When cuteness comes of age

Neil Steinberg flies to Japan and finds a country and culture conflicted over cuteness.

island of Kyushu, toppling buildings and sending residents rushing into the streets. Hundreds of aftershocks – one an even stronger 7.0 quake – continued for days, killing 49 people, injuring 1,500 and forcing tens of thousands from their homes.

News spread immediately around the globe on social media.

“Earthquake just happened,” Margie Tam posted from Hong Kong. “R u ok kumamon?”

“Are Kumamon and his friends safe?” wondered Eric Tang, a college student.

“Pray for Kumamoto & Kumamon,” wrote Ming Jang Lee from Thailand, a phrase that would be repeated thousands of times.

Kumamoto is a city of 700,000 in a largely agricultural province in south-western Japan.

But what, or more precisely who, is Kumamon? And why in the wake of an immense natural disaster did concern for earthquake victims focus on him, specifically?

That’s a bit more complicated.

It is 12 March 2016, one month before the earthquake. Kumamon bounds onto an outdoor stage at the opening event of his birthday party in Kumamoto. About 150 guests – mostly women – cheer, clap and whistle.

Kumamon waves and bows. He is about 1.5 metres tall, with black glossy fur, circular red cheeks and wide, staring eyes. He’s dressed for the occasion in a white satin dinner jacket trimmed in silver and a red bow tie.

One woman in the crowd holds a Kumamon doll swaddled in a baby blanket. Another has dressed her doll in a grey outfit matching her own. She says it took her a month to sew. A number of fans have pasted red paper circles on their cheeks to mimic his. Those in the first row arrived at 3am to snag their prime spots to greet the object of their intense though difficult-to-explain affection.

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