Southeast Review of Asian Studies

Volume 29 (2007), pp. 192–208

Dating-Simulation Games:
Leisure and Gaming of Japanese Youth Culture

EMILY TAYLOR
University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill

This article introduces Japanese dating-simulation (dating-sim) games and examines

their depictions of young men, women, and romantic relationships in “virtual Japan.”
Several intersecting realms of Japanese popular culture are examined—video games,
anime アニメ, manga 漫画, and hentai 変態 (pornography)—in order to classify dating-
sim games. Dating-sim games are also placed in a social context in contemporary Japan
by analyzing common attitudes toward otaku オタク (geek) culture. Otaku are increas-
ingly labeled as shōjo 少女 (lit., young girls), essentially a feminization; but dating-sim
games offer players a clear identity as non-shōjo. This article also demonstrates how
dating-sim games are strongly enmeshed within Japanese culture, one major factor that
has hindered their popularity abroad.

Why Study Dating-Simulation Games?

This article analyzes Japanese dating-simulation (hereafter, dating-sim)

games, particularly for their depiction of young men, women, and romantic
relationships in “virtual Japan.” Although these games are quite popular in
Japan today, they have not yet been received favorably abroad. In fact, most
of the writing about dating-sim games by non-Japanese viewers has been in
the form of satire.1 What about these games, then, is specifically appealing
in Japan, so much so that they are considered mainstream there but ridi-
culed abroad? To address this question, I first introduce dating-sim games
in general; then I provide detailed descriptions of four specific games. I
focus mainly on the relationships among the male and female characters in
the games, with the goal of identifying what is especially “Japanese” about
them. I conclude by analyzing how these relationships fit into the context
of Japanese dating practices and geek culture, thus demonstrating the
strong correspondence between these games and Japanese society.
Very little has previously been written about dating-sim games.2 The
dearth of information is remarkable, given how the study of these games

© 2007 Southeast Conference of the Association for Asian Studies

 Japanese Dating-Simulatiuon Games 193

seems crucial to the understanding of other important topics, including the

male figures of the otaku オタク (geek, nerd) and hikikomori 引きこもり
(social shut-in) as well as the currently hot topic of “parasite singles”—un-
married men and women who live with their parents while working and
who have substantial disposable incomes to spend on luxury items. All of
these other issues have been explored in several recent publications about
Japan.3 Furthermore, as a critical part of Japanese youth culture, dating-sim
games demand serious analysis for what they can illuminate about this as-
pect of Japanese society. As computer games with both dating-simulation
and pornographic material, they fall under three categories of study: (1) Japa-
nese dating and personal relationships, (2) Japanese gaming and leisure,
and (3) obscenity and pornography in Japan. Of the first topic, several ac-
counts and studies have been written.4 The latter two topics, however, have
become a part of academic discourse only since the 1990s.5
The connecting worlds of leisure and sexuality in Japan have been ex-
plored quite extensively by anthropologist Anne Allison, whose works in-
clude Nightwork (1994), Permitted and Prohibited Desires (2000), and, most
recently, Millennial Monsters (2006).6 During her fieldwork for Nightwork, an
in-depth study of Japanese hostess clubs, Allison received several negative
reactions from the Japanese men and women she attempted to interview
inside and outside the clubs. These individuals assured her that hostess
clubs did not fit into an academic study of Japan. Other topics, they sug-
gested, would offer a “better,” “more correct” view of their culture.7 And
yet Allison has clearly demonstrated the value of examining “frivolous”
aspects of Japanese society—such as the hostess club—by proving that they
are integral parts of the society and can reveal much about the Japanese out-
look on family, work, and sex. In Millennial Monsters, Allison examines
Japanese toys. Her far-reaching study of Japanese youth culture and its
craving for cuteness (a lucrative export to the United States, in fact) once
again demonstrates that the world of leisure is a fruitful topic for the study
of Japanese society. Dating-sim games demand examination for the same
reason. As eroticized games, they lie somewhere between the realms of toys
and pornography, offering, I believe, insights into both topics.

Dating-Simulation & Bishōjo Games: Gameplay, Goals & Characters

Description of the Genre & One Subgenre

Dating-sim games remain confined, for the most part, to the Japanese
video and computer game market. While uncommon in the American and
European gaming market, they form a significant portion of the Japanese
market, with the sales of some games surpassing one million copies.8 These
games can be bought and sold at most video game stores in Japan, as well as
directly from other users through Japanese-language electronic market-
194 E. Taylor

places, such as Amazon and eBay. Used games can be purchased at video
game stores for as little as ¥3,000 to ¥4,000 (approximately US$25–33, at
US$1 = ¥120) if they are older or less popular, but most used dating-sim
games are available for around ¥5,000 to ¥7,000 (US$42–58). New games
typically run from ¥8,000 to ¥10,000 (US$67–83).
One can define a dating-sim game, in short, as a video or computer
game that focuses on dating or romance and may contain erotic content.
Several subgenres can be identified: bishōjo 美少女 games, in which a play-
able male character interacts with attractive anime-style girls; GxB or otome
乙女 games, where a playable female character dates male characters; and
BL (“boys’ love”) games, where the characters are homosexual. Bishōjo
games, the focus of this article, are the most common.
Bishōjo games share a basic structure and feel. The gamer plays a male
character who interacts with various female characters as well as secondary
characters such as family members, neighbors, and teachers. Dialogue is
usually spoken by voice actors or may appear as text on the screen. The
main character’s words, thoughts, and actions, however, are described
through text only; the main character has no voice actor. Dating-sim games
usually have no animation; the background remains static and changes
only when the character moves to another location.9 Often, the same back-
grounds are reused in different situations. For example, if the character is
in a classroom when other students are around, the room appears empty so
it can be reused for scenes in which the character is alone. In cases such as
these, text-based descriptions of the surroundings, rather than the images
on the screen, establish whether others are present. Clearly, dating-sim
games require the player to use his (or her)10 imagination much more than
do typical video games. Additionally, when the main character is interact-
ing with another person, that person appears in front of the background
and remains still, merely alternating between poses (which, like the back-
grounds, are static and frequently reused) to match what the conversation
partner is saying. The main character, with whom the gamer is meant to
identify, rarely appears on the screen.
The interactive portions of the game arise through options presented to
the gamer, which are typically binary, although options with three choices
occasionally arise. These options occur sporadically and often involve seem-
ingly trivial choices, such as whether to go to a movie or art museum. Inter-
estingly, any life-changing decisions in the game, such as whether the main
character will donate a kidney, are often not decided by the game player.
The game player takes advantage of options to manipulate the main charac-
ter’s actions to bring about his desired result.
These results come in the form of endings, of which dating-sim games
have typically ten to twenty. Some are “good endings,” in which the main
character ends up with one (or more) of the female characters and lives
 Japanese Dating-Simulatiuon Games 195

happily with her, usually entailing marriage; others are “bad endings,”
which vary widely but may involve the death of a female character, one of
the characters moving away, or the male and female characters living to-
gether unhappily. Usually, each female character has the potential to bring
about both a good ending and a bad ending; the player must select the op-
tions carefully to get the one he wants.
Intuitively, one would think that players would aim for good endings,
but such is not always the case. The only way to “beat” the game is to play
it numerous times, experiencing all the endings. After playing through the
game, players can go to the main menu and check their “status,” which
shows how much of the game is finished. To reach a status of 100 percent,
signaling completion of the game, all endings must be reached. Essentially,
the only way to “lose” when playing a dating-sim game is not to get a bad
ending but to get the same ending twice, since doing so prevents players
from making any progress toward game completion. Thus, unlike most
video games, dating-sim games are not particularly competitive; they have
no final “bosses” whom the players try to defeat. After getting through all
the endings, extra scenes or characters may be unlocked, including, occa-
sionally, “harem endings,” which allow the main character to end up living
with all the female characters.
Dating-sim games remain two dimensional, despite the vast majority of
other video games presently being rendered in rich three-dimensional
graphics. One reason is the focus in dating-sim games on characters. Video
games such as Rockstar Games’ “Grand Theft Auto” can be animated in
three dimensions because most visuals are landscapes. Three-dimensional
characters, however, tend to look blocky and distorted when seen up close.
Konami’s Tokimeki Memorial 3 ときめきメモリアル3 (2001) was the first
bishōjo game to be animated in three dimensions, but its low sales likely
discouraged other companies from following this lead. Thus bishōjo games
remain a slideshow of two-dimensional images plus voice and text.11

Synopses of Four Dating-Sim Games

For this article, I have chosen four bishōjo games that reveal the com-
plexities and possibilities of the genre: a touching, fan-favorite visual novel;
a light-hearted romance–comedy; and two erogē エロゲー (erotic games). I
have based the following descriptions of these games on English transla-
tions at www.g-collections.com. And unlike other Japanese terms presented
in this article, the Japanese dating-sim game names in this section are of-
fered parenthetically, followed by their Japanese release dates.
D. O.’s Kana Imouto12 (加奈～いもうと～, 1999), a type of bishōjo game
called a visual novel, is perhaps more romantic than most dating-sim games,
despite the seemingly iyarashii 嫌らしい (perverted) premise of its protago-
nist falling in love with his sister (who, he finds out later in the game, is
196 E. Taylor

adopted). Taka, the protagonist, can potentially form a relationship with

only two female characters: Kana, his sister, who is two years his junior;
and Yumi, his first love from elementary school. Kana suffers from chronic
renal deficiency, a debilitating disease that forces her to spend most of her
life in the hospital. Kana Imouto is an emotionally poignant game; it starts
when Taka is age seven and continues linearly until he turns twenty. Essen-
tially, the game player lives Taka’s life and grows up along with his friends.
For its complex plot and characters, Kana Imouto has become wildly popu-
lar. In March 2006, for example, only one used copy was available at Ama-
zon.co.jp; it was priced at ¥9,000 (US$75).13 Kana Imouto has captivated
even American audiences, and several English-language fan Web sites are
dedicated to the game, including fan fiction sites.14
In D. O.’s Sensei 2 (せ・ん・せ・い２, 2001), the playable character is a
high school student named Nakata Shuichi. The story begins during his
childhood on the day of his father’s death. His childhood friend, Kumiko,
who is an older-sister figure for him, invites Shuichi to move to Tokyo with
her. The story jumps forward to Shuichi as a young high school student
who is unconcerned with his grades or future. He spends his time socializ-
ing with Kumiko, who has become his senpai 先輩 (upper classmate). They
share an interest in art, and Shuichi often sketches Kumiko in the art room
after school. Again the story flashes forward, this time to the present day,
where Shuichi is now a junior in high school and Kumiko has become an
art teacher at his school. After a male teacher (who, as Kumiko’s boyfriend,
is suspicious of Shuichi’s relationship with her) punches Shuichi multiple
times for having a bad attitude toward school, Shuichi feels himself change.
A “peculiar urge” awakens in him, and he begins to desire several of the
female characters: Kumiko; Shoko, a naïve student teacher; Sachiho, the
voluptuous principal; Seno, the strict P.E. teacher; and Ito, the mysterious
and emotionally cold chemistry teacher.
ZyX’s Tsuki ~ Possession (憑き~ Possession, 2001) is similar to Sensei 2
in that the main character, Yosuke, undergoes a sinister change as an evil
spirit begins to possess him, and he begins to desire the women around him.
The pursuable female characters include his stepmother, his stepsister, the
student body president, a chemistry teacher, and the manager at the café
where he has a part-time job. What is interesting about Tsuki ~ Possession is
that, although the main character undergoes a transformation from normal
to sinister, this change affords him weak psychic powers in order to win
over women. However, Yosuke does not like his transformation and often
attempts to resist it. He is successful at the end of the game: the evil spirit
leaves him, and he spends the rest of his life living happily with whichever
female character the player has chosen.
Trabulance’s Tottemo! Pheromone (とってもフェロモン, 2002) is a light-
hearted fantasy/romance-comedy dating-sim game. The main character, Ta-
 Japanese Dating-Simulatiuon Games 197

kuya, has to leave home to attend college in another city. He moves in with
his cousin and, in exchange for his hospitality, works at his cousin’s cake
shop. One day, a beautiful girl falls through the ceiling into his living room,
landing on Takuya’s lap. She identifies herself as Silk and claims to be a
time-traveler from another world. To get back to her own world, she convin-
ces Takuya to extract magical powers from five particular girls (who, luckily,
all frequently visit the cake shop) by having sex with them. Takuya, an or-
dinary, sexually inexperienced student, does not feel up to this task, so Silk
casts a magic spell on him, making him ten times more attractive. Thus, it is
the game-player’s challenge to procure all the magical power Silk needs to
get home. At the end of the game, the player can choose one female to date
exclusively. If he picks his options carefully, he can also end up with Silk.

What Are Dating-Sim Games? Classification of an Ambiguous Genre

Classifying dating-sim games is no simple task. The games could simply be

labeled as video games: They are playable on gaming consoles (Sony Play-
stations or Microsoft XBoxes) or on personal computers; players uncover
new endings, scenes, and characters, adding to the excitement; and players
can role-play the main characters. Dating-sim games are not arcade-style
video games, however, because players often “play” the game for an hour or
more before the first option appears. Some games have fewer than ten op-
tions, and as much as half an hour can elapse between choices. During
these option-less sequences, dating-sim game feels more like anime アニメ
or manga 漫画, Japanese animation and comics, respectively. Addition-
ally, in most games, there is an “auto-forward” option that allows the text
to continue without requiring input from the player at the end of each line.
Players can also set the speed of the text display, adjusting it to comfortable
reading speeds. Between options, players simply watch the screen, read the
text, and listen to the dialogue; playing dating-sim games feels much more
passive than playing arcade-style video games.
Furthermore, many dating-sim games and anime episodes have similar
structures. Tottemo! Pheromone has an “eyecatch” between each scene con-
sisting of still shots of the characters in a short, flashy animated sequence,
much like anime episodes use to signal commercial breaks. Kana Imouto has
an opening that consists of still shots of Kana set to a short song, like the
beginning of an anime episode.15 Additionally, dating-sim games contain
several plot points and tropes similar to those used in anime and manga. For
example, in Kana Imouto, Taka sends a love letter to his classmate Yumi,
but he later finds her reading it along with everyone else in his class. He
assumes he has been rejected and he flees the room, ignoring Yumi’s pro-
tests that she did not intentionally show their classmates the letter. (This
plot device is found, for example, in the popular romance-comedy series
198 E. Taylor

Marmalade Boy.) Furthermore, the premise of Tottemo! Pheromone, where a

magical goddess suddenly appears and eventually falls in love with a human,
is reminiscent of the romance-comedy series Ah! My Goddess. Thus, dating-
sim games often feel more like anime or manga than they do actual video
games.
Although not all dating-sim games contain erotic content, the majority
do, even if erotic content is not the focus of the game. Therefore, dating-
sim games could potentially be categorized as a type of pornography. Erotic
content in dating-sim games, in fact, mirrors that found in other porno-
graphic media in Japan. Several tropes characteristic of pornographic anime
and manga also appear in dating-sim games. Common themes include
bondage, rape, incest, and enemas.
In short, by incorporating elements of video games, anime, manga, and
pornography, dating-sim games cannot be neatly placed into any one of
those classifications. I propose, therefore, that dating-sim games be consid-
ered interactive anime/manga with erotic content, a classification recogniz-
ing that dating-sim games combine both the voyeuristic aspect of (porno-
graphic) anime or manga with the participatory aspect of video games.

Male Characters in Dating-Sim Games

The playable character in dating-sim games is a particularly interesting fig-

ure that necessitates close inspection. In bishōjo games, players play a pro-
tagonist who is always a young, heterosexual male. Unlike some video
games with multiple playable characters, no choices of protagonist exist in
dating-sim games. The protagonist is typically in high school or college or,
infrequently, is a young college graduate or older male. (If the character is
older than a college student, the game usually centers on his life as a profes-
sional—a doctor, private detective, or the like.) The main character’s daily
experiences are normal and believable: he attends class, rides the train, par-
ticipates in club activities, and goes to a part-time job. His face is rarely
shown; players watch the events through the main character’s eyes. When
parts of the main character’s face appears, he can be found to have Japanese
features (usually dark hair and light-colored skin). Interestingly, his eyes
are always either closed or concealed by his hair. As mentioned earlier, the
main character’s dialogue appears as text only.
Male characters in dating-sim games are essentially empty shells. They
are characterized not by their personalities but by their lack thereof, have no
outstanding traits or personalities, are mediocre students, and are not espe-
cially popular with women. Although players can occasionally name the
main characters, most come with preset, generic names (like Shuichi or
Taka). Thus, game players can easily fit themselves into this character mold;
any dating-sim game owner has the potential to become the main character.
 Japanese Dating-Simulatiuon Games 199

Male characters are often presented as the opposite of shōjo 少女 (young

girls), a term that carries numerous connotations.16 It typically refers to fe-
males who are between puberty and marriage and suggests heterosexual
inexperience17 and consumerism.18 In contrast, most playable male charac-
ters are heterosexually experienced. Regardless of the female’s sexual ex-
perience, even in cases where she is a married woman, a prostitute, or oth-
erwise sexually experienced—and the male character is a virgin—the male
is always more knowledgeable about both his and the woman’s sexuality.
Male characters are not unattractive, but they are also not particularly
“cute” or otherwise especially attractive, at least originally; their physical
features typically do not play a role in the game (thus enhancing their pres-
entation as empty shells). Finally, male characters never become emotional.
Whereas female characters often cry or become angry or happy, male char-
acters tend to remain emotionally static. On the rare occasions when they
experience emotions (usually confined to either happiness or frustration),
the emotions are not outwardly expressed.
When male characters do display some sort of talent or power, it comes
from an outside source and involves a transformation. Transformation does
not occur in all dating-sim games, but it appears to be a prominent theme,
much like magical girls are a theme in some anime and manga. In Tottemo!
Pheromone, this transformation is a direct result of a magical spell cast on
Takuya. In Tsuki ~ Possession, the transformation is a result of possession
by an evil spirit which causes Yosuke to split into a “good” self and an
“evil” self. In Sensei 2, Shuichi’s transformation is the result of genetics (his
family has a history of males who control and abuse women) coupled with
stress (a teacher who physically assaults him).
These transformations differ from typical transformations in anime and
manga in several ways. The transformations in anime and manga are almost
always experienced by females, who are empowered by them.19 The trans-
forming figures in anime and manga “possess supernatural strength and
powers . . . , impossible yet very desirable attributes for a human adoles-
cent.”20 Obviously, the transforming male in dating-sim games also pos-
sesses supernatural powers and desirable though impossible traits, such as
being able to read women’s minds, yet these transformations are often more
negative than the kinds in anime and manga. Transformations in anime and
manga empower the female characters and are almost always reversible.
Transformations in dating-sim games, however, are often negative and/or
permanent. For examples, Takuya wishes to be rid of the spell cast on him
because he feels guilty about taking advantage of women (and is inconven-
ienced by their constant pleas for his affection), but Silk fails in her attempt
to remove it. Shuichi does not resist his transformation and takes pleasure
in his new, powerful self; but Takuya is terrified by his split and attempts
to fight it, ultimately with success. Because male characters become power-
200 E. Taylor

ful not through hard work or natural talent but through outside forces,
game players are more easily able to understand the male character’s power
over women.
These transformations are labeled as undesirable by being alien, non-
Japanese forms of transformation. What is most striking about the male
transformations in dating-sim games is that they follow the style of Ameri-
can, rather than Japanese, superheroes. Tom Gill analyzes this distinction
in “Transformational Magic,” wherein he claims American superheroes
“bio-transform,” while Japanese superheroes “mecha-transform.” 21 Bio-
transformation, according to Gill, has two key features: it can be involun-
tary, or can lie somewhere between voluntary and involuntary, and it is of-
ten based on a childhood incident (a spider bite, for example) or—although
Gill does not mention this possibility—genetics (as is the case with Super-
man). Mecha-transformation, however, is always voluntary. It usually in-
volves an instrument that the superhero uses to transform him- or herself,
and returning to original form is accomplished voluntarily after the enemy
is defeated. Representative examples of mecha-transformation are Power
Rangers and Sailor Moon.
The meaning of the distinction is clear: Only those with special or
privileged histories are capable of bio-transformation, but the democratic
mecha-transformation is possible for anyone once he or she has the tech-
nology (be it a magic wand, brooch, bracelet, or other type of transformation-
instigating device).22 These tools also give the superhero a reassuring sense
of control and of normalcy; only a Japanese-style superhero is able to be a
truly normal person between battles. American transformers such as Super-
man and Spider-Man embody their powers biologically and are unable to
discard their powers along with their disguises; their transformation exists
as a permanent marker of abnormality. Why, then, do Japanese games in-
clude transformations that follow the American, rather than Japanese, pro-
totype? A possible explanation for this oddity is that it labels the main
character and his actions as alien and abnormal, perhaps even inhuman.
Therefore, players’ inabilities to mimic the game characters’ supernatural
successes with women cannot be perceived as any sort of flaw.

Female Characters in Dating-Sim Games

The female characters that appear in dating-sim games include both com-
plex and simple figures. Numerous non-playable female characters are
present. Some dating-sim games force players to pursue only one female
character at a time, after which players can start the game over in order to
form relationships with other characters. Other dating-sim games allow
players to form simultaneous relationships. Some female characters are
more elusive than others; a relationship with one of these characters can be
 Japanese Dating-Simulatiuon Games 201

“unlocked” only after playing through the game multiple times. For
example, in Sensei 2, Shuichi can form a relationship with Shoko (the
student teacher), Kumiko (the childhood friend), or Sachiho (the principal)
the first time the game is played. However, in order to form a relationship
with the other characters, Seno (the P.E. teacher) and Ito (the chemistry
teacher), players must completely play through the game with the first three
female characters. Only then do these final two characters become unlocked.
Female characters in dating-sim games are in many ways opposites of
the main male character. Rather than sporting drab, generic appearances
and personalities, they often have unique traits and rarely appear Japanese.
Traits include attributes such as multicolored hair and eyes (green, blue,
pink, red, yellow, purple) and one-dimensional or exaggerated personalities
(incredibly intelligent, sporty, outgoing, or shy). Whereas the male charac-
ter is designed so that players can relate to him, female characters appear to
be designed so that they would not resemble any real-life people the players
might know. A remarkable example of this separation of unrealistic female
characters from real-life people is found in Tottemo! Pheromone: Takuya’s
cousin’s wife is named Ms. Silk (not to be confused with Silk, the main fe-
male character). Ms. Silk is a magical girl who traveled to Earth and, be-
cause she fell in love, chose to remain on Earth and had to surrender her
magical powers. After giving up her powers, her striking blond hair and
blue eyes turned black, making her appear Japanese. Ms. Silk is not a pur-
suable character in Tottemo! Pheromone, and this separation from the other
female characters is displayed graphically by her realistic, Japanese features.
Women are never particularly strong characters in dating-sim games.
Many female characters appear strong initially, but this first impression
always turns out to be a mere façade. The protagonist seeks to remove each
woman’s supposed power and reveal her “true form,” which is one of weak-
ness and the desire to be subordinate to men. One extreme instance of this
portrayal occurs in Sensei 2, where players can choose to pursue Sachiho,
Shuichi’s high school principal. In this case, Shuichi begins a sexual rela-
tionship with her, and Sachiho becomes so infatuated with him that she
divorces her husband, quits her job, and moves in with Shuichi to be his
permanent “slave.” The message here is not only that, in the supernatural
world of dating-sim games, one can subdue even the most powerful female
around and reduce her to a non-entity but also that strength and independ-
ence are mere pretense: women are fundamentally weak and dependent
upon men.
For that reason, almost all female characters in dating-sim games can
be called shōjo. Although the characters are over eighteen and are thus
“women,” not “girls,” they are presented as shōjo for being heterosexually
inexperienced, cute, or emotional—or for, by the end of the game, having
reverted to a shōjo-like state, as happens to Sachiho in Sensei 2. Perhaps
202 E. Taylor

such a construct is employed is because dating-sim players consider shōjo to

be attractive sex partners. John Whittier Treat writes that shōjo are erotic
because they “lack libidinal agency of [their] own.”23 Essentially, these shōjo
are objects of play for men—living dolls. One possible ending in Sensei 2
demonstrates this point quite clearly: Shuichi pursues Ito, the mysterious
and attractive chemistry teacher, but she is not interested in him. However,
she is defenseless against his sexual advances because she is indebted to
him; he rescued her daughter from a stalker. Although Shuichi does not
win Ito’s affections, she becomes a sex doll for him. The ending is aptly ti-
tled “Doll.” Thus, in dating-sim games, women are presented as either
being defenseless playthings for the male character or are reduced to such
by the end of the game, essentially reverting to a childlike, shōjo state.
Dating-sim characters are always very successful with relationships.
They are never belittled or outdone by their partners, and they are often
more knowledgeable about relationships (even if it is their first time). For
example, in Ever17, a science fiction dating-sim game where Takeshi, the
main character, is trapped in a malfunctioning underwater theme park
along with four other females, the omnipresent android character who runs
the aquarium (and is, of course, extremely attractive) implores Takeshi to
teach her what “love” means. Despite her computer-like intelligence, she is
ignorant compared to Takeshi. Additionally, in cases where the player
makes a mistake and misses his chance with a girl, he or she is able to re-
wind the game so that this oversight can be amended. In the world of
dating-sim games, any mistakes can be completely fixed and forgotten.
In these games, women desire very little from a relationship. In more
hardcore games such as Tsuki ~ Possession and Sensei 2, the male character
often subjects the women to rape, bondage, and violent sex. How could
these female characters possibly enjoy these relationships, especially given
the lack of kindness and sensitivity on the part of the males? A female char-
acter may often already have a boyfriend (or, in the case of Sachiho in Sen-
sei 2, a husband) who treats her kindly, but she will choose to leave him for
the main character who almost always treats her poorly. Dating-sim games
appear to be presenting an akogare 憧れ (longing, fantasy) for men, in
which relationships are simple because women have no needs or expecta-
tions and may even enjoy the imperfections in their male partners.

Dating-Sim Games & Japanese Society:

The Changing Face of the Otaku

Dating-sim games transport players into fantasy worlds in which every-

thing is idealized to an absurd degree. The games represent a departure
from the real world and its problems into seemingly familiar but bizarre
alternatives, which may contain magical elements such as transformation.
 Japanese Dating-Simulatiuon Games 203

Players’ interactions with the game ensures that they become engrossed in
the fantasy world, allowing temporary escapes from reality.
Such escapes are meaningful, however, as they can serve one or more
specific purposes for players. In the case I explore in the remainder of this
article, dating-sim games protect otaku from the risk of being labeled as shō-
jo, a pejorative appellation that is a result of being feminized through
watching romance-comedy anime and from being sexually inexperienced,
unmarried consumers. In short, otaku are geeks. They are obsessive fans,
usually of anime, manga, and/or video games. The term otaku arose in the
1980s as a derogatory term to describe henjin 変人 (weirdos) among the
amateur manga community. The word otaku literally means “your honor-
able home” (when written as 御宅), and it humorously alludes to the social
ineptitude of a geek who might attempt to communicate with peers in an
overly formal manner.24
The otaku are of interest because of their high consumption of products
geared toward fantasy. Such products include dating-sim and role-playing
games, maid cafés (cafés where waitresses don maid costumes and refer to
customers as “master”), and costumes for cosplay (kosupure コスプレ, a
portmanteau of “costume” and “roleplay” which means dressing up as ani-
me, manga, or video game characters). These are some of the ways in which
the otaku crowd is understood as choosing to blur the line between reality
and fantasy. Although otaku may be viewed with a bit of condescension
from those with more mainstream tastes in Japan, otaku are generally con-
doned and are not believed to be a threat to society, unlike members of the
Aum Shinrikyo cult or hikikomori (shut-ins who often exhibit violence to-
ward family members or others), social outcasts who bring their fantasies
into reality in disturbing ways.25
The interconnection between fantasy and reality is a key element of
otaku culture. As a rejection of societal expectations for them to get married
and support a household, an ideal based on the salaryman figure (the man
who dedicates himself to his company to support his family), otaku choose
instead to delve into a fantasy world of anime, manga, and video games.
Many otaku claim that they express themselves better through computers
and virtual identities than they do in real life; for these people, their virtual
self is the “real them,” continuing to blur the line between fantasy and real-
ity. Like young women who delay marriage and become “parasite singles,”
otaku may also hold full-time jobs—but their income goes toward consum-
ing fantasy in the form of dating-sim games, trips to maid cafés, anime and
manga paraphernalia, and so on. Otaku therefore represent a rejection of
adulthood by resisting work, women, and the salaryman ideal.
One important characteristic of otaku is their supposed inability to
communicate. This stereotype is seen in the 2005 movie Densha Otoko 電車
男, in which the main character, Densha Otoko (Train Man), stammers in a
204 E. Taylor

nervous, high-pitched voice when speaking to women over the phone—yet,

when communicating over the Internet, Densha Otoko is calm and elo-
quent. Such characterization typifies the common perception that otaku
have come to rely on computers and cell phones for communication and
that the result of this constant electronic mediation is essentially a fissure
of identity: a cool, confident “virtual” self co-exists with a socially inept
“real life” self. 26 In addition to pointing to these traits as prime otaku
characterizations, Joseph Dela Pena also characterizes otaku as identity-
seekers. He argues that otaku fail to fit within the “socially optimal” iden-
tity by being studious and performing well on tests; therefore, they create a
new identity based on fantasy worlds of anime, manga, and gaming.27
Identities created specifically through playing dating-sim games are
meaningful: They reaffirm otaku masculinity. Otaku who enjoy romance-
comedy anime are passively consuming animated fantasies about non-sexual
romance, according to Annalee Newitz.28 In her study of anime in America,
Newitz uncovers an anxiety that heterosexual males in Japan who watch
romance-comedy anime risk being feminized. Dating-sim games can be seen
as a foil to this effect: They offer sexual romances that players can experi-
ence directly rather than as passive viewers/voyeurs. Some of the games
with more hardcore pornographic images are the opposite of romance-
comedy anime, being, essentially, sexual non-romance. Newitz also argues
that the American anime fan does not risk being feminized like his Japanese
counterpart,29 so perhaps this claim partially explains the lack of popularity
of dating-sim games outside Japan.
Recently, the word shōjo has been expanded to include both males and
females who are young, between the ages of puberty and marriage, and are
consumers. This new umbrella meaning often applies to otaku. Therefore,
that shōjo are subjected to control in dating-sim games is not surprising:
Controlling a group of people offers a way for the controllers to identify
themselves as “not-them.” This argument is presented in Ichirō Tomi-
yama’s study of the relationship between Okinawa and mainland Japan in
the 1910s: “rather than asking ‘who are we?’, [the Japanese] began with the
question, ‘who are they?’, aimed at . . . the Ryukyuans (the Okinawans) in
the south.”30 Tomiyama is arguing that Japan in the 1910s, during the Meiji
Period (1868–1912), was searching for an identity, and that this identity
was easily achieved by colonizing Okinawa (as well as Taiwan and Korea)
and defining Japan as “not-them.” I argue that present-day otaku are search-
ing for an identity. Through dating-sim games, they control shōjo and thus
define themselves as “not-shōjo.” In this way, the otaku reaffirms his mascu-
linity.
Seen in this light, dating-sim games appear to be similarly affecting the
otaku’s preferences for computer-mediated or computer-created relation-
ships and a fondness for the female beauty depicted in anime. Beginning in
 Japanese Dating-Simulatiuon Games 205

the early 1990s, the connotation of the word otaku began to shift from nega-
tive to positive as the word began to indicate a person with extensive spe-
cialized knowledge. Otaku came to be perceived as sensitive, presumably
from obsessively watching romance-comedy anime, and desirable as boy-
friends. As one Japanese girl was quoted in the Japan Times, “The age of the
hunk is over. I prefer the kinder, nerdier, cuddlier Akiba-Kei [otaku].”31 The
article goes on to claim that otaku are now renowned for their impossibly
high standards: they prefer women who are “cute, malleable, big-breasted,
thin-legged, large-eyed, and erotic.”32 Essentially, they want a female char-
acter from dating-sim games. One self-proclaimed otaku admits that “a real
woman will always lose to a digital chick.”33
Why, though, would a normal relationship, consisting of hard work,
compromise, and inevitable moments of sadness, be preferred over a digital
one, in which the opposite sex is easily controlled, understandable, and as
beautiful as the player demands? I am not suggesting that dating-sim games
affect all users so drastically, but such an effect does seem to exist, to some
degree. Nevertheless, the consistency in the players’ roles, the depiction
and position of the female characters, and the storylines themselves suggest
that the games can function on one level to reinforce a kind of masculine
identification in the players, no matter how seriously or lightly they may
regard the computer-mediated intimacy.

The Dating-Sim Game as “Japanese”

Through the theatrics of dating-sim games, players are transported to ideal-

ized worlds where they can temporarily escape from reality. In Japan, otaku
may be already engrossed in fantasy, perhaps to the extent that they con-
sider their virtual selves to be their “real” selves. In such cases, dating-sim
games provide very real and captivating experiences, experiences that
might cause otaku to idealize the two-dimensional versions of women on
the screen and reject real women because the real ones seem comparatively
inadequate (or perhaps because male players have already been rejected by
such women themselves). Additionally, as the otaku figure is becoming in-
creasingly feminized, dating-sim games, through their control and exploita-
tion of weak, shōjo characters, allow (or even encourage) the player to affirm
his identity as non-shōjo, or masculine, thus empowering and reassuring
him.
Dating-sim games are clearly an integral part of Japanese society, com-
prising around 25 percent of software that is bought and sold at video game
stores across Japan. These games are enmeshed in the social context of Ja-
pan, including such areas as otaku culture. With these deep connections to
Japanese society and culture, therefore, we should not be particularly sur-
prised that such games have not yet been well received abroad. Perhaps the
206 E. Taylor

gradually increasing levels of popular awareness of Japanese culture in the

West will enlarge the market for Japanese-style dating-sim games among
certain populations abroad; or perhaps producers of dating-sim games will
modify their approach—the very premise upon which dating-sim games are
built, and the very premise that makes such games so quintessentially
“Japanese”—for foreign markets. Even if neither scenario manifests itself in
the near future, dating-sim games will remain remarkable windows into
Japanese popular culture, social expectations, gender relations, and the
meanings of work and leisure in contemporary Japan.

Notes

1
See, for example, the reviews of dating-sim games at http://www.somethingawful.com.
2
I have found only one scholarly work that offers more than cursory comments on
the games: Joseph L. Dela Pena’s “Otaku: Images and Identity in Flux,” CUREJ: Col-
lege Undergraduate Research Electronic Journal, University of Pennsylvania (2006), avail-
able at http://repository.upenn.edu/curej/9 (accessed July 19, 2007).
3
For more information on the otaku, hikikomori, and “parasite single” figures, see, for
example: Thomas Lamarre, “An Introduction to Otaku Movement,” EnterText 4, no. 1
(winter 2004–5): 151–87, available online at http://www.brunel.ac.uk/4042/entertext4.1/
lamarre1.pdf (accessed September 15, 2007); Mariko Tran, “Unable or Unwilling to
Leave the Nest? An Analysis and Evaluation of Japanese Parasite Single Theories,”
Electronic Journal of Contemporary Japanese Studies (July 3, 2006), available online at
http://japanesestudies.org.uk/discussionpapers/2006/Tran.html (accessed September 15,
2007); and Michael Zielenziger, Shutting Out the Sun: How Japan Created Its Own Lost
Generation (New York: Nan A. Talese, 2006).
4
For relatively recent information on Japanese dating and relationships, see Re-
becca E. Fukuzawa and Gerald K. LeTendre, Intense Years: How Japanese Adolescents Bal-
ance School, Family, and Friends (New York: RoutledgeFalmer, 2001); Hiroko Hirakawa,
“Give Me One Good Reason to Marry a Japanese Man: Japanese Women Debating Ideal
Lifestyles,” Women’s Studies 33, no. 4 (2004): 423–51; and Noriko O. Tsuya and Larry L.
Bumpass, eds., Marriage, Work, and Family Life in Comparative Perspective: Japan, South
Korea, and the United States (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2004).
5
For more information on obscenity and pornography in Japan, see Nicholas Born-
off, Pink Samurai: Love, Marriage & Sex in Contemporary Japan (New York: Pocket Books,
1991); and Joel Powell Dahlquist and Lee Garth Vigilant, “Way Better than Real: Manga
Sex to Tentacle Hentai,” in Net.SeXXX: Readings on Sex, Pornography, and the Internet, ed.
Dennis D. Waskul (New York: P. Lang, 2004), 91–103. For more information on Japa-
nese gaming and leisure, see David R. Leheny, The Rules of Play: National Identity and the
Shaping of Japanese Leisure (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2003). Finally, several
essays in Cynthia L. Selfe and Gail E. Hawisher’s recent edited volume, Gaming Lives in
the Twenty-First Century: Literate Connections (Houndmills, England: Palgrave Macmillan,
2007), address Japanese influences on the worldwide phenomenon and experience of
computer gaming vis-à-vis issues of gender, identity formation, and cultural models.
6
Anne Allison, Nightwork: Sexuality, Pleasure, and Corporate Masculinity in a Tokyo
Hostess Club (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994); Anne Allison, Permitted and
Prohibited Desires: Mothers, Comics, and Censorship in Japan (Boulder, CO: Westview
 Japanese Dating-Simulatiuon Games 207

Press, 1996); and Anne Allison, Millennial Monsters: Japanese Toys and the Global Imagina-
tion (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006).
7
Allison, Nightwork, 11.
8
“Bishōjo Game,” http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bish%C5%8Djo_game (accessed May 2,
2007).
9
Some games include brief animated segments at the beginning or end or, occasion-
ally, between scenes.
10
Although female players also enjoy playing dating-sim games, I use masculine pro-
nouns to refer to players for the remainder of this article. On the demographics of female
gamers around the world, though, see Barbara Lippe, “Japan: Games for, by and about
Girls,” in Gender in E-Learning and Educational Games: A Reader, ed. Sabine Zauchner,
Karin Siebenhandl, and Michael Wagner (Innsbruck: StudienVerlag, 2007), 223–40. See
also Angela Thomas and Valerie Walkerdine, Girls and Computer Games, http://www.women.it/
quarta/workshops/laracroft5/angelathomas.htm (accessed September 15, 2007).
11
“Bishōjo Game.”
12
Romanization of game names follows the game developers’ discretion and, for
some titles (including this one), differs from the linguistic standards followed elsewhere
in this piece. (D. O. is the name of the game developer; other developers mentioned in
this article are Rockstar Games, Konami, ZyX, and Trabulance.) Likewise, character
names appear in Anglicized form, that is, without macrons (e.g., “Shuichi” instead of
“Shūichi,” “Shoko” instead of “Shōko,” “Ito” instead of “Itō,” and “Yosuke” instead of
“Yōsuke”).
13
As of the writing of this article (June 2007), no used copies were available through
Amazon.co.jp.
14
The most popular fan Web site is Kana’s Left Kidney (http://pages.prodigy.net/kana/).
The creator of this fan Web site, as well as several reviewers the creator cites, claims that
the appeal of this game is its touching, realistic characters: “The cast of characters you
will encounter in this game are vivid and captivating, each with their own personality.
You will get a feel for what each of the individuals are actually like. I love the personal-
ities . . . they are not the typical corny stuff you would expect from a video game.” One
fan’s enthusiasm toward the game and the characters inspired him to tattoo his arm
with a picture of Kana (http://www.angelfire.com/ne/Eltink/kana/tattoo/). And a fan
Web site in Spanish (http://ar.geocities.com/dark_diego/) offers a brief glimpse at the
worldwide popularity of this Japanese visual novel. (All URLs accessed July 13, 2007.)
15
Soundtracks of the opening and closing songs and background music are avail-
able, integrating the music industry with the gaming industry and further commercial-
izing the phenomenon. Further spin-offs include various types of character merchandise
and even anime series based on especially popular game titles.
16
Presumably referring to the unmarried state of the shōjo, Robertson defines the
term as “not quite female.” Jennifer Robertson, Takarazuka: Sexual Politics and Popular
Culture in Modern Japan (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998), 65.
17
Ibid. Shojo 処女, a near-homophone, is the Japanese term for “virgin.”
18
John Whittier Treat, “Yoshimoto Banana Writes Home: Shōjo Culture and the
Nostalgic Subject,” Journal of Japanese Studies 19, no. 2 (1993): 353–87, 363.
19
Michelle Tung describes such transformations in anime and manga in detail in her
senior honors thesis, Technology Transformation: The Anime Cyberbabe (Stanford, CA:
Humanities Honors Program, Stanford University, 2001).
20
Ibid., 3.
208 E. Taylor

21
Tom Gill, “Transformational Magic: Some Japanese Super-heroes and Monsters.”
In The Worlds of Japanese Popular Culture: Gender, Shifting Boundaries and Global Cul-
tures, ed. D. P. Martinez. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 33–55: 46.
22
Ibid., 47.
23
Treat, “Yoshimoto Banana Writes Home,” 363.
24
Sharon Kinsella, Adult Manga: Culture and Power in Contemporary Japanese Society
(Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2000), 128.
25
Dela Pena, “Otaku,” 18.
26
Anthropologists Anne Allison and John Nathan have argued that the majority of
Japanese youth suffer from an inability to communicate that has arisen from depend-
ence on virtual communication. See Allison’s Millennial Monsters, 66–74; and Nathan’s
Japan Unbound: A Volatile Nation’s Quest for Pride and Purpose (Boston: Houghton Mif-
flin, 2004), 43. The exaggerated, comical form of the ineptitude in Densha Otoko might
be a form of displacement for those suffering from communication disorders.
27
Dela Pena, “Otaku,” 16–17.
28
Annalee Newitz, “Magical Girls and Atomic Bomb Sperm,” Film Quarterly 49, no. 1
(1995): 2–15, 6.
29
Ibid.
30
Ichirō Tomiyama, “The Critical Limits of the National Community: The Ryu-
kyuan Subject,” Social Science Japan Journal 1, no. 2 (1998): 165–79, 168.
31
Kaori Shoji, “Sweetness Counts for Women in Search of Geeks,” Japan Times, De-
cember 13, 2005.
32
Ibid.
33
Ibid.