Life-Size Dolls Thrill Japan’s ‘Nerd Culture’

Masa sits on the couch in his apartment with his arm around Konoha’s shoulders, gently brushing her hair away from her bright blue eyes. Iris stands behind them, decked out in a frilly dress.

Masa speaks warmly to Konoha and Iris, greeting them brightly each morning and when he returns from work, but they never answer. His companions are life-sized dolls.

Konoha is his favorite. “She doesn’t have to talk, because I enjoy her as a doll, not as a substitute for a person,” said Masa, 32, a computer engineer who asked to be identified only by a shortening of his first name.

A grown man living with two nearly 5-foot-tall dolls in his apartment -- and dozens of smaller figurines -- would seem bizarre anywhere. Indeed, Masa keeps his full identity hidden and his curtains drawn to avoid ridicule by outsiders.

But he is part of a billion-dollar “Nerd Culture” that has grown so enormous that it has taken over an entire neighborhood in Tokyo and is making inroads into the mainstream.

The culture is firmly rooted in Japan’s enduring fascination with “manga” comic books and animation that have won fans and critical acclaim worldwide.

But Masa and others like him -- known as “otaku” -- have taken that trend to another level by collecting dolls like Konoha and Iris or flocking to cafes staffed by waitresses dressed as comic book maids. They stock Web pages with photos of their dolls “posing” along country roads or taking a dip in hot spring baths.

The growing popularity of otaku culture has transformed the Akihabara neighborhood in downtown Tokyo from the city’s main electronics district into a magnet for 20- to 40-year-old men looking for comics, videogames and anime DVDs. Figurines of all sizes of sexy doe-eyed girls in miniskirts are big sellers. Maid cafes are on every block.

Although part of the appeal of manga and anime figures is pornographic, an Internet survey of Japan’s doll collectors indicated that most buy the figures only to dress or photograph them or simply to show them off.

The otaku -- overwhelmingly male -- have long been considered social misfits who soothe their loneliness with fantasy. But the runaway success of a movie last year about a nerd who falls in love, “Train Man,” has helped make otaku tastes and aesthetics more widely embraced in Japan.

“Otaku used to be locked inside their rooms, but I think there is more social acceptance of them now,” Kosuke Tanaka, a 21-year-old college junior, said while examining a doll in a navy-blue school bathing suit.

The subculture even has its own codeword: “moe,” an eros-laced affection for female comics and anime characters. Once familiar only to nerds in the know, the term has entered the mainstream and was the cultural buzzword of the year.

Such hobbies might still seem marginal -- until you consider the money involved.

The Hamagin Research Institute in Yokohama estimated 2003 sales of comics, games and anime films in the moe genre totaled $767 million.

The otaku economy includes Internet auctions of dolls, comics, films, trading cards, outfits.

Osaka-based Kaiyodo Co., Japan’s leading anime-doll maker, projects sales of $25.6 million this year, up 10% from the previous year.

Economist Takuro Morinaga at UFJ Institute puts the overall otaku market at $26 billion to $34 billion.

The moe phenomenon also is drawing spectators.

“Akihabara is an emerging tourist destination.... It’s like a theme park,” said Shinichiro Nagashima at Japan’s largest travel agent, JTB Corp.’s publishing arm, which issued a “Tokyo city guide for new type.”

Although Masa and his fellows might seem strange, their hobbies are not entirely beyond the scope of Japanese culture.

The nation has long nurtured a fascination with artifice -- think bonsai, rock gardens or even gadgets like talking vending machines. Otaku have married that with a deep affection for innocence, which sometimes leads to young girls being viewed as sex symbols.

The phenomenon is seen by many as a troubling deviation, reflecting a loss of confidence among youth and a Japanese aversion to personal conflict -- typified by the estimated 1 million recluses known as “hikikomori.” Some critics link the fascination with female characters to crimes targeting young girls.

“Because of fear of being rejected or disliked, people turn to anime characters or idols that pose no personal conflict,” said psychologist Rika Kayama. “But there is a danger.... Otaku who live in the fantasy world of anime often give little thought to how they may look to others.”

Masa, however, is concerned about the way he is perceived, and he resents any suggestion that otaku are deviant. But he doesn’t let those concerns get in the way of his expensive hobbies.

In addition to Konoha and Iris, which together cost about $6,000, his tiny living room is stocked with dozens of smaller dolls, robots and comics.

Masa’s dolls are well cared for. Their clothes take up more of the closet than his: a Chinese-style dress with deep side-slits, blouses with bows, outfits of all kinds. The dolls even have lace-up boots, sneakers and other shoes to wear when Masa takes them riding in his van, which he does mainly to take photos.

He carefully combs Konoha’s brown hair with a wooden comb to cut down on static. Concerned that her miniskirt is a tad too immodest, he folds her pale hand demurely over her lap.

He has no intention of getting married or finding a girlfriend -- ever.

“Konoha looks straight out, as if she is talking to you,” Masa said as he adjusted the angle of her head. “She has a face that makes her my dream girl.”