Dearest Rachel –
I suppose you can tell from my last letter that I’m taking most of the advice from the stepsisters from Into The Woods:
When going to hide… know how to get there… and how to get back… and eat first.
Now, I may not be all that concerned about eating first – come on, I’m a cruise ship, that’s hardly a concern – but as you can tell, I am concerned about getting there and getting back. But, while I’ve been taking care of gathering that information, I haven’t exactly braced myself for what I expect to see. Indeed, I think that, throughout much of this trip, I haven’t been able to do that; mostly because I have no idea what to expect.
This is different; I’ve been, if not steeped in it for nearly the past quarter century, at least more than familiar with otaku culture to have a vague idea of what I might see in, say, Akihabara. But at the same time, I’ve never quite been the sort who makes pilgrimages to the Comikets and the like. I don’t read the language, and the titles I enjoy are either old, obscure and/or out of print, or just a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean that is the entirety of the anime and manga world. I fully expect to see so much that I will be overloaded from being able to choose something to bring home. And as far as the boys are concerned, finding something pertaining to their specific series might very well be like the proverbial needle in a haystack.
Still, like the proverb about Mount Fuji, I would be a fool if, given the opportunity, I don’t climb there at least once.
It probably goes without saying that I would feel so much more comfortable if I was doing so with you at my side. However, there’s more to that statement than the obvious fact that I want you with me. Consider a man going into a lingerie store; if he’s going in there with his wife (or girlfriend, I suppose), then there’s a particular reason why he’s doing so. He’s no threat to the sales girls, as he’s not on the prowl; he knows who he’s going to be having a good time with. But a man who walks in there alone and ogles everything… that’s when they start reaching for the phone to dial the police (at least that’s how it feels to me and every comedian who’s expounded upon the subject).
Of course, there’s absolutely nothing unusual about a man walking into a comic shop by himself; in fact, that’s basically their main clientele. But you need to bear in mind, while Akihabara is dedicated to the otaku culture, that doesn’t mean they like otaku anymore than the rest of Japan.
There is, after all, the dichotomy of tatamae and honne that exists in this country; essentially, it’s the face that you show to the world versus your real self behind it. As long as you project a pleasant face to the world, it doesn’t matter what you really think of what is going on. This is, rather, how the Japanese get their vaunted reputation as being ‘polite,’ as well, perhaps that of inscrutability (although, to be sure, that appears to be more associated with the Chinese, but it still applies).
In this case, however, the mask has slipped a bit, especially among those in the know. Americans who consider themselves ‘otaku’ are generally cognizant of the fact that the meaning behind the word differs depending on which side of the ocean you’re from. At home, those that identify as such consider it similar to the concept of ‘fan,’ albeit one taken a few degrees above average. It’s one thing to watch “Star Trek” regularly on television; it’s another to go to conventions and dress up in Starfleet uniforms when you do so. That is the difference between a fan of the show and a Trekker (they don’t, apparently, like the term ‘Trekkie’; to them, it has similar vibes of the term ‘otaku’ in Japan, which I promise I’ll get to). The latter could be considered a Star Trek otaku, by American terms. Nothing particularly wrong with it, people have hobbies, it’s a free country; you get the arguments.
But when your life revolves around asking yourself “what would Kirk/Picard do?” in every situation; when you’re picking fights with strangers online about minutiae in this script or that, and what it might mean in context; if you’re translating the Bible into Klingon (actually, I’m pretty sure it’s already been done, so it’s doubly a waste of time at this point) – this is where you’re approaching the event horizon, to extend the space metaphor, and heading for ‘otaku’ territory as defined by Japanese society. They tend to see otaku as those whose obsession (to whatever; I use Star Trek as an example specifically because it’s not anime or manga-related – although I’m pretty sure there are several Star Trek manga available these days) has almost irreversibly prevented them from being a valued and productive member of society. Those who actually are must conceal their hobby from public view – putting on their own version of the tatamae/honne dichotomy – and, I am forced to assume, those who cater to otaku run the gamut from actual otaku themselves to those who view the clientele with heavily-disguised contempt. They’re happy to take your money – they’ll even call you goshujin-sama (“master”) – but they still think of you as a weirdo, who really needs to get a life.
That’s what I’m worried about as I wander through the shops in the otaku capital of the world. I’m not fluent enough in Japanese to appreciate the polite tatamae – anyone calling me “master” would just make me thoroughly uncomfortable, simply because it sounds so fake to me right off the bat – and I’m more than aware of the prevalent honne behind it. Of course, as an American, I rather wish they’d be honest about it all – let only the otakus run the otaku kingdom – rather than leaving me wonder who’s happy to see a tourist appreciating the culture, and who’s grumbling inside about how “ugh, now we have foreign otaku” even as they smile and take my money… because I’m going to assume the latter probably more often than is the truth.
And with that being said, honey, keep an eye on me, and wish me luck (and maybe a little self-confidence). I’m going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 