Weeaboo Wednesday: Why It Might Be Okay to Watch Bleach

My life can loosely be described as a big fat sausagefest. For one thing, I work for the Heuristic Squelch. Comedy, like most things that aren’t jazz music, is dominated by white men, and the Squelch is no exception. Our female membership has increased by roughly 400% since my arrival– and yet the magazine is still dominated by a ponderously large amount of dick jokes.

For another thing, I’m a philosophy major. The percentage of female undergraduates in philosophy– nationwide– is something like 30%. For a little bit of perspective— the percentage of female undergraduates in the humanities (nationwide) is something like 60%. The gender ratio in philosophy is comparable to the ratio in computer science.

Combine that with my decidedly neckbeardesque taste in music and my dismal, crippled relationship with my cold, cold mother, and what you get is a very good reason to never read shounen.

Look at this way: after a long day of sparring with moleskine-wielding, unshaven, fixed-gear riding douchebags over Kant’s transcendental idealism, would you rather read a childish comic about an awkward and blush-filled courtship with a high school tennis star, or a childish comic about an awkward and yell-y duel-to-the-death that determines whose magic dragon ninja ghost sword is the biggest?

miageta yozora no hoshitachi no hikari