Column Anime Spotlight But Thinking Makes It So: The Gutting Genius of Kowloon Generic Romance This is the best new science fiction anime in years! By Leah Thomas | Published on November 13, 2025 Credit: Arvo Animation Comment 0 Share New Share Credit: Arvo Animation As a child, there were times when our SkipBo-dealing, peppermint-stashing, lentils and spaetzle-cookin’ grandmother took a break from being a fun person to hang out with and transformed into Sad Grandma. This was usually when she recalled The First Kathy, a little girl whom I remember primarily from one photo. In this photo, she lies supine, drowning in a beautiful powder-blue dress inside her small casket. Everyone on my mother’s side calls this girl The First Kathy, because my mother is The Second Kathy. The First Kathy died of meningitis; the second Kathy lived to make up for her loss. Throughout her childhood, my mother was forever compared to the ghost of a sister she could never have known. Would she have existed if The First Kathy hadn’t led to the birth of Sad Grandma? I know that traditions run deep in immigrant families, and my grandma married into a German one, and passing down names was considered essential. But as far as I’m concerned, this tradition? It can get fucked. I did not expect an acclaimed science fiction anime set in a reimagined version of a real-life legend of a place—Kowloon Walled City, Hong Kong—to make me furious on my mother’s behalf all over again. Watching this singular series made me consider my own meager imposter syndrome. How mine must pale in comparison to that of real people like my mother, and for fictional characters like Reiko Kujirai, a protagonist who learns she may be nothing more than a copy—or clone, or echo, or something—of a dead woman.  Kowloon Generic Romance is a complicated, philosophical story that suggests, quite convincingly, that becoming yourself, no matter how challenging, is the most vital reason to keep existing.  Cosmetic Surgery: Transplanting a City Credit: Arvo Animation I do not know how far the reputation of the original Kowloon City extends beyond Hong Kong and those of us who binge a chaotic array of YouTube documentaries in our spare time. Once a real place, the blocky cluster of buildings known as Kowloon Walled City, Hong Kong, began as an outpost as far back as the 1600s. It was later occupied by the Japanese military and then overtaken by refugees, mostly from mainland China, after the end of World War II. Both the British Colonial Government and China laid claim to this little, lawless metropolis, which meant neither did much to maintain or govern it over the years. Kowloon grew by stacking new buildings atop its old ones, heedless of unenforced building codes, until they reached 14 stories high, and the pathways between buildings were claustrophobic and swamped in darkness, overhung with dripping pipes and hijacked electrical cables. At its peak, the walled city contained at least 33,000 people within a tiny 6-acre expanse, and it has since sometimes been referred to as the densest city ever to exist. Within the city, factories operated. Mainland dentists operated without local licenses; illegal substances made for steady business; gangs, criminal syndicates, opium dens, and brothels proliferated. And yet, for all that notoriety, Kowloon was also home to people who otherwise would have had nothing. A close-knit community was forged within those claustrophobic walls. Children were born and raised. Neighbors minded each others’ elders, and people met on rooftops to discuss their lives and enjoy a brief sojourn from the dank air below. Some mourned the city’s passing. Once Britain ceded Hong Kong to China in the ’80s, demolition became an inevitability. The last residents of Kowloon Walled City were evicted in 1993, and it was bulldozed to ruins by 1994.  Kowloon Walled City has understandably inspired a lot of science fiction over the years, ranging from William Gibson’s Bridge trilogy to video games like Stray. This impossible place existed, but it never should have. It was real, but unbelievable. And that is precisely why it is the perfect setting for this ambitious, bittersweet anime. Kowloon Generic Romance, based on an ongoing manga by Jun Mayuzuki, treatsnostalgia as all but a member of the cast. Set shortly after the demolition of a second Kowloon, which, in the story’s universe, sprang up illegally years after the first one was demolished, every frame of this anime feels soaked in tangible summer memories, albeit the memories of a stranger. Cicadas and rusted rotating fans; fried dumplings and cigarette breaks on balconies; cold watermelon and a cafe playing jazz; peeling “fu” banners clinging to grimy doors. And one, genre-defining addition looms overhead: a gleaming metallic pyramid hovering in the sky. This is Generic Terra, which is possibly a government memory storage project, or maybe a terraforming experiment, or maybe a scam promising immortality. The thing is, most residents of Kowloon Walled City 2.0 pay it little mind. It’s just there, like sunflowers and vendors are there. Reiko Kujirai walks to work at Wong Loi Realty in the blistering heat, where a cramped office and an analog time clock await. She sits back-to-back with a coworker named Kudou. She’s a little bit in love with him. Credit: Arvo Animation On a smoke break in episode one, Kujirai joins Kudou on the rooftop, where he tells her how much he loves Kowloon because it is a nostalgic place. But when Kujirai confesses she does not love Kowloon, he is convinced he can make a convert of her. He takes her out to the night markets for skewered dishes, where the locals call out to him. Later, at a jazz-soaked cafe known as the Goldfish Teahouse, the waiter refers to Reiko as Kudou’s girlfriend, and she blushes at the mistake. Except, was it a mistake? Later, in Kudou’s desk, Kujirai finds a picture of a woman who appears identical to her, right down to the mole beneath her eye, posed in that teahouse with Kudou. It is an engagement photo, and the woman looks like Kujirai. But, Kujirai realizes, can she really say this woman is not her? Our Kujirai has no memories. Not only of this photo, but of any life before working in Kowloon.  From this point onward, we follow “fake” Kujirai through Kowloon’s narrow alleys and myriad mysteries as she attempts to understand not only who she is, but why she is, and what she might become in a city that feels like an illusion. Are her feelings her own, or is she only trailing the shadow of the life she has taken over?   This show remained just out of reach of my full understanding for much of its 13-episode runtime, a mirage in its own right. While it would be impossible to avoid all spoilers when writing about a story that is largely made up of mysteries, stacked atop each other like the buildings of Kowloon, I will do my best to avoid the earthshattering ones. And for anyone discouraged by stories full of questions, let me reassure you that watching Kowloon Generic Romance unfold is gratifying rather than daunting. This is hypnotic worldbuilding at work, and audiences are kept company by a compelling cast. I was easily, irrevocably drawn in by the intoxicating nostalgia of this city, but even more so by its evolving denizens. While it would be possible to write about Kowloon Generic Romance’s fantastic scifi motifs, make comparisons to books like The City & the City or Flow My Tears, The Policeman Said, or applaud the way the art so effectively recalls retro anime designs without copying them, in this piece I’m going to focus on my usual obsession: the show’s fantastic characters.  The Beauty of Fakes: Kujirai and Yaomay Credit: Arvo Animation When our Kujirai first learns about the existence of Kujirai B, she is adrift, uncertain of herself or her reality. Fortunately, she meets another resident of Kowloon named Yaomay, a gorgeous seamstress with a deliberately dated character design. Upon learning about Kujirai’s dilemma, Yaomay has this to say: “Some people have no past; my past self is not me.” Yaomay tells Kujirai that she has completely altered her physical appearance with plastic surgery in a deliberate attempt to bury her past. And while this sounds like the groundwork for a troubled character arc, it is oddly empowering, too. Yaomay assures Kujirai that if she does not believe the woman in the photo is her, then, well, it isn’t her: “Who I am is up to me.” Kujirai takes this to heart and begins pursuing Kudou as herself, rather than as the shadow of the person she replaced. Initially shocked and discouraged by the realization that she is something other than an original person, she gradually converts her disappointment into inspiration. After Kudou rejects her, again, for mimicking the appearance of Kujirai B, Kujirai is conflicted. She asks her friend: “Is longing to be the original a vain wish?” Yaomay shows her one of her zirconia rings. “You can see the beauty of the original in a fake.” Yaomay has thought about this a lot. While this may all seem ham-fisted when I lay it out, Jun Mayuzuki is a masterful author. She adeptly weaves these threads together like a philosopher and leaves the audience as disoriented and wistful as Kujirai herself. We long for an anchor, a real sense of who she is. It feels important. When Kujirai announces that she wants to become the “absolute self,” it resonates. Human beings become who they are by making choices, minute or pivotal, right or wrong. Because she is not Kujirai B, she will not make the same choices, even if she has fallen for the same person. “There are things in this life I chose for myself. I chose lemon chicken. I chose my pet goldfish. I chose to love Kudou.”  With every choice she makes, guided by Yaomay’s conflicted kindness, Kujirai becomes more tangible. She becomes a person who feels entirely removed from Kujirai B. Her mistakes are her own, and she revels in them: “If it’s my own decision, I won’t regret it.” Duality Personified: Miyuki Credit: Arvo Animation “Don’t judge me based on my appearance. I had a bad upbringing.” So Miyuki Hebinuma, adopted son and heir to the Hebinuma Pharmaceutical company, claims, so often it feels like a slogan. He is usually saying it to his lover, Gwen, in a deliberate attempt to distance himself from the only person who never did judge him based on his appearance. Miyuki is a complex, undeniably adult character, and possibly the greatest surprise in the show. A slippery businessman in tailored suits and femme makeup who is described as bent on revenge, initially, I cringed at his introduction. I assumed that Miyuki would be another iteration of a problematic trope—the effeminate pervert, the gay man who assaults women with glee. After all, his introductory scene, in which he assures Kujirai during a medical consultation that her crow’s feet are nothing more than empty indentations and her skin has no history, ends with him grinning like a maniac and licking Kujirai’s lipstick from his fingertip with his forked tongue. But no character in this series is what they seem to be—that is precisely the point. And no character is resigned to remaining as they are. Miyuki is a fascinating, oddly sympathetic person whose actions make more sense as the series progresses. And his own romance arc is far from generic. Credit: Arvo Animation I can think of a few anime outside the better-written side of the BL genre that so comfortably develop a queer character within the context of a genre story. Miyuki is intersex or something like it—he has both male and female genitalia. He is accustomed to his fundamental nature perturbing others, and so defends himself from vitriol by relishing in their discomfort. He casts himself as the villain, because what else could he be, given his history and circumstances? When someone finally breaches that armor, Miyuki panics. Being loved is a distraction from wreaking revenge, after all. Unlike Kujirai, Miyuki thinks he knows who he is, and he does not like who he is. The thought that anyone else might appreciate him is enough to send him reeling.  Miyuki has his own reasons for being captivated by Kowloon, but he never expected to find love or redemption in the walled city.  Joyful Sadness: Xiaohei Credit: Arvo Animation Aside from Yaomay and Kudou, there is one other character whom Kujirai counts among her friends. A tenant whose apartment she helped find, Xiaohei is a beautiful young woman obsessed with Gothic Lolita fashion. Xiaohei’s admiration for cute, beautiful things is her defining characteristic, but she feels her window for loving those things is closing.  Xiaohei is growing up, and crossdressing is becoming harder for her to pull off as she grows taller and masculine features become impossible to mask. Xiaohei—he, or she, depending on the timeline—feels that the things they love are limited by their physical appearance. Learning that identity is more nuanced than that, and that outgrowing childish things is not a requirement, is essential to Xiaohei’s character arc. Though we must move on from the past, we can carry vital aspects of it with us if they are important enough. There is power in a keepsake, and it is preferable to fixating on what can’t be changed. A World of Grief: Kudou Credit: Arvo Animation Kudou is a decent guy. He comes across as self-assured and confident, with a sense of humor and panache to boot. It isn’t surprising that Kujirai and her predecessor fall for him. As Everymen go, he’s appealing. He plays mahjong with the old folks and takes care of his coworkers. He seems, for the most part, content to live in the bubble of Kowloon, even though the summer “feels a little off” to him. But over the course of the series, it becomes apparent that Kudou harbors his own secrets. His relationship with Kujirai B must have ended in tragedy, but rather than come clean with our Kujirai about it, he talks in circles around his former fiancée’s absence. He claims to love Kowloon, but rarely treads outside the parts he’s most familiar with—the same restaurants and cafes are his daily haunts. When Kujirai suggests going to a new place for lunch, he refuses. She remarks that new businesses never seem to last long in the walled city; Kudou responds that Kowloon must always be a nostalgic place. But the dangerous nature of nostalgia is precisely what is off about this summer in Kowloon. Characters frequently remark that Kowloon tends to devour people, trapping them in its sense of familiarity at the expense of carrying on with their lives. Kudou claims to be content in Kowloon, but he is far from happy, haunted by a woman with the same face as his new coworker. Kudou’s reasons for being so cryptic are a pivotal element of the story as it progresses, so I will not discuss them here. Suffice it to say that grief has left him bound to the past. He is the one character who does not seem determined to grow. The Absolute Self Credit: Arvo Animation If asked to summarize what, precisely, makes this series a phenomenal watch, I would have a hard time choosing which facets to highlight. These days, we are all sort of cynical about nostalgia, and with good reason. Corporations monetize the concept to sell toys from limping childhood franchises, and romanticizing the past has become a platform to prop up fascist ideology. In a more personal sense, appreciating the past is one thing, but obsessing over it is another. Whatever the First Kathy might have become, had her circumstances been kinder, she could never have been the person my mother became, just as my mom could never have been her.  Watching our heroine leave her predecessor’s glasses on the mantle and step into the world as herself is a bracing reminder to do the same in a figurative sense. We can all set down those rose-colored lenses and face the future. If we do so, we are more likely to make meaningful choices. There is no character in this brilliant little anime that ends up where they began, despite the wiggly timeline. That journey is more encouraging and fulfilling than making eyes at the good ol’ days could ever be.[end-mark] The post But Thinking Makes It So: The Gutting Genius of <i>Kowloon Generic Romance</i> appeared first on Reactor.