Is an 'Oshi' an Asset or an Illusion? Between Love and Money
My last Oshi-katsu was...
'Spending money on your Oshi is an investment'—no one laughs at that statement anymore. Crowdfunding, merchandise with rewards, and online streams exclusive to fan communities. Expenditures that were once dismissed as 'waste' are now discussed as if they were 'asset building'.
Oshi-katsu is the act of visualizing emotions. In this system, which entertainment sociologist Atsuo Nakayama calls the 'emotional economy,' the ambiguous emotion of love is digitized, quantified, and circulated as capital.
The number of CDs purchased, the number of votes in voting events, the number of fan letters sent—everything is recorded as a history of 'how much you supported them,' eventually turning into a currency called 'Oshi history'.
To begin with, is an Oshi something you can 'own'?
For example, stocks quantify the value of a company, and you buy and sell the right to 'own' a portion of it. Cryptocurrencies are also bundles of trust. So, what about an Oshi?
Even if you buy 100 CDs or get an SSR in a gacha game, no one can say you 'possess' that character or idol. In fact, the very fact that you cannot obtain them is what drives this market.
Mr. Nakayama called this 'the frenzy of virtual prime real estate'.
People find a place for themselves by holding 'psychological land rights' to specific IP (intellectual property). This goes beyond the scope of mere 'liking.' An Oshi is a faith, a community, and an 'economic zone'.
That is precisely why, when an Oshi ends their activities, fans feel a 'loss of value.' It is a sense of loss as if stocks had crashed, and even a sense of defeat, as if one had 'failed in a life investment.' Of course, there is no clear financial return. But we are always estimating something that cannot be measured by numbers—a subjective ROI (Return on Investment) called 'the time spent with my Oshi'.
Is that an illusion?
A perspective that frequently appears in Mr. Nakayama's work is that of 'consumption as a narrative'. People do not buy products. They are buying the 'experience worth talking about' that they gain through them. I cried at the concert. I made friends with strangers in the merchandise line. My Oshi called my name (or so I thought). Such fragments accumulate, forming a personal myth called 'Oshi-katsu'.
Within this personal myth, the idea that 'an Oshi is an asset' is, in a sense, correct. Just as real-world investments bring financial stability, investments in an Oshi bring emotional stability. This often mitigates the absurdities of the real world and restores motivation for the future. In other words, Oshi-katsu is established not on 'economic rationality,' but on 'emotional rationality for survival'.
However, that structure is far too unstable.
No new work, a voice actor stepping down, management losing its way. The slightest change shakes the entire community. When the world you believed in regarding your Oshi collapses, it is not just 'Oshi-loss.' It is the loss of the self-narrative itself.
It is precisely this point that Mr. Nakayama warns about.
The fact that entertainment becomes the foundation of life means the financialization of emotions, and the damage when that collapses is equivalent to a 'real loss.' Fan exhaustion, burnout, retirement—it is much like the bankruptcy of an investor.
Even so, people find another Oshi.
They meet a new Oshi and start Oshi-katsu all over again. This repetition is almost like a bubble economy. But even if they know it is an illusion, perhaps people can only be saved by living in that illusion.
'Is an Oshi an illusion or an asset?'—perhaps the answer is always wavering. And that very wavering is likely the reason why humans continue to invest in the illusion called 'narrative'.
Next time, starting from the question 'Who are you supporting for?', we will delve deeper into the intersection of 'self-approval' and 'the gaze of others' in Oshi-katsu.
Please press the ♡... no, please support me.