned by the developer, Crypton Future Media, all of the actual content, from artwork to music to choreography, is user generated. There’s no keystone holding the Miku architecture together. Famous artists may arise from the ranks, but they’re more of trend setters than leaders with a vision.


Concentrated on the world wide web and spread across the globe, her legions of fans are simply waiting for their Field of Dreams moment: If you build it (or setup a concert), they will come. In droves, apparently. All ten thousand tickets to this year’s Miku Appreciation Festival sold out in a matter of hours. Most musicians would kill to have that devoted of a crowd, sans glowsticks.

The largest cluster of DIY youth culture is the self-published manga convention Comic Market, or Comiket. Held bi-annually during the national summer and winter vacations, each incarnation draws in over 500,000 visitors and 35,000 artist circles.

The convention hall has consistently been at full capacity for the past few years. (Source)

Comiket has a planning committee which screens applicants and ensures that everything runs smoothly behind the scenes, giving it the illusion of centralized management. In practice, their duties are more akin to crowd control than actually crafting the event. No, the true producers are the circles themselves. Their personal taste dictates what gets brought to the trade floor, each individual booth another link in the network. No single group can wholly represent Comiket, for this diversity is its defining characteristic.

Application fees are nominal and the event is free to the public. Ideally a circle would break even on the booth fee and printing costs. To some, a financial loss isn’t even an issue—having your work on display for others to see is worth the price of admission. Still others plan on turning a profit, with more popular artists able to pull in a living wage. The line between pro and amateur blurs. It’s hard to say which is more impressive: That mainstream manga artists supplement their income here, or that unsigned independents could possibly outsell them.

Like Dear Stage, Comiket provides alternatives—alternatives to white-collar work or blue-collar labor, and alternatives for socializing and personal expression. Sure, not every indie creator is going to make it big, but the possibility is there. This possibility is just the pressure release needed by the youth who have fallen off the fast track or feel suffocated by society. Perhaps the Lost Generation isn’t drifting as aimlessly as everyone thinks. Perhaps they’ve been heading towards their appropriate clusters this whole time.

Once enough of these clusters amass, they form autonomous bodies with clear goals. In 2008, high school student Fujishiro Uso gathered disparate art communities from cyberspace and transported them into physical gallery space. Creators from Pixiv, Nico Nico Douga, 2channel and beyond leveraged social networks like Mixi and Twitter to magnify the manifesto of a new creative movement christened Chaos Lounge: Otaku culture is fed up with being marginalized by the mainstream, and the time has come to hijack the architecture of the Internet to spread this message.

Art by Chaos Lounge's Umezawa Kazuki. (Source)

Their canvas would be the very room housing their installation pieces. Their palette was not limited to colors, but absorbed existing art and found objects in creating barely coherent pastiches, collages of characters familiar enough to be from any given anime, while generic enough to elude recognition. Much like the moe-ification of Akihabara, this terraforming process gave the nomadic Chaos Lounge tribe temporary bases—a place to belong.

Looking back, what changes did their post-modernist cultural revolution spark, if any? They transformed a hotel room into a free-form art commune, participated in an art battle royale, and created clothing for an Ura-Harajuku select shop, not to mention hosted nearly a dozen of gallery events. But aside from the praise provided by fellow otaku artist Murakami Takashi, Chaos Lounge has faced sharp disapproval, and from their supposed in-group at that.

Otaku, acting as the self-appointed governing body of the Internet, are hyper-judgmental of everything, especially their fellow brothers-in-arms. More vocal critics trash Chaos Lounge for being derivative, while fundamentalists expound that the institutions of art and otakuism should be kept separate. Murakami was flamed by his peers for these same reasons. Despite the glut of incriminating Dinner with Waifu photo dumps on 2channel and yatte mita “Check me out” videos on Nico Nico Douga, otaku expect each other to follow the same code of ethics as the rest of the country. Namely, you’re free to be a huge weirdo if you want. Just do it at home.

These demotivational posters in the station send mixed messages posted when next to the "No groping" adverts.

The Generation Gap and the Culture Gap

How can Chaos Lounge be fighting for otaku art but be hated by otaku? Why is Hatsune Miku considered to be fringe music despite scoring Oricon rankings and corporate sponsorship? If pornographic dojinshi moves more units than certain weekly serials, what’s keeping it off the Cool Japan menu?

There is a glaring breakdown of communication between the youth, otaku, and government. 2.5D helps put this into perspective by redefining the rules of engagement. Essentially, all parties are concerned with anime, manga, and the resulting media mix. They’re just operating within different spheres of interest.

Video games, light novels, online culture. For the current crop of digital natives raised on their parent’s comic collections, there is much less social resistance to these things than in the past. What many consider otaku culture is actually youth culture—and youth culture is mainstream culture.

Which isn’t to say that otaku culture, however you chose to define it, is dead. It still lives on, though there is a widening generation gap that starts somewhere between the mid 80’s and early 90’s. If you’re reading this blog, chances are you’re standing on the old man side of this divide with personal biases that don’t necessarily apply to those across the growing schism.

Ironically, as the classic image of the moe otaku gets pushed further into the background, more and more people are beginning to identify themselves as having a bit of an otaku streak. This doesn’t mean that they’ve broken down and bought Queen's Blade body pillows, however. Online shopping and the media mystique of Akihabara have lowered the barriers of entry to fandom, making it easier than ever for anyone to pick up a high-grade sculpt of their favorite One Piece character or visit maid cafes unironically. Attitudes towards the label “otaku” have changed dramatically following Densha Otoko, elevating the hanging albatross into a self-depreciating badge of pride with a glint of sub-culture hipness.

One time Olympic athlete Narita Domu is proudly married to his snowboard and enjoys a more robust sex life than his average countryman.

This new breed of “light otaku” has been warmly accepted by business analysts and the tourist industry. A shrinking population means shrinking markets, unless you can find a way to convert new consumers to your product. Anime and manga manages precisely this with its comprehensive marketing blitz. Media mix casts a wide net of ancillary products guaranteed to snag a few fresh faces from the pool. Once you let yourself go with the flow, it’s only a matter of time before you find yourself purchasing some non-obtrusive character goods. After all, there’s not much difference between a moe blob and loosely-designed (though endearing) yuru-chara when they’re dangling from your cellphone.

With their mindless grins, local mascots make collecting useless baubles charming as opposed to a social faux pas. (Source)

Of course there’s more to being an otaku than mere consumerism. Following the success of Haruhi and Lucky Star, location hunting is back in a big way. Fans embark on seichi junrei, or pilgrimages to holy sites, to soak in the ambiance of the places that inspired a series close to their heart. In the same way that Hatsune Miku concerts convert digital MP3s into a live listening experience, location hunting connects fictional settings with real world space. It’s the perfect motivator to get out from behind the computer screen and travel the country.

Between this, Tesujin-28, and marbled beef, Kobe has everything. (Source)

Accidentally showing up in an anime is the smartest PR move a city can make. Washinomiya shrine is the classic example—its visitors more than quadrupled after appearing in the opening for Lucky Star. Capcom has organized a series of tie-ins featuring the locales and feudal battlegrounds from it's Basara series to make a pretty penny off reki-jyo, or female history buffs. The former Toyosato Elementary has since opened its doors (and vendor stalls) for Keion! groupies. Over the past few years, Ueda City has organized summer festivals that coincide with the events of the Summer Wars movie. The otaku factor is free money for municipalities that are ready to capitalize on it.

The question, then, is what qualifies an otaku? The label means something different depending who you ask. The dictionary defines it as a person who is passionate and deeply knowledgeable in a specialized field. Culture critic Azuma Hiroki adds a post-modern twist by making them “database animals” in search of instant gratification. Gainax founder Okada Toshio holds them as a persecuted sub-sect who are the modern inheritors of Edo’s artisan culture. And psychologist Saito Tamaki deftly describes them as anyone able to get their jollies from nekkid cartoons.

On the one hand, this analysis comes off as an exercise in navel-gazing. And in a way it is, especially for those who consider being an otaku as part of their self-identity. But let’s not forget that anime and manga are serious business. A 2008 white paper produced by the focus group Media Create found that the combined sales of the otaku industry to be 186.8 billion yen (about 1.65 billion USD at the time), with nearly half of the sales from dojinshi.

The Economy Minister has his eyes set on Akihabara as a key to economic growth. Dentsu is primed to form an otaku think-tank to better market anime abroad. Cool Japan has evolved into Vibrant Japan, and if their sponsorship of AKB48 as the official face of the campaign is any indication, they’ve moved even further away from the pulse of what makes their country hip. They have otaku culture centered in their sights—except this makes them blind to youth culture, the lifeblood moving things forward.

If you’re interested in getting in on the ground floor to see Nemu-Chan and the other members of her unit in action, you don’t need to risk taking the plunge deep into Akihabara. Denpa Gumi is taking their act straight to Shibuya, the center of Japanese youth culture. And they’re not alone. Walpurgis Night, a Madoka Magica-themed DJ party, visited the city last June for an evening of anime song exuberance. Clusters like J-Geek are fighting to bring moe pop to the masses. To paraphrase an old otaku adage, "When there’s no room left in Akiba, the maids will walk Shibuya." With the appearance of the digital wonderland Maidreaming, it only seems like a matter of time before the prophecy is fulfilled.



Honestly, the whole scene, from denpa to dojinshi to experimental art, is not my thing (with neo-cos fashion being the obvious exception). But without anything constructive to add to the ongoing movement, my opinion is practically irrelevant. Whatever these crazy kids are up to seems to be going well enough without curmudgeons like me mucking it up.

Given the alternatives—either staying holed up in your own personal bubble or doing the responsible thing by grinding your life away for just above minimum wage—what they're doing is straight up commendable, a faint beacon of hope for potential entrepreneurs that reaches beyond the otakusphere. The harsh realities of facing Japan may not be so simple as to be flattened down to 2.5D, though this new perspective affords overlooked possibilities.

Notes and tidbits

2.5D

The entire concept of 2.5D discussed here was kick-started by its namesake company. 2.5D is a “social television network,” meaning they regularly broadcast content over Ustream, a live feed service. Programming includes talk shows covering art, fashion, and music, as well as DJ events with a bent towards young creators and otaku culture. Shows are free over the internet, and for a modest fee, viewers can sit in on the recording at their studio located west of Shibuya.

Denpa-Kei music

“Denpa” literally means electronic signal or radio waves, like the one from your TV set. While the genre’s heavy use of synth and voice modulation seems to make “Electronic” a fair translation, Denpa refers to a more sinister type of signal--the invasive kind that makes the receiver go insane.

In 1981, a truck driver hopped on on amphetamines went on a stabbing spree in Tokyo’s Koto ward, killing four (including two children) and wounding two others. He claimed that signals sent directly to his brain commanded him to perform the murders. Although his plea fell through and he received life in prison without parole, his claim, along with recent scientific discoveries suggesting that electro-magnetism could effect the human body, popularized such schizophrenic and delusional stories as denpa experiences.

Denpa conveniently replaced the taboo term “kichigai” for describing the mentally unstable and quickly became the lingua franca for the subculture scene. Rock group Kinniku Shojyotai released hits like Denpa BOOGIE and Mr. Delusion about people being manipulated by outside forces.

In terms of modern music, it refers to songs made purposefully unlistenable, off-kilter, or even just plain weird that draws in fans simply for the sheer out-there factor. Better put on your tin-foil hat before clicking on the links above.

Legality of Comiket

Despite the record-breaking success of Comiket, it and other dojin events have been skating on thin ice since their conception. Creating derivative works without explicit permission from the rights holder is clearly illegal, and as the handful of cases made by the publishers has established, indefensible in court. Dojin is only able to exist out of the benevolence of the original creator. So far, most authors have turned a blind eye to the issue for various reasons, thus allowing circles to thrive. This house of cards could soon collapse, however, depending on the direction things take in the current push by publishers for neighboring rights.

In brief, neighboring rights would allow publishers (and any entity involved in shaping or promoting the work) to effectively bypass the original author when making decisions regarding how the work should be represented. This includes launching an e-book version and, yes, pursuing legal action after pirates, including dojin artists. This has authors like Akamatsu Ken up in arms about what could be the first step towards wholesale seizure of creator’s rights by the publishers. More details here. And this is in addition to the looming specter of the TPP.

Lost Generation and The Zero Generation

As mentioned earlier, the Lost Generation are described as the youth left in the economic lull caused by the housing market collapse in the early 90’s. They’ve since adopted the mysterious moniker, Zero Generation (ゼロ年代). Led by cultural critics such as Hayamizu Kenro and Hiroki Azuma (see Genron), they are attempting to make sense of country affluent enough to be comfortable, yet with an income gap wide enough to cause disparity. How much is soul-searching worth in a wealth-driven consumer paradise? The Zero generation are aware that their gilded cage is beginning to peel and they are busy looking for a way out.

The 2008 White Paper on the Otaku Industry

This report broke down the market into 5 categories: DVD/CD, published content, games (consumer products +PC), character goods, and dojinshi. I have been unable to find a similarly detailed document published any more recently, though Oricon rankings and others show that sales continue to grow, especially for light novels, mobile games, and dojinshi.

Denpa Otoko and the fall of Shibuya

In Denpa Otoko, a series of counterpoint essays, author Honda Toru trashes Densha Otoko for selling out and relinquishing his otaku habits for a set of Hermes tea cups and a warm bed. Honda refers to this exchange of physical goods for affection as “romance capitalism” and presents it as a conspiracy orchestrated by Dentsu and the mass media. The popular "pay to play" model is rotten to the core: Love for one’s 2-D waifu is the purest form of devotion, whether the sheeple realize it or not.

The cover is illustrated by Hanazawa Kengo of Boys on the Run and I am a Hero fame. All of his manga feature thirty-year underdogs, none so more prominently than his 2004 debut about unrequited virtual reality love, Ressentiment. In the not-too-distant-future, the young couples of Shibuya are replaced by otaku bachelors as Akihabara spreads its influence across the archipelago.

Shibuya's fate is then sealed with the 2008 visual novel CHAOS;HEAD. The clinically delusional cast flatten the city with a dementia-fueled earthquake brought about by the locales unique "gravitation error rate," which is pseudo-science for denpa.

Wonder Festival 2012 (Winter) Part 2: Cosplay

This round we've decided the cosplay into three convenient categories:
AWESOME STUFF for original ideas and master artisanship,
NERDY STUFF for the skeletons in our closet,
and PERVY STUFF for what you're all here to see in the first place.

Take a load off, forget all about difficult topics such as nuclear power for a few minutes, and enjoy the show!

AWESOME STUFF


Predator VS possible child predator.


Leopaldon lets loose an explosive Hell Shell.


There was a whole hunting squad of Predators with hand-dyed camo tights.
This one even had a voice transmographier to give him an alien growl!


Sukeban deka is among the highest forms of crossplay.


One of the many things Wonder Festival has over Comiket is an anything-goes weapons policy, hence the extreme craftsmanship seen here and in our next photo.


You can count on the bikini babes to be in the same spot from opening to closing, whereas dudes like this bless the venue with their presence just long enough to get the point across. Get too caught up in snapping shima-pan, and you'll miss 'em.


Say hello to the original Robo Cop, scumbag.


You're not going to get very far into the cosmos wearing aluminum foil booties.


This sort of kigurumi is more than acceptable, it's praise-worthy.


Snake Man Lady.

NERDY STUFF


The youngest in a family of witches. When both of your parents are devout cosplayers, otakuism is no longer a choice, it's something you're born into, like poverty or Christianity.


G-Gundam gets treated like the red-headed stepchild of the franchise, so a Domon and Rain combo in particular makes this hand of mine glow with an awesome power.


Yes, cosplayers will pose with outside props if you ask them nicely.


Not the best Gilgamesh costume of the day, but that asshole scowl made him the most in character.

PERVY STUFF


Let's get this gravy train rolling with Saber from Fate/Extra Large.


That "helping hands" joke is always a guaranteed icebreaker.


The photos and content therein do not necessarily reflect the views and opinions of TSB as a whole. (Just Dr. Senbei's.)


Seeing this many allied meat puppets in one place always makes me wonder. Is there an underground kigurumi scene where they plan these gatherings? Do the members interact unmasked? Most importantly, how do you cruise somebody when you both have perma-grins?


Some huntsmen like to get close enough for their prey to smell them, thus eliciting a squeal of surprise, before pulling the trigger.


Normally snapping low-anglers is the cosplay equivalent of spawn-scumming, but the extreme unlikelihood of this scene is more like catching Halley's Comet during a solar eclipse.


Randoseru backpacks are the unmistakable mark of an elementary school student. Just sayin' is all.


Sneak preview of the forthcoming cosplay event SimStim experience to get your neurons spurting dopamine all over your cranial net!

Full album here!

Show's over folks! Time to turn your brain back on and get back to more productive things, like surfing your Twitter feed or checking in on your Googling "shima-pan". We'll be back next time with some actual content, honest!