A good record of the evolution of ‘otaku sexuality’ is provided by Manga Burikko (1982-1986), a subcultural magazine from the height of the lolicon boom. While it is difficult to know precisely the demographic of its readership, a survey published in the September 1983 issue of Manga Burikko shows that readers range from ‘below 15’ to ‘above 26,’ with the majority indicating that they are 17 years old. Another survey in the November 1983 issue reveals that 80 percent of readers are male, 15 percent are female and 5 percent did not disclose that information. Early issues of Manga Burikko feature rather realistic images of young female characters engaged in sex. They also contain photographs of semi-nude girls. However, in June 1983, a manga or cute aesthetic is notable in the drawn images, and the magazine takes on the subtitle, ‘Bisho-jo comic magazine for dreaming boys’ (yume miru otoko no ko no tame no bisho-jo komikkushi). Note the use of the word bisho-jo, reserved almost exclusively for fictional characters, and the description of readers as ‘dreaming,’ which sounds like the starry-eyed girls drawn to sho-jo manga.
This trend in the content of Manga Burikko continued in the following months, and the reader response section offers critical insight. In July 1983, Eguchi Shigeki, a reader from Yamagata Prefecture, writes to the magazine that he prefers the new emphasis on ‘light’ eroticism, as opposed to ‘erotic-grotesque’ depictions. In August 1983, Kawaguchi Toshihiko from Hokkaido Prefecture writes, ‘I have a two-dimensional complex (nijigen konpurekkusu). I don’t feel anything for the photographs [of nude girls and gravure idols] in the opening pages [of the magazine]. For that reason, I’d like you to stop with the photographs and run only manga.’ Complaints continued, including a letter from Suzuki Yoko from Miyazaki Prefecture, who praises the artists featured in Manga Burikko, but explains, ‘I feel nothing for manga that is simply about penetration or girls being raped. I psychologically can’t accept it.’ It seems that the editors finally yielded to reader demand in November 1983, symbolised by the issue’s subtitle: ‘Totally bishojo comic magazine’ (maru maru bishojo komikkushi). Gravure photography is entirely absent, and remained so for the rest of the magazine’s existence. In addition, ‘realistic’ depictions and graphic, violent sex are far less prevalent, and gradually faded from the pages of Manga Burikko. This transformation is interesting not only because the power of the fans is on display, but also because of the radical realisation by the editors that fans did not want or need the ‘real thing.’
In truth, the preference for round shapes and soft lines should not come as a surprise. Azuma Hideo, the pioneering developer of bishojo characters and cute eroticism, had as his starting point a rejection of nude photographs of girls and ‘realistic’ depictions of sex, a rejection that is repeated in the pages of Manga Burikko as it moved toward bishojo. Manga Burikko’s chief editor, Otsuka Eiji, was a reader of shojo manga and regularly solicited contributions from female manga artists. What is surprising, however, is the unintended effects of valorising cuteness. For example, in the August 1983 issue of Manga Burikko, a male manga artist named Hayasaka Miki uses four color pages to introduce a girl character named Takanezawa Moe. On the third page, Moe’s elder sister is introduced as a female manga artist who is in charge of taking some photos of Moe for this spread in Manga Burikko (that is, Hayasaka draws the ‘photos’ taken by the older sister in the fictional setting). While the older sister calls Moe ‘cute’ (kawaii), and the view of her in unguarded moments is certainly voyeuristic, the gaze is presented as feminine and innocent.
In drawing what the older sister saw through the camera’s viewfinder, Hayasaka is not just drawing a girl in a style inspired by girls’ comics, but he is also visualising Moe from the viewpoint of a girl. In imagining a cute girl character and a space of cuteness, the voyeur may choose to enter into that space and indulge the ‘cute, innocent ‘I’’ (Otsuka 1989: 73—74). Desire here is not as simple as possessing the object — a known fiction — but rather entails feeling close to and identifying with the girl character in complex and contradictory ways (Kinsella 2000: 122; Yomota 2006: 155). The desires of male shojo manga readers, bishojo artists and lolicon in general were perceived to be abnormal, which sparked the original backlash against ‘otaku’ among fans of manga and anime.