My Hero Academia is one of my favorite series in recent years. Regrettably, though, it’s not entirely free of some of the most frustrating (and typical) shounen stereotypes that frequently undermine its strong female cast.
While as a westerner it’s difficult to have a truly nuanced understanding of the cultural norms surrounding the term “otaku,” we can get an idea of how stereotypes and expectations have changed by looking at how otaku are portrayed in anime and manga, and how those portrayals have evolved over the years.
In Gundam 0080, our protagonist watches paramedics pull a female pilot out of a wrecked Gundam surrounded by debris. He is shocked, pupils as dilated as can be. To him, this female pilot occupies a very different sphere: a domestic one. In fact, she’s his old babysitter.
In Princess Mononoke, the heroine reflects a duality of potential for which women are feared and demonised: compassion balanced with a fierce courage and a raw instinct that can be honed, recklessness curbed, but never erased.
When I read Ranma 1/2 during my first year of high school, I fell in love with Rumiko Takahashi’s signature expressive art. ad colorful cast. Yet the older I get, the harder it is to ignore some of the most problematic aspects of the series, especially how it deals with femininity.
In its depiction of women’s anger and frustration with patriarchal norms, 18if shows the potential for feminist commentary. However, any points it might have made are ultimately undercut by relying on the male protagonist to resolve all conflicts.
Princess Tutu pays tribute to various classic ballets and fairy tales while simultaneously weaving a new fairy tale-like story that upends gender roles and rejects the archetypal tragic narrative. In doing so, it embraces feminist ideals of individual freedom, rebellion against archaic tradition, and the construction of a new, more liberating society.
Osamu Tezuka is often called “the Godfather of Manga.” But if there’s a Godfather of Manga, does that mean there’s a Godmother of Manga, too? There is, in fact! Her name is Machiko Hasegawa and she’s profoundly influenced animation and manga with her most popular work, The Wonderful World of Sazae-san.
When I watch these heroes-in-training attend U.A. High and compete in an elaborate sports competition, I’m much more impressed with its commentary on the inequality sports competitions breed, particularly in regard to gender.
No media exists in a vacuum, and justifying a trope doesn’t stop it from playing into broader harmful trends.
Kaze Hikaru follows Sei, who disguises herself as a boy in order to become a warrior. Determined to prove she’s capable of a dangerous role that society said women were unfit to have, the fact that Sei both succeeds in this role and gains supportive allies implicitly conveys the narrative’s approval of her “unfeminine” lifestyle.
ToraDora! tells a story about the bizarre tangled intricacies of teenage love. It also tells a story about how everyone has issues, inner turmoil, and inner selves that they keep concealed, usually with the intention of preserving a certain image of themselves for the people around them.
By primarily telling events from Kyoko’s point of view, Skip Beat! has often conformed to the pattern of telling a “single story.” However, in Volumes 37 and 38, the manga’s perspective shifts in a big way, giving readers an unexpected glimpse of Kyoko’s mom Saena through her own eyes.
Many of Princess Principal’s stories discuss the sharp social and economic divisions present in its world. But it’s the upbeat and inspiring Episode 7 that offers the show’s most nuanced depiction of inequality to date, as our central cast must acknowledge their own privilege—and find a better way forward.
In the realm of josei manga, Everyone’s Getting Married tries to “have it all” by combining the drama of a romance novel with some surprisingly modern and feminist takes on its heroine’s life choices and the modern Japanese workplace to create something entirely new.
For a movie to appeal to me as a woman, female characters had to be more than just caricatures and stereotypes. They had to make mistakes and learn from them; they had to have bad hair days. I think that’s why I fell deeply in love with Princess Mononoke when I first saw Lady Eboshi.
The success of My Hero Academia can be attributed to many factors, but most prominent among them, at least to me, has been Horikoshi’s ability to break from traditional narratives to create a truly unique story. One such example is in his handling of female characters in that shounen staple: the tournament arc.
Sometimes wrenching but ultimately inspiring, Chihayafuru’s first volume quietly challenges traditional gender norms and offers the hope of a supportive community to anyone who’s ever felt like they didn’t quite fit society’s gendered expectations of who they’re “supposed” to be.
At a time when most female characters on television were barely allowed to have careers, Speed Racer‘s Trixie was an action star in her own right, a racing professional and hero on equal footing with the male characters.
Suburban horror plays on the anxieties of people living in these quiet communities, and as such, they tend to focus on the victimization of women. By making Kira’s first victim, Reimi Sugimoto, an active player in the story through the final act, Jojo’s reverses that victimization and turns into something far more empowering.
