Anime conventions are twilight zones of highly questionable purchasing decisions. The colourful displays are ruthlessly effective at pressuring con-goers into spending their money on the basis of emotions, rather than logic or fiscal responsibility. When I was a high schooler, I would often buy large prints that I regretted only hours later, or a keychain that scratched too easily. This weekend at Anime NYC, I purchased a titty mouse pad modelled on Zhongli from Genshin Impact. It’s now Monday afternoon, and I still love this mouse pad.
Behold:
For the uninitiated, an “oppai” mouse pad is a gel-based mousing surface that usually has a busty anime character printed on it. The bustiness is 3D; this mouse pad has tits, which nestle your wrist. Owning one will usually invite judgement from those who don’t collect busty mouse pads, but there are also plenty of manufacturers who print non-sexual versions. I’ve seen oppai mouse pads of corgi butts, Kirby, and various Pokémon.
This mouse pad was not one of them. When I walked past the display stand at Anime NYC, I definitely found this particular mouse pad a little bit…risque. Though he’s male, which makes his tits street-legal in our country, Zhongli’s cheeks were lightly dusted, and there were little white hearts in the corner. This was not a platonic mouse pad.
I stood a little bit awkwardly at the artist’s booth. One of the storekeepers encouraged me to touch the sample mouse pad, and I did. The gel filling was a little bit flatter than most oppai mouse pads. Which made sense, since Zhongli wasn’t a very busty character. My first thought: is it still ergonomic if his badonkers aren’t very large? I asked the artist, but she didn’t know the answer. I started walking away from the booth. I’m a professional writer. My wrists are my livelihood, and I wasn’t going to fuck them up over a titty mouse pad.
But was that really the reason? Could it be that I was simply embarrassed to go from “normal Genshin Impact enjoyer” to “Genshin Impact enjoyer who owns a titty mouse pad?” Zhongli is my favourite character, but I’m admittedly not very horny about him. If I was, then I could easily buy actual porn of a character from the most popular anime game in the world. No, I wanted this mouse pad because I liked to collect unusual fan merchandise.
This mouse pad was the most interesting piece of art that I had seen all day. Moreover, it was a print of my favourite character in his prime. I could be resting my wrists on the titties of a 6,000-year-old god who had sealed away other gods. I thought about the mouse pad endlessly as I walked through the exhibition hall.
Before it sold out, I texted a friend:
Is this who I am as a person
That was the crux of my dilemma. When fans buy things from a series they like, it’s to express their identity as a fan. I’ve never bought sexy prints before. I’ve always walked past anime body pillows.
Hell, I’m not even sure if I’ll like Genshin Impact in a couple of years. I’ve previously loved anime such as Death Note, Inuyasha, and D.Grey-man. Within a decade, my love depreciated to a casual appreciation. Old pins and phone charms collect dust in my parents’ house. There is nothing more reliably transient than being in love with a work of fiction. Would I be buying a titty mouse pad of a fast-forgotten flame?
I surveyed my surroundings. All around me were cosplayers who’d dedicated hundreds of hours on costumes for outfits they would only wear for three days. I recognised several cosplays of Genshin characters who hadn’t even been released yet. The great thing about fan conventions is that everyone loves things so fearlessly. They are capsules of devotion that are largely unfettered by concerns for the future. Isn’t it better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all?
My friend responded relatively quickly:
yes
get the morax titty pad, sisi
Newly possessed by an odd courage, I made my way back to the booth and asked if the mouse pad was still available. It was. Right as I was about to hand the artist my credit card, my zipper wallet jammed. I struggled with it for 10 minutes. It was as if some divine power had intervened to save me from my purchase. Still, I would not relent. I stood to the side of the booth and tugged at my wallet until it finally loosened. A few moments later, I was the proud owner of a limited-edition Zhongli oppai mouse pad.
When I showed it off to friends at a restaurant, a passing convention attendee interrupted to ask where they could buy one of their own. Another friend asked me for the store link over private messages. When I returned to the store on the last day, I saw that all of them were completely sold out. To think, I had very nearly lost out on — if I may be so bold — the best bit of merch at the convention.
Two days later, and I still can’t bring myself to regret this purchase. My only complaint? I wish I could still see Zhongli’s face when using it.
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