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This anime should not work. It's morally dubious, completely harebrained, extremely uncomfortable to watch, and… I absolutely adore it.

Now let's make something clear—in real life, polyamory is not a good idea. A single romantic relationship is difficult enough to navigate, and you're telling me the protagonist of this show intends to have a HUNDRED girlfriends? It's impossible. Physically, mentally, emotionally, there's not a man on this Earth who could make that work to the satisfaction of all parties involved.

… So it's a damn good thing this is anime and not reality.

And I think that's the secret, really. 100 Girlfriends is fully aware of how stupid ... its premise is, which is why it presents as a comedy first and foremost. Its characters are obvious tropes. Its plot devices are convenient to the point of parody. It delivers gag after ridiculous gag, a number of them fourth-wall-breaking. The show all but sends you a handwritten letter saying, "This is one gigantic joke; please don't take it seriously."

But that's exactly where its power lies.

The moment you accept the fact that the surface elements of this anime are not intended to be believed, the sooner you can focus on everything else—and everything else the show has to offer is fantastic.

For one, it's hilarious; 100 Girlfriends leans into its absurdist tendencies to get serious mileage out of the heroines' affection for Rentarou being so extreme it's practically deranged. And Rentarou, for his part, lives up to their adoration by being the most impossibly cool fictional man ever written. And this brings up a point that I think is worth talking about.

Despite the impossibility of everything in this anime, Rentarou is truly an admirable character. He's thoughtful. He's hard-working. He cares deeply about others. This ain't just another stupid, horny monkey who wins the anime bullcrap lottery and gets all the girls; Rentarou deserves his popularity by being, in the strangest way imaginable, the ultimate role model for men. His girlfriends are more precious to him than anything, and he puts their needs above his own every moment of every day.

The whole story is ridiculous and laughable, but what Rentarou pours out on a regular basis—his continuing effort to serve, protect, and give of himself—is genuine love, and there's nothing funny about it.

Which brings me to the other part of the show that makes no sense:
It's… wholesome.

When 100 Girlfriends wasn't making me laugh my ribs loose, it was making me smile the dumbest, happiest smile I think I've ever had on my face while watching anime. Despite what you might think, despite how raunchy the show may get, the heroines are taken seriously as characters. They worry about little things. They have hangups. Their personalities clash and they argue. But they're all united by Rentarou. His positive influence in their lives brings them closer together, until they actually start to feel like a family, even when he's not around. It's downright delightful to see, and I cannot fathom how a show with a premise this dumb manages to do this better than most anime I've watched.

Do I have objections to… well, a lot of the things in this anime? On principle, yes, absolutely. But if you're an intelligent human being with a functioning frontal lobe who can tell when someone is cracking a joke, you will be able to tell that the most questionable elements of this show exist for humor and everything that doesn't is absolutely worth your time.

Watch this one. I mean it.

I'm a huge fan of a good romance in anime, and let me tell you, I have not been eating well. Romance in anime generally comes in two flavors—fake romance, where the anime is romance-flavored, but you know the status quo is never actually going to change, and overdone romance, where the show is so focused on the romance and nothing else that it becomes boring.

A show with a good romance on the side is a rarity, and a show that focuses on romance without becoming stale is downright mythical.

… Well, what can I say? Here I am pulling the sword from the stone and ... calling myself King Arthur, because The Dangers in My Heart is precisely what I've been hoping to see for years.

Kyoutarou, our lovable little scamp of a protagonist, starts the anime by telling you how much he wants to kill his classmates. Is this a shock-value hook? Yes, it is. And that might have left a sour taste in my mouth if it wasn't done so well. See, it becomes obvious pretty quickly that little Kyo indulges in these idle power-fantasy daydreams because he feels powerless. He's a gloomy loner who spends most of his time alone in the library, and he's clearly not super jazzed about it.

Enter Anna, a popular girl at school who gets curious about Kyoutarou and starts interacting with him. Is this wish-fulfillment? Yes, it is. And that might have left a sour taste in my… wait a second, I'm feeling some deja-vu here. What was I saying?

Right. Anna. While Kyoutarou is the show's protagonist, Anna is the force for change. She acts, and stuff happens. She's not powerless. Kyo sees that, and he hates her for it. She's at the top of his list of people to kill—not that he'd ever actually do it. But then she does something that takes him by surprise:

She starts treating him like a person.

Before he can say "character development," Kyoutarou is faced with a difficult quandary: he has long hated Anna, but now she has become his only ally—the only person who gives him the feeling that he's worth anything. And this happens slowly. A brief interaction here. A little comment there. It's not like his world changes instantaneously. He spends a good few episodes offhandedly thinking to himself, "Hey, this would be a good chance for me to kill her."

Of course, he never goes through with it. He can't. Because he's completely smitten.

Now, this might bug a lot of people, but my favorite thing about Kyoutarou is the way he gets a little obsessive. It might be cringeworthy, yeah, but it's believable. There's this mistaken impression that real men—or at least worthwhile men—are "cool" and don't care what women think of them. In reality it's the exact opposite: most men want women to like them, and they're willing to do almost anything if a girl shows even the slightest interest in them. It's a masculine aspect that is both embarrassing and wonderful.

This is what I love about Kyoutarou—he might be a physically small, depressive, wimpy nerd, but he's such a MAN.

Modern society has really tried its best to tear men down in recent years. Words and phrases like "toxic masculinity" and "simp" exist seemingly for the sole purpose of making men feel bad for being manly and wanting to impress women.

Well, I'll come out and say it—trying to impress women is what we're supposed to do, and it's actually one of our best features. More often than not the desire to impress a woman leads men to be courteous, thoughtful, and brave. In other words, we better ourselves in this pursuit. How is that a bad thing?

The Dangers in My Heart goes a step further and contrasts Kyoutarou with Haruya, a typical playboy. Now, Haruya isn't evil by any means, but he IS confident, pushy, and willing to use other people as tools to get to the girl he's interested in. In other words, he doesn't care much about the person, just about what they can offer him.

None of this is blown out of proportion, though. It's portrayed tastefully, tactfully, patiently. Just like the adorable romance that begins to develop as the show continues. Is some of it a little contrived for the sake of those heart-pounding moments of accidental intimacy? Absolutely. But I'm willing to look the other way, because this show meaningfully explores how a relationship can bring out the best in a person, and that's something worth my time.

Also, there's going to be a second season, and waiting for it is going to be the longest wait of my life.

Thanks for reading.

Y'know, as much as I like this show, it does itself a serious disservice by its premise and first episode. So much so that I think the people who quickly judge it as not worth their time are justified in dropping it and moving on.

Tomo-chan is a show that, for all intents and purposes, looks like another romcom with a gimmick. You know the type—they're 90% comedy, 10% romance, and what romance is there exists just to tease you while the characters remain in a carefully preserved status-quo. I swear, it's like the writers of those shows have the main couple floating in some eerie ... vat and think they'll escape containment and ruin the plot if they manage to successfully hold hands or something.

Tomo-chan isn't one of those shows. If you're currently trying to judge whether this anime is worth your time and that's your only real concern, you don't need to read any further. Go watch it. Or stick around and listen to me rant about how much I enjoyed it. I like ranting.

You probably read the synopsis already. Tomo has a crush on her oldest friend Jun, but she's so boyish that she doesn't even register as a romantic interest to him. Drama ensues. While I criticized the first episode before, I think it does a good job establishing Tomo's motive, which is delightfully easy to follow. She wants to get Jun to acknowledge her as a woman, then become his girlfriend. Simple. All she has to do is figure out how to do that.

And the greatest thing about Tomo-chan is that the show is actually about this goal. There's little time wasted on petty distractions, and when side-characters get explored, it's in a context that lends itself to Tomo's struggle. Everything builds toward the show's conclusion, which exists. Yeah. A show that ends. Properly.

Anyway, those side-characters I mentioned? They're worth it. Without further ado, allow me to introduce this show's best girl:

All of them.

Yeah, you heard right. Tomo herself is a real go-getter of a protagonist, and serves as an incredibly refreshing heroine, but her two other friends, Carol and Misuzu, are just as worthy of the spotlight. Together these two form an unlikely tag-team trying to aid Tomo in her quest, and their clashing personalities make for some of the funniest and, oddly, most heartwarming interactions in the show. I adore both of them for completely different reasons and I think they're my favorite dynamic duo from anime in recent years.

I could talk about Jun, too, but honestly there's not a lot to say about him. He's actually a pretty good character in his own right, and he really grows out of the "oblivious protagonist" mold by the end of the show.

Funnily enough, the relationship between Jun and Tomo is a pretty good parallel for the relationship between a romance fan and this anime. When a fan looks at the surface, they'll see something they're incredibly familiar with—something they don't really need to think about further. But if they pull aside the outer layer and pay attention, they'll find something they didn't expect to be there:

Boobs.

I'm kidding. What you'll really find is, y'know—something worthwhile. I feel like I just destroyed my credibility, though, so I'm gonna leave now. I hope you watch the show and enjoy it as much as I did. Thanks for reading.

Let's get the obvious out of the way: Spy x Family has exploded in popularity, and it deserves to. That said, as we've seen from shows like the famed Sword Art Online, anime can become extremely popular despite severely mediocre writing. So what makes Spy x Family different? Well, in the manner of any good spy, it's disguising itself.

Anyone you ask will tell you that Spy x Family is a comedy first and foremost. Its setup is completely absurd in ways that just beg to be utilized for jokes, and it loves to put its characters in situations where they're completely out of their depth, ... to hilarious results. But if you dig just a little deeper, you'll find what I believe is the beating heart of the show—it is the gnawing seed of fear planted in the mind of every viewer the moment they start to become attached to the anime's main trio.

"What's going to happen to this family?"

The starring members of the anime who form the eponymous family are almost instantly lovable, good-hearted people. But they are each participating in this grand deception for their own reasons, fooling each other and the world because it benefits them in some way. Loid is a spy working on the most important mission of his life, and he needs his fake wife and fake daughter to play along so that he can do his part to prevent a war from breaking out. Yor is an assassin who fears the current social climate will get her arrested just for being single, and agrees to be Loid's pretend-spouse simply so she can deflect suspicion. Anya, the very young daughter, has the ability to read minds, and helps assemble this family spur of the moment, mostly because she thinks it's super cool to have a spy and an assassin for parents.

From the very beginning, everyone involved is clearly shown to be self-interested. However, as the story progresses, it becomes obvious that emotion will begin to overrule logic. As Loid falls into the role of parent for the sake of his mission, and Yor for the sake of her standing, they both find themselves actually caring about their fake daughter. Anya, meanwhile, desperately clings to her new family, hoping against hope that she will not be tossed aside the way she has been many times in the past. The more time these characters spend together for their own reasons, the more their fake bonds become legitimate, calling attention to the double meaning of the Forger surname. "To forge," can mean to make an illegitimate copy of something, but it can also refer to the act of creating something very real.

Is the Forger family fake, or real? Will Loid leave them behind when his mission is complete? Will Yor return to her old life, where killing is the only thing she can do? Will Anya be returned to an orphanage, having been abandoned by yet another family? For as much laughter as the show generates, there's a hope and a fear behind it. That, I think, is how this anime has cast such a spell on people, and I admit I'm right there with them, completely entranced.

I've been entertaining a theory recently that all anime—and entertainment in general—can be sorted into one of two broad categories: genuine art, and pandering. Genuine art is a piece of media that often leaves people thinking seriously about it long after they have left the experience behind. This kind of entertainment is less about simply entertaining, and more about being an expression of the creator's desire to etch a message into people's hearts and minds.

Pandering, on the other hand, is exactly what it sounds like—it is a product created to be successful as possible within whatever demographics it is targeted at. The shape of its ... existence is less pure artistic expression and more commercial viability. In other words, it is the way it is because the chief concerns of those who are pandering are to be popular and make money.

Now, you might think I'm gearing up to be super negative here, and your suspicions do you credit, because I'm a pretty critical guy and it's not beneath me to drop a metaphorical deuce on something insanely popular.

The thing is… I don't hate My Dress Up Darling. The show does things right in almost every department, and more importantly, if you showed me a picture of Marin with a smile on her face my serotonin levels would instantly shoot through the roof without my consent; the show makes me happy. Marin's bubbly energy is more infectious than a blood disease in a mosquito-infested jungle, and the animation quality is downright outrageous at times. It's obvious the animators were possessed of a frightening determination to over-animate the crap out of Marin at every opportunity, and it works in the anime's favor—outside of some slightly funky rotoscoped shots, all those little detailed movements and delightfully varied facial expressions make her feel incredibly real.

This anime is deserving of praise, and I enjoyed the heck out of it, but I'd be a liar if I said it wasn't pandering, and pandering hard, not just to cosplayers, but the dedicated anime community in general. A rather passive protagonist with an odd passion that makes him feel alienated from his peers? A heroine who fully accepts the parts of his personality that cause him to feel shame, giving him a chance to feel useful and wanted? It's patently obvious that Gojo's level of compatibility as a self-insert for every male viewer is absolutely off the charts.

I'm not saying that a relatable protagonist is a bad thing. But a lot of people are going to live vicariously through Gojo and be hypnotized by Marin, who is basically the ultimate otaku girlfriend; she's kind and accepting of everyone while still having her own style, proactive and flirty without being promiscuous, and just incompetent enough to allow room for the deeply-rooted masculine desire to serve and protect. It's scary how effectively she caters to an audience. In spite of my cynicism, I personally really like her, and I have zero doubt in my mind that I like her largely because I am most definitely within that target audience.

Is My Dress Up Darling a high-quality production? Yes. Is it funny and raunchy and cute and comfy? Yes, all of the above. Will you enjoy it? If you are male, and you like anime in general, there's a 99% chance the answer is yes. Do I recommend it? Absolutely. Watch it and enjoy it. Just remember that this anime is in fact trying to seduce you. And yeah, being seduced can be a fun time, but when you look back years later, with a clear mind and sobered thoughts, the only thing you'll have retained from the experience is a vague sense of longing… and possibly a subconscious attraction to blondes with ear-piercings.

Taishou Maiden Fairytale is a show with a lot of characters who find themselves in crappy situations. A thief steals from good people in order to provide for her younger siblings under the guardianship of her alcoholic father. The daughter of a rich man pushes away everyone around her because her cold upbringing has taught her to expect the worst from other people. The whole country is struck by a natural disaster that ushers in despair and threatens the lives of many.

But that's all extra. The way this story starts is with Tamahiko, a disabled boy, cast away by his family and sent to live ... in seclusion. Feeling worthless, hopeless, ready to give up and die, he finds himself visited by yet another unfortunate soul—a young girl, sold to pay off her family's debts. In an offhanded gesture of familial obligation, Tamahiko's father purchased the girl—Yuzu—to look after his disabled son as his promised bride.

Both of these characters have every reason to give in to despair, but Yuzu, in spite of being sold for money and promised to someone she has never met, chooses to make the best of it. She treats Tamahiko with all the warmth she can muster, tending to his every need even when his depression-fugue and disability render him largely useless.

This is the first notable event in the anime, and it starts a chain-reaction of kindness and generosity that improves the lives of everyone this unlikely pair come in contact with. Everywhere in the show you will see people turning from hopelessness and grief toward productiveness and joy, all of this change stemming from that first act of unconditional love.

I've seen some claim that this anime is pandering to a particular group of people who have an obsession with seeing a capable female character look after a passive, depressive male, and while I can't deny that's what it looks like in the first six episodes or so, Tamahiko grows so much by the end of the story that he is no longer that character. And that, for me, is where Taishou Maiden Fairytale separates itself from the rest. This isn't just an anime about two people getting affectionate with each other. It isn't just a show about a strong woman taking care of a helpless man. It's about the infectious nature of kindness—how one act of love begets another, and how we should push ourselves to do more good, not less, in moments when we are lost and afraid.

There is some fair criticism to be lobbied against the show's art and animation, but those who damn it for this singular shortcoming are like those who would miss out on befriending a warm, kind, and generous individual just because the individual in question is wearing an ugly sweater. I beg you: please don't be like that.

Foreword: There are minor spoilers in this review, with a big ol' warning before a major spoiler. That said, even if you read everything, there's nothing that would ruin your enjoyment of the anime, in my opinion. So please read on, dear reader.

Vivy: Fluorite Eye's Song is an anime about androids and time travel. But mostly androids. Like a lot of other media about androids, it dabbles in questions like, "What is the nature of the soul?" and "Where do people find a reason to live?"

I say dabble, because the thematic groundwork Vivy builds itself upon is as fragmented as the branching timelines that define ... its plot structure.

I'm happy to say that I found myself intrigued by the plot early on. The idea of trying to diverge from a timeline in which androids—ahem, sorry, AIs—and humans go to war is enough of a hook, but what really captured my attention was the way that it panned out: no matter what Vivy and Matsumoto do to avoid a bleak future—no matter how hard they work to steer everyone toward the idea that AI are soulless—humanity keeps veering toward the belief that they could in fact have souls. This progression suggests a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy about the future of humanity and AI that easily kept my three brain cells swimming happy little circles in the wading pool of my skull.

Unfortunately, the anime isn't trying to explore this idea. At all. It sets this hook aside in favor of focusing entirely on Vivy's personal journey to figure out what it means to "sing from the heart." Which, at the risk of sounding like a total curmudgeon, is really corny and not nearly as interesting.

Before before anybody evicts me for not paying the waifu tax, though, let me tell you honestly that I like Vivy as a character. The idea of an artificial girl trying to come to terms with her own existence is really cool, and watching her mannerisms go from robotic to human is satisfying. I just can't help feeling like Vivy was inserted into the wrong story; her struggle to fully understand her reason for living would have worked incredibly well in a slower-paced character drama, but instead we get time-travel and (admittedly very pretty) action scenes featuring the inevitable evolution of BattleBots.

I don't have much left to say, so let me tell you—SPOILER ALERT FOR THIS PARAGRAPH—about my favorite part of the entire show: episode 10. I loved this episode because it temporarily set aside the time-travel plot to calmly explore Vivy's struggle, and holy security subsystems, Batman, it was amazing. Watching Vivy spend literal decades trying to rediscover the feeling that allowed her to sing was enchanting, and genuine, and incredibly sad. It was like watching an artist who had created a masterpiece without knowing how, and was floundering in an attempt to recreate it. All the while, we watch the same character visit her again and again, growing older, fostering a family and a life of his own, while Vivy remains in the same place—lost, stagnant. It was tragic in such a beautiful, understated way, and I actually cried watching that scene play out, which is not a reaction anime often gets out of me.

Altogether, I'm genuinely torn on this one. I find myself unsatisfied because there was so much potential in so many directions; this anime could have explored the nature of humanity in an interesting way if it had doubled down, but it settles for flashy fights and a paper-thin time-travel plot where the real villain is yet another predictable Big Bad.

Let Vivy: Fluorite Eye's Song serve as an example to writers: don't focus too much on the external. Don't try to convince people that the android has a soul by making it look human; try instead to show them what's going on beneath the surface.

Y'know... I fail to understand why Deca-Dence is not universally adored. It has a compelling roller coaster of a story, a wildly unique and multifaceted world, and characters that don't lean on stereotypes to be memorable. There are no gimmicks in this anime, no distracting fanservice, no illogical power escalation... just some of the most earnest writing I've seen in this medium.

... Oh. Never mind, I see *exactly* why Deca-Dence isn't universally adored.

Indeed, I posit that Deca-Dence is so pure and good—so incredibly unlike most anime before it—that the vast majority of watchers who have (by little fault of their own) had their grey matter ... turned into grey goo by the dozens upon dozens of mindless shows they've suffered through, can no longer recognize its quality.

But I'll not try your intelligence with further complaint. Why is it so good?

In a word, honesty. Deca-Dence takes place in a complicated world, but the characters that inhabit it are very straightforward. Natsume, the show's protagonist, just wants to be a soldier—to make a difference in a community that doesn't believe she has what it takes. And while she works toward this goal with laudable effort, she does so with little support from those around her.

Deca-Dence doesn't pretend Natsume's an invincible creature of endless confidence; she suffers. She suffers in her failures and even in her successes, as her continued efforts push the people closest to her to rebuke her for putting herself in harm's way. And perhaps most importantly, the show depicts this emotional struggle. You get the see the full extent of Natsume's suffering, which makes it all the more gratifying when she reveals her true strength of character by pressing on regardless.

Suffice it to say pretty much every important character in Deca-Dence is like this—simple, but with a depth of motive and emotion that makes it feel like there's a good reason they're on screen. And the conflicts between many of these characters reinforce the core message of the anime, which is, "Fight for a better world; don't settle for 'good enough.'"

Deca-Dence is not an endless shonen action franchise. It's not the adaptation of a light novel series that has long since run out of inspiration. And it's certainly not a shameless attempt to capitalize on some kind of vapid trend. It is its own entity—an original anime in every sense of the phrase—and the people who worked on it knew exactly what they were doing. It has stylish animation, memorable music, engaging story, loveable characters, and even a satisfying ending. This anime has all the qualities of greatness, and I hope that in time, more people will give it the attention and praise it deserves.

For anyone who has watched a reasonable (or unreasonable?) number of anime, there are tropes and stereotypes that jump to mind the moment one brings up the topic. I need only say a few things, and you, if you are a well-versed anime fan, will likely nod your head in understanding:

High school.
Nice guy with brown hair.
Corner seat by the window.
Mysterious girl.
Not-very-protective battle gear.
Childhood friend.
Accidental groping.
Unreasonably large weapons.
... Poorly designed war robots.

Guilty Crown is perhaps aptly titled, as it is guilty of every one of the tropes I just listed. And yet (and I might be laughed at for saying this) Guilty Crown is a remarkably smart and polished anime. It has a complex protagonist who goes through multiple stages of development, a plot involving a corrupt militarized pseudo-government and a group of rebels who fight them, and some downright awesome music by the master of hype himself, Hiroyuki Sawano. It gets kinda weird at the end, but it would taste a lie to say that this show doesn't have a lot going for it.

The only problem is, it stops everything at least once every few episodes to remind you that, yes, it is an anime. There are episodes with awesome action sequences, character development, and suspense, and then there are scenes in the very next episode of our extremely stereotypical hero getting caught lying on top of a prone girl because he tripped. Yeah, it pulls that one, too.

In short, Guilty Crown is a compelling anime that suffers from unabashedly being what it is. It sometimes feels like it was directed by two different people—one guy who knew what he was doing and was all about the drama and structure, and another guy who occasionally took over for an afternoon, got drunk and went, "Hey, wouldn't it be great if the main heroine's outfit had a huge hole in the middle going from her chest down to her midsection?"

For me, this is one of those situations where you just have to temper your expectations and take the good with the bad. I think Guilty Crown is unique and stylish and cool. It's an anime that anime fans should watch. But I will also be the first to get up on a podium and proclaim that it can be really, really stupid at times.

If you've watched a moe anime, also known as a Cute Girls Doing Cute Things (CGDCT) anime, you already know they're garbage. Narratively speaking, I mean. They eschew the concepts of drama, character growth and plot development, the creators instead pouring their hearts, souls, and budget into the gaping, hungry void of vapid adorableness.

That's moe. It's pointless, and we watch it anyway. Because we're bad.

But it's okay! Because there's a moe show that you can enjoy without feeling like you're slowly killing yourself by inhaling noxious cotton candy fumes! That's right! It's Yuru Camp!

Now, I'm not gonna lie to you: Yuru Camp isn't a work ... of genius or anything. It's a simple show about a group of girls who like camping. A lot. Like, damn, they really love camping. And their love of camping must be infectious, because I seriously considered going camping multiple times while watching. Then I stopped, because I've been camping and I know that it's less cute girls in ponchos and more tedium and mosquitoes.

Anywho, the real reason Yuru Camp is so great is twofold: focus, and subtlety. What I mean by focus is that the show is about camping, and it's actually about camping. The girls of Yuru Camp go camping basically every episode. No stupid sidelines with them hanging out in a club room for an entire episode eating cake, or going to the beach and jokingly fondling one-another so viewers can feel very uncomfortable about their choice of entertainment—NO. Yuru Camp is about camping, and by golly, camping is what's on the menu.

The subtlety of the show is where it really shines, though. Throughout the anime, slithering between the lines of the quirky humor, educational skits and RELAXED CAMPING ACTION there creeps an ever-present and compelling tension—a quiet battle of wills between the three girls who form the camping club—Chiaki, Aoi, and Nadeshiko—and Rin, who prefers to go camping by herself. It's never blown out of proportion, but first impressions make it clear that Rin is openly against the idea of having her relaxing solo-camping experience ruined by noisy companions. Throughout the show, however, with Nadeshiko serving as a bridge, Rin slowly becomes more open to the idea of hanging out with her new friends and even sharing her favorite pastime with them.

I realize that what I'm describing sounds completely unremarkable, but that's just it—the show doesn't treat this development as something mind-blowing; Yuru Camp succeeds because the realistically slow churn of this quiet tension, which eventually gives way to camaraderie, is like the relaxation of a taut muscle—natural, easy, and extremely satisfying. Watching Yuru Camp is comforting because that tiny hint of drama is just enough to make the characters feel real, while the whole experience remains unthreatening and chill as heck.

In the smelly, smoldering heap of throwaway shows that inhabit the gross, unwashed tent of the moe genre, Yuru Camp stands tall as a well-executed (and hygienic!) mold-breaker. And I think I just stressed myself out with that sentence, so excuse me while I calm down by re-watching Yuru Camp a third time.