Japanese follows English/日本語は英語の後に記載
Hello,
this is Nisreen.
Welcome
to the 11th episode of Season Two of my podcast—it’s lovely to speak with you
again! Happy New Year!
During my winter holiday, I finally completed a very important mission—reading the comic book NANA all the way to the latest episode! For those unfamiliar with it, NANA is a drama manga written and illustrated by Ai Yazawa, centring on two young women who share the name Nana.
The thumbnail below is my fan art about the two heroines.
This analysis contains spoilers as I delve into the details of the work. If you haven’t read the manga yet and want to avoid spoilers, I recommend returning after you’ve had a chance to enjoy it! You can find the episode below.
Hello,
this is Nisreen.
Welcome
to the 11th episode of Season Two of my podcast—it’s lovely to speak with you
again! Happy New Year!
During
my winter holiday, I finally completed a very important mission—reading the
comic book NANA all the way to the latest episode! For those unfamiliar
with it, NANA is a drama manga written and illustrated by Ai Yazawa, centring
on two young women who share the name Nana. It was serialised from 2000 to 2009
in the Japanese magazine Cookie, becoming a generational phenomenon. The
live-action film adaptation was also a major hit, and the animated series
gained international popularity with translations into various languages.
As
a teenager growing up in Japan in the 2000s, I was one of the many hooked on
this dramatic manga, captivated by its dynamic character development, delicate
artwork, and unique fashion sense. However, at some point, I stopped
reading—for many reasons.
Coming
back to NANA as an adult after a long break has been a strangely healing
experience. It helped me understand why certain parts of the story were
difficult to grasp as a teen, and how the piece reflected the cultural
atmosphere of the time. In this episode, I’ll unpack some of the traumas of
that era, as reflected in NANA.
Fair
warning: There will be spoilers.
If you haven’t read the manga yet and want to avoid spoilers, please come back
after you’ve read it!
1.
Toxic Masculinity
Toxic
masculinity is the biggest reason I fell out of love with NANA, and, reading
it again now, my feelings are even stronger. Most of the male characters in NANA
are sexists with deeply patriarchal ideas about relationships, with few
exceptions, like minor characters such as Kyosuke.
Despite
their skinny figures and pretty faces, which align with shōjo manga
aesthetics, these male characters in NANA reflect what were considered
the “normal” attitudes of men toward women at the time. It was a painful
reality for me as a teenager, but now I can examine it from a healthier
distance. I am actually impressed by Yazawa’s abilities to incorporate such
realistic social tensions in this dreamy manga.
Take
the example of one of the Nanas, who is called ‘Hachi’ by her friends – because
‘Nana’ means ‘seven’ in Japanese, apparently they thought it would be funny to
call her ‘eight.’ Hachi is also a name of the famously loyal dog in Japanese
history; many recognise her personality as dog-like, because she is sweet but
dependent. Hachi’s personality creates a clear juxtaposition with the other
Nana, who’s a loner.
However,
it’s not very funny to see Hachi being treated worse than a dog sometimes. I
always knew the rockstar Takumi was a manipulative jerk, but rereading the
manga, I realised that Hachi’s first ‘official’ boyfriend, Shoji, also exhibits
abusive tendencies—that is, even before he cheats on her with his colleague.
Hachi
meets Shoji through her best friend, Junko, at university in her hometown.
Although they’re mutually attracted to each other, Hachi hesitates to take
their relationship in a romantic direction due to trauma from her high school
days. They spend time as platonic friends until a group trip, during which Shoji
suddenly lashes out at Hachi, accusing her of being clingy with her friends and
not being “realistic” about her future. He even harshly blames her for
“friend-zoning” him and “not caring about others’ feelings.” Worst of all, he leaves
her, crying, on an unfamiliar street at night.
While
it’s true that Hachi can be selfish and overly dependent on her friends,
there’s no justification for Shoji bullying her in this way -- let alone
guilting her for setting emotional boundaries.
Even
after they begin dating and move closer to each other in Tokyo, Shoji offers
little to no support as Hachi adjusts to a new environment. On the very day
after her arrival, she cleans his flat and makes dinner, but he doesn’t thank
her—instead, he scolds her for not immediately finding a job or her own place. However,
when Hachi does later starts working and vents to him about her colleagues, he
gets frustrated. He’s equally unhappy when Hachi forms a strong bond with Nana
and expresses her admiration for her musical talent. To me, it seems Shoji
doesn’t truly like Hachi as a person.
When
Junko says, “Shoji loves Hachi so much,” I struggled to understand what she
meant. The explanation seemed to hinge entirely on Shoji’s efforts to work
toward marriage with Hachi, despite being in his early twenties. At one point,
Shoji confesses that his inability to provide for Hachi as a poor art student
is “hurtful for a man.” His irritability and coldness stem not only from
Hachi’s behaviour, but also from the pressure he places on himself to fulfil
traditional male expectations as the provider.
To
be fair, Hachi is also someone who dreams of being a “cute wife with a happy
family and a big house,” which reinforces traditional gender roles. The problem
is that Shoji never communicates his concerns to Hachi, and this lack of
communication is a recurring issue among the male characters in NANA.
For
instance, another man, Ren, abandons the character Nana, a rock singer, when he
senses she won’t conform to the role of a housewife -- without ever verbally
expressing his love for her. Similarly, Takumi constantly demeans Hachi,
dismissing her contributions with comments like, “You know nothing—all you do
is stay home and cook meals.”
These
men exhibit poor communication skills and have little respect for women. What’s
unsettling is that such attitudes were relatively “common” at the time,
particularly in the 2000s. However, there were exceptions. For instance,
another shojo manga serialised during the same decade, Nodame Cantabile,
presents much more gender-neutral portrayals of romantic relationships.
Reflecting on the 2000s, it becomes clear that this era was marked by a
coexistence of conflicting ideas about gender roles and relationships—much like
the contrasting heroines Nana and Hachi.
