The Boundary Between Love and Profit | People Who Turn Their 'Oshi' into Business

My last 'oshi-katsu' was...

At some point, 'oshi-katsu' (supporting one's favorite) stopped being just about emotions.
Fan art is turned into merchandise, lines form at doujinshi conventions, YouTube channels introducing one's favorite are monetized, and affiliate ads are placed on blogs analyzing one's favorite. Now that the confession of 'I loved my favorite so much I made it my job' is no longer anything special, we are facing a single question.

Can 'love' coexist with profit?

The role of fans in the entertainment economy has shifted from 'consumers' to 'accomplices'.
Fans don't just buy. They create, sell, and spread the word. Beyond just derivative works, the trend of turning the very existence of one's favorite into a 'business' is accelerating. This is no longer just a hobby; it is a choice to 'entrust one's life to one's favorite'.

That is precisely why a subtle misalignment begins to emerge.

'I started talking about my favorite and my followers increased,' 'I saved on living expenses by reselling merchandise of my favorite,' 'Acting as an agent for events for my favorite became a side job'—when such narratives flood social media and fan activities begin to function as 'market behavior,' what is lost?

It is the 'visualization of the emotional economy.' Emotional value, which was originally difficult to visualize, is now quantified, converted into currency, and subjected to evaluation.
Number of likes, views, sales, impressions.
The moment 'oshi-katsu' begins to be measured as a 'result' rather than an expression of pure 'love,' love is rewritten into the language of business.

Of course, that is not necessarily a bad thing. The skills gained through 'oshi-katsu'—design ability, marketing sense, community management skills—are more raw and backed by 'practice' than any other career. In fact, 'oshi-katsu' is a 'stepping stone' and a 'startup' for new economic activities.

However.

Fans cannot completely shake off the guilt of 'making a living by using their favorite.' This is because,the existence of an 'oshi' was supposed to be a symbol of 'love that seeks no return'The more it functions as a business, the more a sense of 'exploitation' or 'utilization' seeps in. That emotional misalignment accumulates as a sense of guilt, a feeling of 'I'm sorry to my favorite'.

What's even more troublesome is the gaze from other fans.
'They're just in it for the money,' 'A newbie getting ahead of themselves,' 'Sold their soul to commerce'—such criticisms fly back and forth with a tone mixed with support, jealousy, and caution.Fan communities are spaces that question not only the intensity of love but also the 'purity of love'. There, more than 'how much you love them,' you are evaluated on 'how much you can love them without expecting anything in return'.

But this is inherently contradictory.

The purity of love becomes murky the moment it is visualized.
Love that is not monetized is considered correct, but that is also a glorification of self-sacrifice. And that 'preciousness' creates exhaustion. Burned-out fans, creators who leave, labels of betrayal—those who turn 'oshi-katsu' into a business will eventually be subjected to an 'audit of love.' This is the inevitable result of the 'marketization of emotions.' Love becomes an economy. That is an unavoidable reality, and how we balance it is the question imposed upon us.

It is possible to make a living doing what you 'love'.
But I can no longer return to the version of myself that thought I could live on 'love' alone.

And perhaps, accepting that fact is where 'adult oshi-katsu' begins.

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