Ouran High School Host Club. Just the name conjures images of flamboyant costumes, charming hosts, and a delightful blend of humor and heart. But beyond the surface-level appeal, Ouran resonated deeply with many viewers, particularly those in the LGBTQ+ community. Why? Because, for many, it was a glimpse into a world where queerness, while not always explicitly stated, felt present and, at times, celebrated. But how does this seemingly progressive anime hold up today?
Let's be real: media representation of LGBTQ+ individuals has come a long way. Remember a time when seeing *any* queer character on screen felt like a win? While queer representation wasn’t illegal, it was taboo and often came with stereotypes or negative tropes that painted a warped picture for the audience. Ouran premiered during this time. It attempted to push boundaries within the constraints of Japanese societal norms, where being gay was less taboo but still far from widely accepted. Should Ouran be exempt from critique? Absolutely not. However, we should discuss the ways queer language has evolved so that we may seek better representation in the future.
One of the reasons Ouran continues to be a topic of discussion is the ambiguity surrounding its characters' identities. Let's dive into some of the most compelling examples:
Haruhi, the scholarship student who stumbles into the Host Club, is often seen as gender-apathetic or even genderfluid. She isn't confined by traditional gender roles and simply cares about a person's internal character rather than their external presentation. Is Haruhi pansexual and demiromantic? Perhaps. What's undeniable is that Haruhi challenges conventional expectations and offers a refreshing perspective on identity.
Haruhi's father, Ranka, is a fascinating character. The series always portrays Ranka positively, despite using outdated and negative language, as he is regularly shown working himself to the point of exhaustion to care for his daughter. If Ouran High School Host Club were modernized or rebooted, the language would shift, only calling Ranka a drag queen. There are so many different avenues of positive representation that the series could take if only an identity was explicitly given.
The dynamic between Hikaru and Kaoru Hitachiin is ripe for queer interpretation. Kaoru pretty much immediately bows out, and does everything in his power to set Hikaru and Haruhi up together, leading us to believe that he could be gay. This could be a way for a Kaoru who is discovering or hiding his homosexuality to avoid being questioned. Such a massive difference between them would be a giant crack in that mirror, and it would lead to very comedic situations involving their twincest act, too.
The Lobelia Girls of the Zuka Club also participate in a form of drag; however, this is not because of a desire to play with gender but to stay within the confines of it. Portraying lesbians in such a horrifically negative way causes sadness. There are terrible people within all groups of people, but the terrible few should not be the standard of representation for all.
In Episode 22, Ritsu Kasanoda is introduced and undeniably queer. This would provide wonderful representation if this were addressed on-screen in some way.
Ouran isn't without its flaws. Some have criticized the show's reliance on stereotypes, the lack of explicit LGBTQ+ representation, and the potential for queer fetishization. It's important to acknowledge these criticisms and understand the context in which the series was created.
So, with all its complexities, why should we still care about Ouran High School Host Club? Because it serves as a fantastic conversation starter. It allows us to examine how queer representation has evolved, discuss the importance of explicit language and accurate portrayals, and consider the impact of cultural context on media. It teaches us what to demand better in modern media.
Ouran isn't perfect, but it's a valuable piece of media that paved the way for more inclusive and authentic storytelling. It reminds us that representation matters, and that even flawed attempts can spark meaningful dialogues about identity, acceptance, and the ongoing journey towards a more equitable world.
Let's use Ouran as a springboard. How can future media creators learn from its successes and failures? How can we continue to push for more diverse and nuanced LGBTQ+ representation? The conversation continues. And by engaging in these discussions, we can help shape a future where everyone feels seen, heard, and valued.