"Oshi no Ko"

In the entertainment world, celebrities often show exaggerated versions of themselves to the public, concealing their true thoughts and struggles beneath elaborate lies. Fans buy into these fabrications, showering their idols with undying love and support, until something breaks the illusion. Sixteen-year-old rising star Ai Hoshino of pop idol group B Komachi has the world captivated; however, when she announces a hiatus due to health concerns, the news causes many to become worried.

As a huge fan of Ai, gynecologist Gorou Amemiya cheers her on from his countryside medical practice, wishing he could meet her in person one day. His wish comes true when Ai shows up at his hospital—not sick, but pregnant with twins! While the doctor promises Ai to safely deliver her children, he wonders if this encounter with the idol will forever change the nature of his relationship with her.

[Written by MAL Rewrite]

Arima, Kana Main

Han, Megumi Japanese

Hoshino, Ai Main

Takahashi, Rie Japanese

Hoshino, Aquamarine Main

Ootsuka, Takeo Japanese

Hoshino, Ruby Main

Igoma, Yurie Japanese

Kurokawa, Akane Supporting

Iwami, Manaka Japanese

Mem-Cho Supporting

Ookubo, Rumi Japanese

Saitou, Miyako Supporting

Lynn Japanese

Gotanda, Taishi Supporting

Kase, Yasuyuki Japanese

Amemiya, Gorou Supporting

Ito, Kent Japanese

Tendouji, Sarina Supporting

Takayanagi, Tomoyo Japanese

Yamashita, Shinpei Producer

Negishi, Genki Producer

Aomura, Yousuke Producer

Kobayashi, Ryou Producer

Reviews

Jun 28, 2023

RebelPanda

Recommended

Lies. Who among us hasn't told a lie or two? Whether it's telling a white lie or presenting a false version of ourselves. Celebrities, actors, musicians, and artists must constantly maintain a public image, which may require telling a lie or two. As a famous idol, Ai Hoshino's life revolves around lying. "The lie becomes the truth" are words she lives by. She lies to her friends and fans, but no one can see through the facade beneath her starry eyes.

Oshi no Ko's most provocative scene tragically occurs in its feature-length premiere. The tearjerker ending propelled the series into popularity, leading to disappointment when the ... rest proved to be an entirely different beast. Some viewers may build false expectations, but those who approach it open-mindedly will enjoy where it takes them. The premiere was a well-written story best left in the past. It initially evokes the untouchable masterpiece Perfect Blue, but aside from the final scene, the juvenile execution pales in comparison.

The episodes after the premiere are more refreshing. Oshi no Ko's content is comparable to my all-time favorite anime, Kaleido Star, for its realistic approach to performing arts while maintaining an uplifting message. It never shies away from showing singers, dancers, and actors' struggles to preserve their image and criticize demanding audiences. Writer Aka Akasaka does not condemn consumers but provides a mirror to reflect on their behavior. Oshi no Ko honestly portrays the Japanese acting and idol industry. Seeing how child actors phase out, stunt casting, agency competitions, and differences between writers and studios add to the realism. There are many things they should have taken into account, such as numerous reshoots, scheduling, and post-production. They seemingly picked and chose the most exciting parts of show business to portray and ignored the less appealing but equally crucial aspects.

Through Ai Hoshino's twin son and daughter, the series explores the ups and downs of acting and idol careers, respectively. Both children secretly lived past lives, in which they adored Ai. Her son, Aquamarine, was Ai's gynecologist, murdered by her stalker. Her daughter Ruby was only a young girl when she died of cancer. They take their reincarnations surprisingly well, but who wouldn't when you get around-the-clock attention from your favorite celebrity? Well, probably some people. The kids pursue futures that live up to their mother's legacy and do right by her. For Ruby, this means carrying on Ai's legacy as an idol and rebuilding her group B-Komachi from the ground up. For Aqua, it's rather intense; he dedicates his life to searching for their absent father, putting aside any personal goals. Aqua and Ruby attend Yoto High School, which offers a performing arts program only for students attached to a talent agency. Luckily for the kids, Ai's previous manager Miyako Saito adopted them and made them part of her company.

A common critique of Oshi no Ko is that the reincarnation plot device is unnecessary. I disagree with that judgment because it's necessary to advance the plot. Aquamarine uses his skills of talking to seniors as a doctor in his past life to smooth talk a director, which gets his mother a film role. He uses his people skills to dig up clues to track down his lost father. Unlike many other high school geniuses in anime, Aqua behaves like an adult due to his reincarnation; it is better that the plot provides a reason other than the simple notion that he's a prodigy. Some viewers may find Aqua's infatuation with Ai overwhelming, and it is nearly an oedipal nightmare. Still, it rides the line carefully—quickly reminding us that his love for Ai is admiration, not romance. Ruby's past life provides an obstacle to overcome rather than skill. She struggles with dancing, a crucial skill as an idol, partly because having cancer made it difficult for her to dance, causing her to have difficulty with her mindset. Aqua and Ruby are deeply flawed, socially awkward, and very traumatized, like the other characters.

The side characters stand out with vibrant personalities that leave a lasting impression without gimmicks. Each character possesses their own set of goals, struggles, flaws, and endearing qualities. Among them is Kana Arima, a former child prodigy in acting who now finds herself a mediocre teenage actor. With a theater kid persona, Kana exudes excessive confidence that can seem condescending. However, her knack for maneuvering within the industry helps her secure roles. Like others, her character development involves confronting inner demons caused by past trauma and present triggers. As a freelancer, she often gets trapped in undesirable parts. However, when she joins Ruby to form their idol group B-Komachi, Kana discovers self-respect. Together, they build their team from scratch, with relentless effort and determination.

Another key supporting character is Akane, an up-and-coming actress who works alongside Aqua on a reality TV dating show. Through Akane's arc, the writer explores a theme touched on during the premiere. Social media: How it helps and harms performance artists. There's a focus on positive and negative responses to Aquamarine's TV shows, but it peaks with online hate and canceling Akane faces. Harassment's disastrous effects on her mental health are realistic and portrayed with uncommon sensitivity. Regardless of how the arc plays out, it is cathartic to see the people responsible for her turmoil condemned by the author. This includes the grossly misogynistic haters online and the scumbag producer of their reality TV show.

Aside from the tearjerker premiere, Oshi no Ko manages a few other genuinely moving moments—a mental health crisis and a near breakdown before a major performance—but surrounding those is a bit of contrived drama. Aqua's slow quest to find his father loses steam quickly. However, future seasons can revive that subplot. Ruby must navigate rising as an idol, a path well-worn by music anime. Though they mostly avoid pedestrian school drama, there's romance stalled by misunderstandings. It's as if the anime keeps seeking narrative conflict when there is plenty to dig into with the characters' turmoils—especially Ruby and Aqua's rich history. Tell us more about how their past lives inform their present! And it would've been fascinating to learn more about their adoptive mother; surely, a chapter or two can be spared for her. Despite the story's slight drawbacks, it's consistently elevated by one of Doga Kobo's most impressive presentations alongside Monthly Girls' Nozaki-kun.

Although it is less well-directed than Akasaka's prior adaptation, Love is War, Daisuke Hiramaki handles the drama in Oshi no Ko excellently. The combination of orchestral background music and close-up shots creates a sense of immersion during the dramatic scenes. With soaring melodies and dynamic arrangements, orchestral compositions heighten the emotional intensity. As the music swells, it accentuates everything felt by the characters; anguish, joy, and depression, evoking an impactful response from the audience. Furthermore, the well-timed close-up shots sweeten the effect of these moments by capturing the characters' raw expressions.

Oshi no Ko delves into the intricate world of lies and facades that permeate celebrities' and performers' lives. It explores the challenges and consequences of maintaining a public image while delving into its characters' personal trauma. While the tearjerker premiere may have set high expectations that the subsequent episodes couldn't fully meet, the series delivers refreshing and immersive portrayals of the performing arts. The reincarnation plot device, although debated, advances the storyline. The side characters shine with their distinctive personalities and genuine character development, with Kana and Akane standing out as memorable figures. Despite some contrived drama and missed opportunities for deeper exploration, Oshi no Ko is consistently elevated by Doga Kobo's strong presentation. Ultimately, the anime provides a cathartic experience, while taking the coming-of-age genre from a fresh angle.

Reviewer’s Rating: 8

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Jun 28, 2023

ZNoteTaku

Mixed Feelings

Well-written

*[Oshi no Ko]* is a series caught within a bizarre Catch-22 as an actual piece of entertainment. It wants to follow the comedic and dramatic conventions for storytelling that Akasaka has in mind, and also wants to unravel the disquieting undercurrent of the entertainment industry within its gaze. But to do so would involve having its cast be outsmarted or exploited by the teeth of the very beast that they seek to enterprise in, and by the nature of the show’s framing, it cannot have that. As a result, the show does not actually delve into the darkest contortions and disquieting undercurrents of the entertainment ... industry that Akasaka supposedly wants to discuss. It hints at the phantoms on the wall rather than confronts them. The whole reads more as someone who only just discovered what the entertainment industry is like, is repulsed by what they saw, and has a lot they want to say, but must make a contractual deal with the devil in order to get the story told, a provision of which is to not wholly besmirch his name in the process.

Entertainment is, just as a general note, a strange entity. Stranger still though is the relationship we have with it. Even in the supposed “reality” of reality television, we all know and acknowledge on some level that everything in entertainment is manufactured or a conglomeration of lies to get a desired affect or impression. It’s engineered by hundreds of people we never know beyond the abstract to make something we think is worth the time and financial or emotional investment. We also know that the industry is not run by angels. Yet no matter how many times we get shocked by the reality that we see when the curtain gets pulled back, there’s always the next cultural object or talking point to swallow our attention even as the people within its own industry cry out to let their pleas for mercy be heard. The para-social relationship we have with the media we consume is sometimes not as simple as “I like this thing” with posters or casual merchandise; it can move beyond human ugliness or frailty and into the abyss of pure horror

I emphasize this para-social quality between entertainment and consumer because it is the very lifeblood that *[Oshi no Ko]* uses to get its start, and stubbornly refuses to emphasize or embrace further as it goes along. As two idol-obsessed people watching Hoshino Ai, doctor Amamiya Gorou and hospital patient Tendouji Sarina have formed an obsessive bond with her and her almost-divine performance presence, capitulated further when she discreetly arrives at Gorou’s hospital pregnant with twins. The day of delivery is struck down by Gorou being murdered, and both he and Tendouji are reincarnated as Ai’s children with all their mental faculties in place, now named Aquamarine and Ruby respectively. Two people in the thick of idol fandom, one of whom is killed by someone in the thick of idol fandom, now finding themselves the objects of their idolized idol’s attention. The perverse relationship between entertainment and consumer comes back around again as Ai is killed in her own home by a crazed fan, angry at her for having children, and Aqua suspects they were sent by their real father. It is, after all, against the law for idols to do anything sexual, unless the agency or someone within is facilitating it. With the light of their life extinguished, they’re left to pick up the pieces of what remains.

Ruby channels them into becoming like her mother and an idol herself, a depressing irony in that she naively has no clue what she’s getting into. Aqua channels them into joining the industry behind the scenes and finding their father-murderer that way, a journey of personal doom. The para-social sense of naïve optimism and slip into despair via the industry and their products never leaves the characterization (they’re always being fueled by Ai, even in death), but it does get reprioritized—if not shoved to the side outright—as the show’s scenarios begin manifesting. It chooses to focus its attention instead on how the industry functions and the people within it, functioning as a quasi-exposé.

The result is *[Oshi no Ko]* effectively abandoning its original framing device for something vastly less interesting. The series wants to have its cake and eat it too, to be profoundly crushing on the emotional level while delivering its timeless message that the entertainment industry is a monolithic hydra of lies and politics that the cast nevertheless tries to succeed in. The irony is that, in Akasaka and series composer Tanaka Jin’s bid to do this, they cannot resist flexing their knowledge by having characters just spell out “the truth” of how the industry works, robbing the show of its opportunities to impose such things on the characters, barring some flashbacks. It is so on-the-nose that there is little to be discovered organically through the narrative.

And Aqua’s positioning within *[Oshi no Ko]’s* structure drives this point home, especially. He became after Ai’s death a cold, calculating genius when it comes to the industry as a whole, in-part helped by having worked in it. Whether in front of the camera or from the production side, there is seemingly nothing he cannot adapt to. Such a characterization undercuts the looming danger of the industry itself because if anything bad happens, Aqua will always be able to salvage the situation or come up with some solution that makes sure everything and / or everyone is okay. It is difficult to be apprehensive of the shadows on the wall when a character keeps flicking on the lights, never truly getting caught off-guard.

It is a given that not everyone who works in the entertainment industry is a terrible person, that many involved indeed are trying to create the best product possible, and they know that being nice to their actors is one of the ways to do so. But *[Oshi no Ko]* has its depiction of the industry be more abstractly monolithic in its malice as opposed to actually having people in it who are malicious. Because Aqua and Ruby are born into the business through being Ai’s children, they are constantly sheltered from its grimmer possibilities by being in a “good company” and “knowing the right people” who will oblige Aqua’s thirst for vengeance in exchange for a favor, either wittingly or unwittingly. The monologuing by the characters keeps talking about how the industry is rough, unfair, and “that’s how it is,” but any sense of unfairness is barely allowed, if at all, to directly interrupt finding Ai’s killer or pose a sincere obstacle to Ruby’s progress. Thus, there is a shorter draw distance with which *[Oshi no Ko]* can cast its muckraking net, leaving many of the emotional moments to fall strangely limply rather than fuel a brutal collision.

But even so, there are rare times where the para-social relationship I hinted at before does return, and it occurs in the moments where the series shines at its brightest (or is it darkest? You decide). Aqua is hardly out of focus, but when he’s gone, the darker specters are finally allowed the chance to come out of the corner and consume the room. Left to their own devices, characters are forced to fight their way through new torments and problems—which does unfortunately paint just how reliant on Aqua they all are. Especially aided by the show’s aesthetic care and attention, apparent effort is poured into key animations and storyboarding that, when aligned with the material, elevate the punches into a sharp viscerality. Director Hiramaki Daisuke and the sizable number of animation directors understood that, particularly for a story pertaining to the entertainment industry, presentation matters. It’s a sign of just what the series is perfectly capable of doing, but ultimately decides to opt for something markedly less knotted.

*[Oshi no Ko]* insists on the dangers of the entertainment industry and pulling back the curtain, but holds itself back too often by not letting it gets its claws into everyone enough. The actual horrors of the industry it proports to share are kept at a safe and comfortable distance, aiding the narrative that being an idol, and their industry, is glorious, glamorous, and worth it. It is all at once a reincarnation story, a revenge quest story, a story about idols, a story about the relationship between the industry and its fans, and an exposé on how the industry functions. I genuinely admire its ambitiousness, but it’s a case of trying to do too much, and not having the finesse to handle it all effectively.

Maybe Aqua can salvage it.

Reviewer’s Rating: 6

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Jul 10, 2023

SingleH

Not Recommended

Upon making my first serious effort to approach this season and see what people were watching, and what was thereby worth reviewing, I was disappointed by how little shock I felt when seeing an idol show not only among the most popular anime of the season, but among the most highly rated anime currently listed on MAL. I was disappointed by how easily my mind filled in the blanks in my understanding as to how a series belonging to a genre hardly anyone takes seriously or seems to enjoy, at least last time I checked, found itself in the center of such limelight, because after ... all, I shouldn’t have had a clue. I should’ve been excited, thinking, “Oooo! I wander what makes this idol show different! I wander what makes people feel so comfortable putting all their eggs in such an ostensibly boring looking basket! Surely there must be something interesting and innovative to make this one really stand out and earn all this hype!” And at first it seemed like these questions would find themselves resolved with something resembling satisfactory answers. Claims endorsing Oshi no Ko’s alleged uniqueness, realism, and honesty, among other things, appeared to reflect the consensus view of the vast majority, with the only coherent dissenting opinions I could find reading like pre-written arguments one could feasibly fling in the direction of any anime daring to feature idols—which to me didn’t feel like serious argument. I mean, if the show was different enough to stand out like this, then the least its detractors could do would be to find something equally different to say against it, right? How sad I was, almost immediately, to have my brain, all too accustomed to this seasonal fever, remind me that no. The answers to all those previous (hypothetical) questions (I didn’t ever actually bother asking) would simply be “nothing.” Oshi no Ko just happens to be on everyone’s screen, as if by some sort of coincidence.

The reception of Oshi no Ko reminds me a lot of Fumetsu no Anata e. Episode one of season one was pretty good, and it made a lot of people cry. Audiences then proceeded to overpraise it massively, but as the show went on and people started to detect and subsequently grow tired of its formula, and not to mention after its decent animation became not-so-decent, the hype died, with season two feeling to many like little more than the producers failing to get the memo. When people recommend Oshi no Ko, they often preface their praise with phrases like, “Don’t even read what I’m about to write. Avoid spoilers at all costs, and go watch episode one yourself before reading ANYTHING.” And as they do this, they implicitly suggest this first episode is some kind of bombshell which one has to see to believe, or at least an episode containing ideas and details difficult enough to offer comment on such that telling one’s reader to form their own opinion seems like an easier option than simply asserting their own. But this turns out to not be the case at all (and it assumes episode one isn’t followed by the rest of the show). If you kidnapped me, locked me in your dingy basement, tied me to a wooden chair, gagged and blindfolded me, and threatened to do to me whatever creepy stalker rapist murders do when they similarly capture their favorite idol if I didn’t give the premise of Oshi no Ko points for creativity, then fine. I give it points for creativity; it’s a show about two idol otaku who get reborn as the twin brother and sister of their favorite idol, who herself has secretly become a teen mom, and who grow up attempting to follow in their celebrity mother’s footsteps…which is admittedly creative, assuming you want to use more euphemistic words than “fucking weird” or “laughably bizarre.” However, this premise doesn’t change the immediate and continuous trajectory of the series—which is nowhere.

The horribly overlong, eighty-two-minute behemoth that is episode one concludes by suggesting to the audience that the series would proceed in thrilling and unpredictable directions, with one of our lead characters devoting his reborn life to solving a grand mystery and hunting for revenge (for reasons I’ll leave unstated), but what follows is *literally* nothing more than the same dime-a-dozen, boring-as-fuck highschool anime dramedy which you and I both have seen a hundred million times each. Everything even slightly idiosyncratic about episode one, from its intelligent talking baby memes to its teen mom idol “I can’t believe the author is writing THIS story” wow-factor, instantly finds itself a more generic direct replacement within minutes of episode two’s beginning, and episode one itself is constantly screaming that—for what little I’ll admit it did differently—the story is written by the same type of person, for the same target audience, as every fucking piece of rancid roadkill every season of anime for some reason feels morally obligated to leave in its tracks. As I’ve explained, my new two-job, seven-day-work-week schedule has made it so I’m having to watch, think about, and write about every anime I’m attempting to review over night—a time of day when I should be getting through what little sleep I can—and holy fucking shit, trying desperately to stay awake while watching Oshi no Ko while already exhausted, chronically depressed, and sleep-deprived is a kind of torture I would not wish on any but my deepest, darkest, most personal enemies. Within minutes we’re being treated to lolicon humor and a character dynamic indistinguishable from Subaru and Ram’s from Re:Zero, and if this motherfucker wasn’t reincarnated as a baby, he’d have been the same self-deprecating, generic-looking, otaku self-insert we’d get from shitty light novel adaptations of that exact same unenviable ilk.

Speaking of Re:Zero, Oshi no Ko boasts dialogue bad enough to make me go crosseyed when reading the subtitles, and almost bad enough to make me regret learning Japanese so I stopped having to. Imagine a Re:Zero-esque teen drama where overdramatic, immature, unlikable crybabies stand around talking about their feelings for entire seasons of made-for-TV entertainment, only instead of placing the characters in a fantasy world with somewhat interesting concepts, place them in the single blandest realization of a preforming arts highschool humanly possible. If merely having that idea in your head gives you a fucking brain aneurysm, I don’t blame you, but if it doesn’t and you can actually take a second to form such an image in your mind, then congratulations. You’ve successfully imagined Oshi no Ko, and you no longer have to subject yourself to the real thing. Dry, endless exposition; loud, unfunny humor; boring, overdone drama. The one and only consistent element of the series which does actually set itself apart from its contemporaries, but which something tells me has nothing to do with how highly its being praised and rated, is how eye-wateringly hypocritical it is. We’ve all seen the type of show that tries so hard to be the “serious” one, and Oshi no Ko is definitely that. “It’s about teenagers wanting to become idols, celebrities, and entertainers, sure—but oh, no!—this ain’t no Love Live! This show is DIFFERENT! This isn’t just your typical highschool anime. This one takes a hard, unflinching look at the industry, and we get to witness these characters transform as they sober up and face the REAL WORLD.” Then you watch the show and it’s as juvenile as ever? Yeah, it’s that, but Oshi no Ko goes a step further. Not only does it shout “look how adult I am” while appearing completely generic, but it also shouts “look how self-aware I am” while appearing completely corrupt.

The actual reason I’d assume this show is so well-regarded by most people is how edgy it is. The selling point which is supposed to be oh-so ingenious is that the show looks like generic shit (and it is, but that’s not important). It’s supposed to look like generic shit with generic cute girls in generic school uniforms in a generic school setting with generic marketing strategies and pandering character designs all surrounding a generic pretty-boy MC, but just as you begin “tricking yourself” into thinking you truly are looking at generic shit, brooding edgeGOD protagonist hero savior turns around, looks directly into the camera, and beings to philosophize, “Everything we do is a lie. From idols to actors, all entertainers are liars, and audiences themselves *want* to be lied to, because the relationship they’ve formed with us is parasocial. Our job, and particularly the job of idols, is to act endearing and seductive enough to get our audiences emotionally invested in our fake personalities, so that way, they then turn around and start financially investing. At this point, the cycle of manipulation is complete, and our paychecks just get fatter and fatter. This is all cynical, this is all cold, hard, mechanical industry, and everyone who pays into it is being lied to.” You, the actual viewer in the actual audience, is then supposed to go, “Woah…that’s deep.” And I guess it is. The problem comes when the series finishes stating these statements only to act as if having stated them gives it some kind of moral high-ground or some degree of self-awareness that makes it intelligent AFTER it commits the exact same sins using the exact same strategies. This is an idol show, a standard teen dramedy about marketable waifus with whom to ship the MC. It is still sucking the golden tit of otaku culture, pandering to the same captive wallets and pocketbooks that pay for exactly what it is supposed to be criticizing, and therefore itself.

Ever since transitioning from a young adult with no commitments or responsibilities to a real fucking adult with far too many of both, my life has consistently been defined by long, undisturbed status quos. My sister, on one hand, ran out of the house and abandoned all sensible decision making influences in her life as soon as possible; got situated in hostiles and apartments with unsavory roommates; got tangled up in lending and borrowing, student debt, and other money troubles; got knocked up by a guy she would soon grow to despise; got admitted into rehab, out of rehab, and soundly into AA—the whole shabang. But me, on the other hand, always planned in advance, monitored, and carefully operated every change in routine which my life would undergo, and I was never ever one to, as least in the big, scary, life-changing kind of way, “make mistakes.” This uneventful little life of mine really must’ve pissed off someone upstairs, though, because 2023 has completely, mercilessly upended this status quo root and stem. Ever since January 5th, my life has witnessed enormous fundamental change after enormous fundamental change, and the daily, weekly, yearly standard of always being able to predict what’s coming next, always having a back-up plan, and always having feet to land on found itself replaced with a seemingly endless series of rapid, blindsiding periods of stressful, terribly consequential change. This new normal has not only left me with no time to devote to my once-defining passions such as watching anime and being SingleH, but also with way too much unwelcome perspective to feel that doing so would even be worth it. I mean, with day-to-day life feeling so much bigger, it’s difficult not to view these loves of mine as being comparatively small. Luckily, though, this season had one truly worthwhile anime for me to watch and review…but it definitely wasn’t Oshi no fucking Ko.

This was an anime sold to me on its premise which failed me on the exactly same token. Isekai anime, for example, are often criticized as being completely and totally, 100% unrealistic on the singular grounds that their protagonists are poorly written for not seeming to care about their previous lives once reincarnated. Obviously every genre has its exceptions, but I’m sure we can all think of a protagonist who got isekai’d by Truck-kun and who didn’t seem to be too terribly bothered by the prospect of leaving behind their families, friends, and—ya know?—entire fucking lives and being reincarnated into a fucking video game. The two reincarnated protagonists of Oshi no Ko are similarly unbelievable for this same reason, but whereas the me of the past had kind of just accepted this trope as part of the genre, the me of the present refused to let it go. To me, Tengoku Daimakyou was the only show of the season truly worth watching and reviewing, but the problem with going to review *good* anime is that you never know how long the process of doing so is actually going to take. With the way my life is now, that thing I once called “spare time” has become alien, and keeping up with seasonal anime in a fashion that doesn’t involve pulling all-nighters has become literally impossible. Since I can’t really budget time for writing the way I used to, I just kinda have to hope life works out in such a way I can effectively last-minute anything I want to write for nowadays, but, just as I was finishing up that brilliant, beautiful, Production IG gem and getting filled with all this inspiration, my aunt died, and so I missed the competitive deadline. Having to pass up a show I was actually passionate about writing for was disheartening enough, but to have the next in line be such an empty husk…I just can’t empathize with characters who move on like an entire lifetime’s worth of experience beyond their interaction with their favorite pop idols is worth nothing of note, whether they left behind shitty lives or not. It seems like every day now I cry; I see something that reminds me of my old friends, and I cry; I see something that reminds me of my old workplace, and I cry; I scroll back through my camera roll, see how different things all used to be, and I cry. Everything these kids cry over…it all just feels as two-dimensional as they are.

But maybe I’m just fucked.

Thank you for reading.

Reviewer’s Rating: 3

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