This site entry has been translated from a 1991 article originally published in imago magazine. A transcription of the article can be read here.

Examining “Yaoi”: Why Did Girls Give Up Ordinary Love for Boys’ Love?

By Yonezawa Yoshihiro of the critic group, “Meikyuu [Labyrinth]” / Representative of the Comic Market Preparatory Committee / Manga Critic

A distinct genre of manga commonly referred to as “yaoi” has emerged within contemporary fan cultures. Although its classificatory status differs in subtle ways from more conventional generic categories such as shounen, shoujo, science fiction, or gag manga, the term has nevertheless become firmly established among readers and creators. While rarely discussed in mainstream contexts, the genre is believed to command an audience numbering in the hundreds of thousands.

The term “yaoi” originated in the sphere of doujinshi production. It is an acronym for “yama nashi, ochi nashi, imi nashi”—lit. “no climax, no point, no meaning.” Initially used as a pejorative label, it referred to short, parody-oriented works that appropriated characters and settings from existing anime, manga, and novels. Within these texts, pre-existing male characters are reimagined as engaging in romantic relationships and homoerotic encounters that exceed the boundaries of canonical friendship. In this sense, yaoi originally denoted a mode of homoerotic parody situated within fan-based creative practices.

Had yaoi remained confined to a limited subset of doujinshi circles, it might have been regarded simply as a marginal pastime for a small number of enthusiasts. However, the phenomenon that began with the Captain Tsubasa doujinshi boom soon expanded to encompass titles such as Saint Seiya and Ronin Warriors, ultimately giving rise to nearly ten thousand doujinshi circles across Japan. Works as diverse as Legend of Heavenly Sphere Shurato, Madō King Granzört, The Silent Service, Dragon Ball, Legend of the Galactic Heroes, and Maou Den: Demon City Blues were appropriated by female fans as sites onto which they could project and elaborate their yaoi-oriented fantasies, provided the source material featured attractively rendered young male characters.

It is said that more than half of the women creating parody doujinshi fall into the yaoi genre. The number of doujinshi creators is estimated to be as high as twenty to thirty thousand, with readership estimated to be in the hundreds of thousands. For a little over a year now, debates over the validity of yaoi have been raging in manga magazines like Pafu and COMICBOX. There’s no doubt that the popularity of the yaoi genre has fueled the recent doujinshi boom. Anthologies centered around reprints of such doujinshi have been circulating extensively as commercial publications in recent years.

Moreover, the number of popular yaoi doujinshi artists entering commercial publications has increased. Artists such as Kouga Yun, Ozaki Minami, and CLAMP, who dominated manga magazine popularity polls from 1988 to 1990, also employed the yaoi methodology in their original works, ushering in a new age of shoujo manga. Shoujo manga magazines centered around these artists, such as Patsy, KIDS, and South, have launched and gained a solid following in the manga world.

Yaoi and doujinshi (which necessitates the creation of manga in a short number of pages) go hand in hand. Manga cannot begin its story without a strong foundation in worldbuilding. The “school rom-com” genre (the basis of mainstream shoujo manga) provides a template by using the Japanese school setting and the ubiquitous girl–boy dynamic—the most accessible world requiring little explanation to readers. Similarly, anime parody (“aniparo”) borrows pre-existing settings and characters an audience is already familiar with in order to tell a new story.

Drawing dozens of pages is a time-consuming and demanding task for the average amateur. By contrast, aniparo allows for standalone one-shots or gag strips to function effectively. Within a more manageable range of two to sixteen pages, artists can quickly and efficiently produce a solid manga. The aniparo framework further advances the pattern inherent within the school rom-com genre. Of course, while rom-coms have universal appeal, aniparo requires prior knowledge of existing works. This necessity shaped its emergence within the specialized context of doujinshi. The market created by anime and manga quickly captured the masses, and the 1980s ushered in a new culture of parody, which further fueled the yaoi trend.

Within this framework, what is spoken by characters and conveyed through storytelling is the artist’s art style, their humor, fashion sense, taste, hobbies and fantasies. What readers interpret is similarly detached. There’s no resemblance to the original source material, both in art and story. What exists in Captain Tsubasa parodies, for example, is only the fact that the boys play soccer and their relationship to each other, whether as rivals or teammates. Instead, women employ their unique art and stories to make boys fall in love.

Women adore homosexual relationships. Not only is it a theme in yaoi, but also in magazines such as the aristocratic JUNE. It’s shaped an undercurrent in shoujo manga read primarily by fans of magazines like Hana to Yume and LaLa, in which “bishounen” (lit. "pretty boys") are depicted. It’s fair to say that shoujo manga has now split into two streams: those centered on the traditional romance between boys and girls, and those centered on unconventional romance between boys. Why did girls stop reading about romance between boys and girls and instead come to love stories about boys loving boys? In this article, I intend to examine this phenomenon.

From Shounen-ai to Yaoi

It’s said that the concept of boys love first appeared in Takemiya Keiko’s 1970 shoujo manga, Snow, Stars and Angels (later renamed to Sunroom Nite). In 1971, she serialized I Love the Sky! featuring the cheerful pickpocket, Tag Parisian. Hagio Moto explored the world of boys’ narcissism in Snow Child while November Gymnasium captured the drama of an all-boys school. During this time, Takemiya and Hagio gained fervent support—be it from manga enthusiasts, amateur artists, or professional mangaka—and the theme and world of “shounen ai” (lit. "boys love") began to emerge as a major force in shoujo manga.

Shounen (lit. “boy[s]”) were referred to as angels. A third gender, so to speak, neither male nor female; neither child nor adult. This introduced another world to shoujo manga that could not be captured by traditional shoujo focusing on girls. Freed from the institutional frameworks surrounding girls—sex, romance, homemaking, and motherhood—the shounen was the perfect vessel for depicting broader stories about life, death, and relationships. Furthermore, shoujo manga featuring shounen also tackled issues of war, platonic relationships, and the impact societal standards may have on an individual.

In shoujo manga, the female protagonist’s purpose is to connect with readers and serve as their voice, which is precisely why these stories could not deviate from the expected image of a girl in Japanese society. Oscar (from The Rose of Versailles) could only fight if she disguised herself as a man. Symbolically, her love for Andre only came to fruition once she shed her disguise. Through the fictional presence of foreign, beautiful young men, shoujo manga is now entirely capable of fully embodying the fantasies of women and girls.

From this point forward, the archetypical shounen became crucial to shoujo manga. Later depictions expanded to young and adult men. Regardless of the artists’ intentions, the shounen was increasingly perceived as an idol-like symbol of romance. Simultaneously, homosexual relationships between shounen were enjoyed as part of the will-they-won’t-they subgenre of romance manga. In 1976, the manga Sons of Eve by Aoike Yasuko, which utilized themes of homosexuality and cross-dressing as comedic material, gained traction. Then in 1978, the shounen-ai-themed manga and literary magazine JUNE was launched.

The concept of homosexual shounen were blended with a variety of elements, such as rock music, decadence, S&M, and baroque style, giving rise to a new faction of feminine hobbyists not dissimilar from that of literary girls.

• Literary girl: A girl who likes literary works and aspires to be a writer, and/or a girl who enjoys literary atmospheres and fantasy worlds.

Magazines such as JUNE, Alan, and even Gekkou and Pastoral Melon came to be known by some as okoge zasshi (lit. “burnt rice magazines”).

• Okoge: A term referring to girls who love gay men.
• Zasshi: Lit. "magazine."

Within the 1980s world of shoujo manga, men and shounen began to appear more frequently as protagonists. Stories like Sleeping (Male) Beauty by Akisato Wakuni about a man dying (?) of AIDS, and Longer and Slower Than a River by Yoshida Akimi realistically depict ordinary Japanese men and touch on topics such as self-gratification. The Poem of Wind and Trees by Takemiya Keiko, which depicts the soulful, almost spiritual connection between two shounen, Gilbert and Serge, was sensationalized by its realistic homosexual sex scenes. Cipher by Narita Minako, which features mildly suggestive artwork of a pair of twin brothers (despite not being shounen-ai in and of itself), became representative of the movement. Meanwhile, in the doujinshi scene, parodies of Hagio Moto’s works steadily trended upwards around 1975, giving rise to the gay parody (“homoparo”) trend. By the late 1970s, numerous aniparo emerged, often featuring dashing villains from mecha anime. However, such aniparo primarily emulated the art style and aesthetics of its source material, using homoeroticism as a gag element. In other words, parody in the traditional sense remained the dominant approach.

In an attempt to disparage the movement, shounen-ai enthusiasts were dubbed “lolicons” due to their love of youthful shounen characters (despite the term “lolicon” only applying to young female characters). This led shounen-ai fans to create their own “complexes”: adacon (“adult complex”) which refers to a preference for older men, and shotacon (“Shotaro complex”), which refers to a preference for younger boys in short pants.

The shotacon boom led to the emergence of Captain Tsubasa aniparo in 1985. The cheerful and sporty protagonists, and their bonds of friendship and rivalry, were transformed by women into a world of romance tinged with sensuality. The major shift here was that while “bishounen” (lit. “pretty boy[s]”) had primarily been foreign and aestheticized, now ordinary, everyday shounen were depicted engaging in homoeroticism as well. Furthermore, budding doujinshi artists stopped imitating Takahashi Yoichi’s art style and instead drew in their own.

Some aniparo was done in the style of Hino Hideshi or Ishii Hisachi, but many artists parodied Captain Tsubasa in their signature shoujo art styles. Doujinshi was no longer required to be humorous or satirical; the romance and sex between shounen were depicted entirely seriously. Factions split into parties organized by pairings. The most popular Tsubasa pairing by far was Wakashimazu Ken / Hyuga Kojiro, with further hairs being split over who was the “uke” and who was the “seme” (though uke Kojiro dominated doujinshi markets at the time). These pairing conventions were then applied to Saint Seiya and Ronin Warriors, eventually taking the market by storm.

• Uke: A term that refers to the submissive or "bottom" partner in a relationship.
• Seme: A term that refers to the active or "top" partner in a relationship.

The Allure of Yaoi

Regarding yaoi pairings, let’s take a look at what the group Shimauma JACK has to say.

“Okay, so, Hyuga is practicing, right? Naturally, his fans are packed like sardines along the fence. At that moment, Hyuga wonders whose rice ball he’d eat. To imagine Hyuga gobbling down Wakashimazu’s rice ball with gusto—that’s what yaoi fans love.

“In the average yaoi setting, Wakashimazu harbors homoerotic feelings for Hyuga, but knows they’re socially unacceptable, so he withdraws. Then Hyuga calls Wakashimazu a fool and embraces him.

“When it comes to seme Wakashimazu, he’s skilled at everything—cooking, laundry, playing the goalie. His shoulders are 1.5 times broader than Hyuga’s. And he’s got a playful side…”

A homoerotic romance depicted with the kind of meticulous detail typical of women, chapter by chapter—that’s yaoi. Not to mention the occasional inclusion of graphic gay sex… This has been depicted in hundreds of thousands of works by tens of thousands of artists. Why do women never tire of drawing and reading it? In the aforementioned blurb by Shimauma JACK, yaoi is analyzed from a female perspective as follows.

“Don’t yaoi fans typically empathize with the underdog? Readers project themselves only onto characters who are extremely feminized! …I never understood why anyone would find such meaningless plots interesting, but it turns out it was wish fulfillment the whole time.

“I used to think yaoi was just substituting straight stuff for gay stuff, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. The yaoi boom, distinct from ‘aestheticism,’ was actually women’s Harlequin romance. Maybe the prevalence of rape in yaoi reflects the readers’ desire to destroy. Deep down, they want to be broken. Though they appear innocent on the surface, they want to be ravished by a man!”

While it’s obvious to the female reader, indeed, the homoerotic love depicted in yaoi mirrors the traditional romance between a boy and a girl. When the uke’s clothes come off, he tries to hide his nonexistent breasts and mimics the emotions of a girl in love. The way he looks at the seme is identical to the dreamy gaze of girls in old-school otome-style rom-coms, and many one-shots feel like something straight out of one.

There is undoubtedly a “girl in disguise” here. Popular artists aren’t just skilled draftswomen; they’re adept at portraying the feminine psychology of romance and how to fulfill it. Isn’t this precisely what shoujo manga excels at?

The difference may lie in the fact that it depicts heterosexual romance rather than homosexual romance.

A gay manga magazine called Barakomi publishes manga exclusively drawn by actual gay men. The romantic sentiment expressed therein is very similar to those in shoujo manga. It’s almost as if the men in these stories are disguising themselves as women.

In the end, that’s what yaoi is at its core. The problem lies in the pivot from normal school rom-coms to yaoi. Why did it have to be two boys? Why not two girls? Girls and women seemingly began to find more satisfaction in the fictional stories of boys loving boys. Interpreting this as a fear of sex and adult men is probably mistaken. Because in the modern era, sex is no longer what distinguished girls from women. Women are women, regardless if they’ve had sex or not.

Boys love serves as a tool for women to separate romance and sex from themselves. Fiction from reality. Because it doesn’t concern their own bodies or sexuality, women can blithely explore and depict physical relationships within the realm of fiction.

Separating oneself from the work, and oneself from romance or sex, seems to serve the purpose of shutting out the male gaze. At the same time, it also feels like temporarily setting aside one’s institutionally defined self as a “woman.”

Thus, the fictional boys forced into yaoi roles are brilliantly severed from their traditional family unit. Having left their parents for the outside world, these shounen live within their own community. Their own world. Within shoujo manga, which evolved from stories chronicling the relationship between mother and child, then later schoolyard friendships before pivoting to romance, the world of shounen-ai should be seen as the rebirth of schoolyard friendship stories. Women have oscillated between home and school, because romance, in essence, prepares one for building a home. After the long era of school rom-coms, we should not view this next phase as abnormal.

This is the romance of a new community, stemming from Yoshiya Nobuko’s Hana Monogatari, the late Taisho era, the postwar Takarazuka boom, and stories of schoolyard friendship. It’s fair to say that these women rejected the predictable tales of family, childbirth, aging, and death awaiting them beyond romance, marriage, and sex, and instead found comfort in fictional stories about living in fleeting brilliance.

One could interpret it this way: women realized that “love” is something one experiences oneself, not something to be read about. They sought refuge and found purity in frivolous boys love, free from the real-world calculations and scheming of heterosexual romance. They actively engage in it to protect their womanhood.

Kabuki, Takarazuka—Japan has a history of popular entertainment that is comprised of only one gender. It’s said that the existence of these fictional worlds is why Japan never developed a major gay culture in the first place. These popular performing arts established the common perception that homoerotic/lesbian elements clearly belong to another world; a fictional one. And that includes yaoi.

Women engaging in homosexual “play” is likely related to the fact that girls’ play has traditionally centered around imitation. Playing with dolls, playing house, using makeup—these are all imitations of mothers, wives, and women. And now, within the medium of manga, the sophisticated gay romance and muscle-centered, macho sex are being imitated—half in jest, half in earnest. While this exaggerated portrait may seem strange to the average man, it’s nothing unusual for women. By transforming works into play—into fiction, by women, for women—they protect themselves from something and maintain balance between their dreams and reality. There may be a sadness in imposing constant performance upon themselves, but that is another matter altogether.

Women watch boys love through a looking glass because it’s a world they cannot enter. Female characters are completely excluded from yaoi. There’s no need for them. Women want to dream as they interact with fiction. Perhaps yaoi, for its enthusiasts, is exactly what satisfies that need.

Due to so many pages being taken up by explaining and introducing yaoi, it seems we couldn’t delve further into the depths of these women’s consciousness. That would likely require actually reading hundreds of thousands of yaoi doujinshi. Let’s leave that for another time. This is, undoubtedly, a major current within women’s culture that hasn’t yet been widely publicized.

(Yonezawa Yoshihiro / Manga Critic)

Takeaways: A Blurb by Denpa Archivist

This article, originally published in 1991, traces the emergence and consolidation of yaoi—a form of amateur and later commercialized male–male romance created largely by and for women—within the broader ecology of postwar manga culture. Yonezawa situates yaoi historically within the doujinshi sphere, noting that the term originated as a derogatory acronym (“yama nashi, ochi nashi, imi nashi”) but soon came to designate a discrete genre with a substantial readership. He links yaoi to earlier developments in shōjo manga, particularly the “shōnen-ai” works of the 1970s, arguing that these texts established aesthetic and narrative conventions—especially the figure of the androgynous, emotionally expressive bishounen—that shaped later male–male romances.

A central claim of the article is that many female readers turned to yaoi because it allowed them to disengage from the normative gendered frameworks embedded in heterosexual romance narratives. By omitting female characters, yaoi offers a fictional space in which desire, vulnerability, intimacy, and conflict can be explored without reinscribing culturally prescribed feminine roles or re-exposing the reader to the male gaze. At the same time, Yonezawa highlights the genre’s highly stylized nature: yaoi narratives, he notes, rarely seek to represent the lived experiences of gay men and instead operate according to conventions (e.g., seme/uke pairings) that derive from shoujo narrative logics.

From a contemporary standpoint, Yonezawa’s article is instructive for its early articulation of what later scholars have termed the “female appropriation” or “female homoerotic imagination” within manga fandom. His analysis anticipates later work by scholars who explore how women deploy male–male romance as a means of negotiating gendered expectations, reclaiming agency in the sphere of desire, or experimenting with identities and affective positions not sanctioned in heteronormative culture.

This article is valuable for understanding the genealogy of yaoi/BL and the interpretive frameworks through which the genre was understood during a transitional moment in Japanese fan culture. It offers an early account of how yaoi functioned as a site of imaginative disidentification from normative femininity, and as a semi-autonomous sphere in which women reconfigured romance by displacing gendered expectations onto stylish boys and men. In this sense, the article contributes to the foundational discourse that now underpins academic studies of BL, fannish production, and gendered reading practices.

I overall think the article is quite strong for its time, offering a thoughtful entry into what might otherwise be dismissed as purely “fetish” or “fan service.” It shows BL/yaoi as a cultural phenomenon with roots and societal meaning, particularly in relation to female readers, fan culture, and manga history.