Why is moé (萌え) not equivalent to kawaii (可愛い)?
This discussion assumes familiarity with kawaii and moé terms.
In certain situations, one might comprehend an overlap in feelings of moé and kawaii. Similarly, differences exist, constrained by unique perception of visual characteristics.
However, distinctions between moé and kawaii might also be perceived in social dichotomies, more definitely that between physical space, by which I mean specifically the opposition of Akihabara and Shibuya.
Ressentiment, by Kengo Hanazawa
For most, it is common knowledge that Akihabara (秋葉原) is the major electronics district of Tokyo and the Kanto region (Nipponbashi, or Denden Town, being the equivalent of Osaka and the Kansai region), while Shibuya (渋谷) remains the hotspot of trendy Tokyo street fashion (Shibuya contains the vast shopping district Harajuku). How might we characterize these differences as qualities of each respective landscape?
| Shibuya | Akihabara |
|
Commercial Trendy Broadcast Sexual Liberal/Female |
Underground Square Self-reliant/DIY Sexualized Conservative/Masculine |
The comparison above attempts to illustrate immediate differences in the functions of each area. However, if you are unread in the history of Akihabara, it was once the popular district for popular commercial goods (starting with refrigerators and televisions in the post-war period, then moving later to computers and other technical supplies/parts). It might be said that Japan moved from the need of objects (physical, owned items) to the need of images (fashion; personal embellishment), and such evolution led to a movement over time of trendy commercialization from Akihabara to Shibuya (a movement about which is joked in the Ressentiment excerpt above). Nowadays, though, Akiba is not thought of as the popular commercial sector so much as is Shibuya.
The level of commercial quality with respect of geography plays primarily into this discussion of 萌えの感じ and 可愛い感じ (feelings of moé and kawaii, respectively). In fact, trends, fashion, and commercialism has factored into discussions of the otaku lifestyle since 1983, when the term otaku first appeared in print media. Nakamori Aiko’s “Otaku Studies” discusses fan fashion of the ’80s in detail:
髪型は七三の長髪でボサボサか、キョーフの刈り上げ坊っちゃん刈り。イトーヨーカドーや西友でママに買ってきて貰った980円1980円均一のシャツやスラックスを小粋に着こなし、数年前はやったＲのマークのリーガルのニセ物スニーカーはいて、ショルダーバッグをパンパンにふくらませてヨタヨタやってくるんだよ、これが。それで栄養のいき届いてないようなガリガリか、銀ブチメガネのつるを額に喰い込ませて笑う白ブタかてな感じで、女なんかはオカッパでたいがいは太ってて、丸太ん棒みたいな太い足を白いハイソックスで包んでたりするんだよね。- Manga Burikko
Rumpled long hair parted on one side, or a classic kiddie bowl-cut look. Smartly clad in shirts and slacks their mothers bought off the “all ¥980/1980” rack at Ito Yokado or Seiyu [discount retailers], their feet shod in knock-offs of the “R”-branded Regal sneakers that were popular several seasons ago, their shoulder bags bulging and sagging — you know them. The boys were all either skin and bones as if borderline malnourished, or squealing piggies with faces so chubby the arms of their silver-plated eyeglasses were in danger of disappearing into the sides of their brow; all of the girls sported bobbed hair and most were overweight, their tubby, tree-like legs stuffed into long white socks. – Translation by Matt Alt
Even more helpful is Volker Grassmuck’s essay on otaku lifestyle, in which he explains the generational moniker 新人類 (shinjinrui), the oppositional force of otakudom.
Those shinjinrui were college or professional kids in their twenties. Quite different from otaku they put a strong emphasis – and spend a lot of money – on glossy outward appearance. They preferably have jobs in modelling or advertising which earn them enough money and leave them enough time for their main source of pleasure: showing off luxury goods and fast cars. The latest hit among them is a left-arm suntan, because it signals that this ‘girl’ or ‘boy’ drives a left-wheel import car. The shinjinrui were also called ‘cristal-kids’, after TANAKA Yasuo’s award-winning best-seller Nantonaku, Kuristaru (Tokyo 1980. engl. as “Somehow Cristal”) which became a sort of Yuppy-guide to Tokyo’s ‘in’ restaurants, boutiques, and clubs, a How-to instruction on being hip. It first appeared 1980 in the monthly journal “The Arts” (bungei) and was imediately republished as a book which sold more than one million copies. Tanaka gives us an extensive inside view of the joyful life in empty forms. A life in which one truly and explicitly cherishes snobbery and affectation. His plot “verges on nonexistence” (Norma Field), but in 442 notes he boasts with all the information the trendy hyper- consumer needs. Example: Where do you go on a saturday night after elven if the desire for icecream overcomes you? Answer: Take a taxi to Swensen`s on “Killer” Avenue. Because of the rapid change in fashion, most of the information was, of course, outdated the moment “Somehow Cristal” hit the masses. Though other info bits are here to stay. Through the shinjinrui, for example, the Japanese language was lastingly enriched by the ‘brand name syndrome’ – I’m alone, but not lonely: Japanese Otaku-Kids colonize the Realm of Information and Media, A Tale of Sex and Crime from a faraway Place
In a basic form, Nakamori illustrates the otaku as unfashionable, perpendicular to the shinjinrui of the time. In terms of hometown, or today more commonly “mecca,” Akihabara houses the otaku and Shibuya the (contemporarily-defunct?) shinjinrui. Those following trends obsess over fashion, while those on the fringe obsess over fantastic images — both, of course, consumed by the desire to harness information.
But where does kawaii and moé fit into all this? Ultimately, it is codified in the functions of fashion.
Fashion is about novelty, or if not that then the return to a regulated state of imaginative materialism (ie., the resurgence of decade-identified images, eg. 1920s flapper, or more generally the 1980s). Toward the former, street fashion, the hottest new item; toward the latter, specific to Japan, the shift to Uniqlo. However, these two elements make up fashion, so what about unfashion? It is the strict, unchanging form, easily approachable, never conservative because it is forever conserved. In some respects the unfashionable is a fashion, yet cannot truly be called fashion because it does not change. Fashion strives on and depends on moods.
Kawaii is fashionable. Moé is not.
Moé is the unconscious reaction against the commercialization of desire.
Moé is a style in that it is forever static. Contrarily, kawaii depends on fluctuation to survive. When we consider kawaii, the essence of cuteness, we see something that is novel, hence different, thence it makes an impression which we call cute. If the encounter is not novel, a reaction might be to remark it as cute, yet it loses a significant amount of pure authenticity. Kawaii culture endures as fashion changes, forever supplying the mind with novel images which may be considered cute. Oppositely, the moé style never deviates, never evolves. Otaku, then, find familiarity in the moé image, a maternal affection (according to Ken Akamatsu) that humbles the otaku soul.
It is entirely possible for an outsider to consider a moé-centric object or personage to be kawaii. However, the knowledgeable otaku understands the moé image. On the other hand, comprehension of kawaii depends entirely on consideration of the image, instead of recognition.
Japan’s Ambassadors of Cute – Q: Kawaii or moé?
Neojapanisme’s recent article on the misrepresentation of fujoshi inspired the initial thoughts on this article and continues to lend meaning to the understanding of the static moé image. The Fujoshi Syndicate’s なぜ、腐女子は男尊女卑なのか？ attempts to reconcile the image of the Akiba-kei (秋葉系) maid with a male understanding of femininity. Too true. This maid image relies mostly on the moé style, though in ways it reacts against it, by offering new designs of dress, on occasion. However, fundamentally, the maid is a static image in the masculine-dominant otaku culture. Perhaps this reliance on the moé image accounts for the lack of sex in Akihabara. Shibuya boasts 道玄坂, but Akihabara lacks the space for true sexual acts, instead providing a sexualized culture, imposed by reliance on the static worldview of moé.
The ultimate paradox inherent to this discussion lies in the relationship of kawaii and moé images to the respective geographical homestead. At heart, Akihabara retains a do-it-yourself culture, defined by the aim to create something out of disparate parts sold on street corners, reliant on self innovation and imagination. Alas, the ubiquity of 萌え deflects this culture sustained by self-reliance. Similarly, the Shibuya fashion culture thrives in commercialism, broadcast by designers and department stores to the masses. Yet kawaii is kept alive in the creation of the new, as the populace innovates fashion out of inflicted “fashion.”
Perhaps in truth moé ultimately is defined by the (new) 秋葉系, a style defined by its territory. Is its future, though, doubtful?
I’m not clear on how you are defining kawaii. To me, moe in this context is more a reaction or feeling, where as Kawaii is only that at times. When you talk about fashion, in terms of say, erokawaii or gothloli or something, then those things gets a little harder to grasp in terms of “what feeling is this??”
My own feeling on the matter is more like, that moe fashion hasn’t really existed long enough to evolve (maybe it is starting to now…) and as in terms of clothes people wear they are just different offshoots of the kawaii concept. So until I read what you try to distinguish I didn’t really see all that of a difference.
One big difference between kawaii and moe is that kawaii is a fundamental backdrop of Japan’s pop cultural identity. It’s extremely mainstream. Maybe this is why when you talk about kawaii I have a hard time getting what you really mean by that.
I did seem to define kawaii in terms of fashion, but it doesn’t necessarily rely on it, though it certainly thrives on it. Basically, I do see it as a “feeling,” which encompasses a general notion of “cute.” Primarily, I wanted to flush out the opposition between kawaii and moé in terms of static and dynamic natures. But I understand that the moé concept hasn’t existed for long, so you might be correct in your statement. I’m not sure I would agree that kawaii is fundamental to Japanese popular cultural identity, but it certainly is mainstream, which washes out a set meaning for it. At the same time, though, just like “pain,” no one can truly define a feeling, whether moé or kawaii, so I suppose in the end it’s all subjective. It just seems, though, that you can call something moé and actually be wrong, or be criticized by others as being wrong in your assertion.
One thing that’s clear about moe is that it comes in different forms. Megane moe, cripple moe, school swimwear moe, whatever. In terms of fashion, it spans a wide range of schools of fashion. [Maybe that is the commercializing of the anti-commercialized desire?] It’s slightly different than kawaii in that a girl would go and shop around, as they do, for whatever that they think looks good on them to wear. Which is slightly different than, say, a girl that shops for things to wear that will solicit a certain feeling coming from another?
Seems to me, that distance is what you’re kind of after.
One thing that I find interesting is how in Japan, Uniqlo functions the same way as Ito Yokado/Seiyu did back in Manga Burrkko (which you are filing under moe), while in America Uniqlo totally puts itself into the kawaii camp.
I see where you’re going with this, but I think in the end what you’re pointing out is that “kawaii” is mainstream, while “moe” is underground otaku stuff, and that fans outside of Japan may not always know the difference.
If the above interpretation i correct, then your headline may be a little bit misleading, since IMO “moe” is being heavily commercialized– within the otaku market. “Moe” is being used to sell entire shows that have virtually no other qualities to offer.
It’s hard to define “moe,” of course, but I think that, like with so many fan terminologies, it’s being used in more than one way. There’s the original definition, which is where “moe” is simply what turns you on. Mikuru is moe. L is boy-moe. Etc.
And then there’s a slightly tweaked version, where people use “moe” to refer to the idea of a character that’s being developed *specifically to cause someone to think it’s “moe.”* I think this is the “moe” we’re using when we talk about, for example, “Clannad is a moe show” or “Mikuru is a moe-blob.” This is referring specifically to the commercialization of moe, the attempt by creators to instill a feeling that fans identified within themselves first.
…I’m kind of rambling now. Moe is always a tricky topic!
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