I do not relate to most trans art. Much of it self aggrandizes or pathologizes in a way that doesn't relate to my experience as a transsexual woman. 'Computer Hearts' got very close, but in its lead, I saw the person my ex thought I was - someone a fair deal more bitter and lost than I ever actually was. It's impactful art to me for that reason - among its trippy visuals and electric energy.
Angelic Kitty Miracle-Chan is the most accurate depiction of what I was like before transition. Awkward. Quiet. Invited to hangouts and get togethers, but instead curled up on my Sailor Moon dakimakura with my Vita. Hunched over next to my $300 Madoka statue with a bowl of ramen, watching Flowers of Evil and hating myself.
For me, the waifu was Asuka from Evangelion. I had in the ballpark of 30-40 figurines of her, several wall scrolls, a t-shirt, oppai mousepad. When I felt dysphoria, I cursed myself for not being a hairless 14 year old from an anime. Why couldnt I be Asuka? It didn't seem fair. I watched as my body become subsumed in ink black hair and I could do nothing to stop it. Only suffer.
Angelic Kitty Miracle-Chan is focused on providing an antidote to that suffering. That antidote is likely not shoving yourself into a dress of your favorite anime character, even if it is for a few people. It is not breaking and bending your body to be a patriarchalized aesthetic designed for capitalist consumption. Your body is a sacred vessel for your soul, vital food for the earth. You will never be a plastic anime figure.
Armistead's opening animation feels like a lost artifact from the late ADV and Geneon days. Like 'Pururin', it's a fascimile and pastiche of other girly shows from the mid-aughts. The animator even got the artifacting just right. Influences are worn on the sleeve, such as a Minky Momo poster on the wall - a children's show that inspired a cultish fanbase which persists and laps up several hundred dollar figures to this day.
I do not think Armistead is saying, 'being into this stuff is for losers.' I think it's dealing with a life lived and loved among it while aware of how much evil this aesthetic has capitulated, which unless you've really spent time sunk in the weeds of the medium, you're literally unqualified to comment or speak on. If you've seen less than 100 anime series to completion, I do not literally care what you have to say about this short because it is not for you. It is a laser focused commentary on a type of fandom, a type of obsession, a type of industry predicated on both. 'Welcome To The NHK' in microcosm.
Angelic Kitty Miracle-Chan took a hold of my soul, yanked it out, interrogated it, and put it back in. I looked over at that $300 Madoka, which I still own - now in a glass case next to the girl from Birth, Lala from Gundam, and Sakura from Sakura Wars. The first two are my partner's. Together, we've built our ways out of our fixations and learned to reframe them. Built Gunpla together, watched Macross and Gundam and God knows what else at this point. I live with her and with my other partner, who I bonded with over watching Cardcaptors and playing Cardfight Vanguard.
Being into this stuff - it's not a crime. It's value neutral. I would say that's true of the controversial aesthetic Armistead uses here, too. It's how you use it. Whether it builds bridges or cages around you. This is as true of anime as it is faith. And really, how different are the most devout, most obsessives of both?