Gyaruo in Asakusa, photo by Whitney.
(Japanese friend: "Why are they at a TEMPLE? Are they even INTERESTED?")
My gyaruo fixation is no secret. My friends here generally grimace at my mad respect for gyaruo (and gyaru). But gyaruo have made their own world and they're SO over everything else. They don't care that everyone thinks they're gross and stupid. They've got their tans and pointy boots and air-headed slang and trance music and nanpa and they always look totally satisfied with themselves. I have been all about gyaruo since I moved to Japan. Sometimes I go to the 109-2 in Shibuya to plan my own dream gyaruo makeover and flirt with the clerks. True story.
Oh, don't be so judgmental. You know who hates gyaruo? Anyone in Japan who isn't a gyaruo. It's nuts. So of course once I realized that I got all loud about it and stuck my fingers in my friends' faces and went "THAT'S CLASS DISCRIMINATION!" or whatever and made it my mission to make gyaruo friends. Easier said than done. I have dated my share at this point but so far they have lived up to every ridiculous stereotype. But I can't quit yet, or I'll be left with all my hipster friends going "Didn't we tell you?"
I'll show you all. Somewhere between me and gyaruo there has to be a connection. Somehow we will transcend the cologne/trance music/cheesy date ideas/horrible summer fashion and form a bond between our worlds. Then I'll introduce my gyaruo friends to my non-gyaruo friends and buy the world a coke.
A lot of people find my blog while looking for information on gyaruo, which I respect very much, and the only reason I haven't posted about gyaruo before is that it's so hard not to ramble on and on. I AM LEAVING SO MUCH OUT!