When I first heard softboiledegg's cheeky rap number, "Gal is Mind" I was stoked. I was new to gal and hungry for everything gyaru, and the song was a sort of salve for my many newbie insecurities that I wasn't gyaru enough. It didn't matter because gal is mind.
While predrinking at a friend's flat before Pride, I added the song to the Spotify queue. Quite a few people at the party knew it. Some even sang along (well, to the English bits). I no longer use TikTok, so I had no idea the song had a bit of a viral moment a few months before, breaking out of the gyaru subculture bubble and reaching a new audience of Y2K devotees and McBling aficionados.
Later. I went to a gyaru para para event in Tokyo.
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| My make and coord for the event. |
I hadn't gone inside yet. My friend and I lingered on the street opposite the venue like a pair of gutter rats in the dirty alleyways of Kabukicho, gossiping and smoking. We were having an idle conversation with some people my friend knew. I made a passing remark that I wasn't seeing many gyaru at this gyaru event, and one of the girls said, "Well, gal is mind." The way I felt upon hearing this was almost the exact opposite of when I first heard the song of the same name. The sentiment tasted bad. It tasted like an excuse.
We went inside. There was no para para at this para para event and even fewer gyaru. I got the distinct impression that those who attended did so because it was The Thing to do that night. I can't blame them for that.
Gyaru, as a fashion and makeup-based subculture, has come a long way since its boom in the 1990s. Despite the fact that I sometimes use language that sounds a bit gatekeep-y (like saying that you can't be a gal if you don't wear makeup, which is a hill I'm willing to die on), I have no qualms about gals' evolution and its natural branching out into new substyles and variations. I think it's necessary to keep the culture alive. Adapt or die.
Old subcultures (if they are still to be practiced and engaged with by young people) will inevitably start to reflect the sentiments of the modern era. It's 2024, and everything cool on the Internet is a hyper-niche aesthetic. Don't get me wrong: these aesthetics can be fun and harmless, but at the same time, it all feels a little... corporate. It's the kind of terminology you'd find in a Brand Bible or concocted by shady fashion mag execs in an attempt to sell us expensive skin goop or flash-in-the-pan trendy apparel that nobody will be wearing in a few months.
When it comes down to it, TikTok's hunger to commodify every fashion trend is par for the course for the teenage experience (TikTok's primary user base), which is defined by defining: oneself, the world, and our place within it. Joining a cultural subgroup is one way to tackle all those tricky questions without having to think too hard about their answers. These subcultures provided solutions for what to wear, what music to listen to, and where to hang out. That being said, I don't think this was the traditional method by which people engaged with subcultures. It was the reverse. People dressed in a certain manner, listened to certain music, and hung out in certain locations. The labels were imposed later.
It's gauche to blame everything on the Internet, but it would be irresponsible not to note its impact on subcultures and their formation. What once was counterculture is now mainstream. Grime, drag, goth, skater, emo, greaser, lolita. Elements from all these groups have been adopted by "normies" and commercialized in one way or another. The internet homogenizes. It's a gateway to a world of previously inaccessible information (which is beautiful), but that also means things are quick to get hollowed out. Co-opted. This cycle wasn't something that didn't happen pre-internet, but the Internet has sped it up to an almost dizzying rate.
It'd be easy to throw in the towel and melodramatically say, "Internet killed the subculture," but I'm not sure that's true. Perhaps subculture just looks different now. There isn't much to complain about regarding subcultures birthed post-Internet (well, that's not true. There's always something to complain about), but for groups born pre-Internet, readjusting to a digital world was bound to be awkward. Gyaru is no exception.
In Dylan Clark's The Death and Life of Punk, The Last Subculture, Clark argues that "classic subcultures" disappeared due to increased social examination, nostalgia, and commercialization. "Marketers long ago awakened to the fact that subcultures are expedient vehicles for selling music, cars, clothing, cosmetics, and everything else under the sun" (pg 2 of the pdf). The aesthetic components of subculture are especially easy to exploit and commodify. For a group like gyaru, whose subcultural core is based on fashion and make-up, it's no surprise that it's been disassembled for parts.
The attire, the tan, the bleached and teased hairstyles, and the flashy makeup of gyaru are all part of a living narrative. The heart of the gal. They represent character and the gal's dedication to having fun and speaking her mind (which is where the mind gyaru fad rests). Gyaru (and its associated visuals) has been used in all manner of advertising in Japan, most recently in a flier for the Kawaii Omiyage campaign at Shibuya 109.
In many respects, the gyaru mien has become shorthand for Japanese teenage whimsy (or vapidity) and encapsulates the nostalgia many have for the early Heisei era. What was once a legitimate fashion trend with apparel sold at Shibuya 109 is now a costume. That's not to suggest there aren't present practitioners. As someone who dresses like an old-school ganguro in this year of our lord 2024, I can testify to this. And I've haunted enough gyaru internet forums to see others like me, dressed in himekaji, yamanba, or any number of the various other gyaru substyles with a genuine sincerity that equals the "original" gals of the mid-1990s. It'd be incorrect to claim that gyaru is some dead relic of a distant past when many of us still exist, albeit reduced in numbers.
In 2022, the concept of the mind gyaru became popular. What is a mind gyaru? It is, most simply, a gyaru of the mind. It's someone who adheres to the behavioral features of gyaru but none of the aesthetic ones. It's not strange that someone would want to think like a gyaru when its behavioral associations revolve around having fun and doing whatever you want. While gyaru did emerge as a sort of "fuck you" to Japanese society at large, it isn't exactly a political movement. They weren't associated with any political party, didn't have an agenda to overthrow the government (although that would be cool as hell), and the gals didn't have much ambition outside of being themselves and looking cute.
The real contention lies in these mind gyaru labeling themselves "gyaru." Unlike a subculture like punk, whose members generally disliked labels of any kind, calling oneself a gyaru is a badge of honor. The visual components of gal are a craft (it's been compared to drag on a few occasions) that many invest a significant amount of money and time to develop. When someone rocks up wearing none of gyaru's deeply important aesthetic markers and insists that they are a gyaru "just like you!" well... it's insulting. It's also clear they have no fundamental understanding of gyaru history, because if they did, they'd see how silly the assertion is. The subculture is dependent upon makeup and fashion as its primary mode of expression.
Perhaps this will upset some gyaru in the community, but I believe that gyaru is not a subculture with enough political principles or unique behaviors for those things to exist on their own while remaining recognizably "gyaru." Gal's verve has always been its makeup. When these elements are removed, you are left with an attitude comparable to that of many other subcultures or even confident "normies." It's no longer gyaru.
The mind gyaru as a concept has ostensibly neutralized the gal, reducing its ability as a counterculture to generate meaning and subvert through appearance. So leveled, you are left with something that isn't gyaru at all, but a nebulous concept that can be packaged and sold. Something you can put in your TikTok bio.
By all means, think like a gyaru. It's a fun and frequently rewarding way to conduct your life. But in this case, I believe it is better to forego the impulse to hyper-classify oneself and simply exist as the multidimensional creature that you are.
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