Separate but equal? (Tokyo Metro)
Zettai Kareshi (絶対彼氏) / Absolute Boyfriend
Fuji TV Spring 2008 season
I find it strange that I like Zettai Kareshi so much. Although I love the romantic comedy genre of j-dramas (as opposed to the melodramas) in general, I can’t help but be reminded of the horrible conclusion that the title is everything that I am not. I’ve only seen the first few episodes since the summer started while stuck in airports and planes without in-flight entertainment, but here are some initial thoughts on the series:
It strikes me that the premise of ZK and how the conflict develops in the plot only makes sense in the context of Japanese social expectations and norms about how a woman should properly behave. In real life, all my female friends in school would simply say itadakimasu when faced with a Mocomichi. And they do. It may not necessarily be culturally-specific – ZK is thematically very similar to an old science fantasy romance novel called the Silver Metal Lover I read back in middle school. Yup, back when I had the luxury of time to read fantasy novels, so much that I could read the shoujo genre ones as well. But Silver Metal Lover was written in 1981. It’s hard to imagine ZK’s already meager psychological realism translating well beyond its shores where those expectations don’t exist.
As a corollary to the above, although it is ostensibly about the perfect boyfriend, a closer look at the series reveals an implicit definition of the ideal girl, because of the equally unrealistically chaste and virtuous protagonist, an office lady at a confectionery company who works hard and makes great cream puffs. I believe the series would be more accurately titled zettai kanojo (絶対彼女) instead, if it is reflective of prevailing social expectations of Japanese women in the labor market, and Japanese corporate culture in general. The protagonist is a diligent worker, yet she is not full-time staff but a temp contracted from an agency, and often appears serving coffee during meetings. Even when she is most productive, she is no corporate professional either – her contribution as a talented pâtissier is a domestic-oriented skill. (See my essay on the Japanese economy for more on corporate gender discrimination)
On a more positive note, ZK also presents a role model for a greater role of fathers in the domestic world. Mocomichi’s character is programmed to do household chores, cook delicious meals, and help with living expenses. Yet the appeal of ZK suggests that this masculine ideal is far from real male aspirations. As much as popular culture may reflect social realities, television serials are more often an escapist fantasy. One can only hope that the men watching ZK catch the message – Japanese women’s expectations of men are changing too.
My last observation is on the implicit debate on the definition of masculinity. On one hand we have greek-god “ore sexy?” Mocomichi flexing his muscles topless for the audience. On the other hand we have metrosexual host-club himo-type Mizushima Hiro, who was a supporting character in the blatantly-titled “hanakimi ikemen paradise“. These rival definitions of ikemen-hood (ike-manhood?) interest me in terms of which is relatively less unachievable in my own quest to become, well, the title of the drama. I know, I know. Yappari zettai muri desu ne? All I can do is try to change the things I can and accept the things I can’t.
