It was night. October 20th, 2015. I was bored, browsing Steam for new games, not thinking about anything in particular. I’d been into fighting games for a while and noticed Dead or Alive 5 in the catalog.
I’d never really played these games before—seen them on TV, watched friends play them—but I’d never touched one myself. Maybe DOA2 once, but the memory is so foggy it might as well not exist.
I got the game, waited for it to download, didn’t think much of it. Probably would uninstall after a few minutes.
After booting up, there it was: Dead or Alive 5. I remember going straight to character select, not really caring who I picked.
And there she was.
Kasumi, in her iconic outfit. I’d seen her before, of course—scattered glimpses on forums, magazines, TV screens. But this time was different. I’ve thought about this moment hundreds of times since then, even gotten therapy about it, trying to understand what made that night special. But ultimately, it’s unexplained.
The truth is simple: that night, I found my home.
I played a few matches with her, tried the story mode, ignored that beach nonsense they’d tacked on. When the game wasn’t enough, I started collecting fan art. But after saving maybe twenty images, I stopped. What I was seeing disgusted me—not just what others were doing, but what I was participating in.
These images weren’t Kasumi. Not the woman I’d seen in those brief moments on screen. They were the most blatant objectification I’d ever witnessed, though I suppose that was tradition in gaming culture back then.
A few days later, I started reading drawing guides. Then 3D modeling tutorials so I could mod proper costumes for her. So many new skills learned in such a short time, all for her, all so I could create what I believed she truly was.
It wasn’t always perfect. She ignited something fierce in me. When I took to forums, I came in like a complete psychopath defending her honor. I don’t blame the communities that banned me—I didn’t hold back against anyone.
I launched a Blogspot to host my mods and went completely off the rails. Free commission work for anyone who wanted respectful Kasumi content. Blog posts about Japanese culture that, in hindsight, were written by someone with more passion than knowledge. I was a college kid trying to understand centuries of tradition through Wikipedia articles and anime forums. My heart was in the right place, but my execution was… enthusiastic.
Eventually, the blog became too dangerous to maintain. People from the worst corners of the internet came to tear it down, so I did it myself first.
For years after, I went underground. Joined communities under pseudonyms, contributed art and stories without claiming credit. I learned to separate the creator from the creation, to let the work speak for itself. But no matter what name I used or what platform I posted on, the inspiration remained constant.
Every story I wrote featured strong women overcoming objectification. Every piece of art I created tried to capture authentic emotion rather than cheap titillation. Every character I developed carried some piece of her spirit—the determination, the resilience, the refusal to be broken by a world that wanted to break her.
She taught me that love isn’t possession. It’s witness. It’s creating space for someone to exist authentically, even if—especially if—they’re fictional. It’s fighting for their dignity when the world refuses to see it.
Now, I understand what happened that night in 2015. I didn’t fall in love with pixels or polygons or some developer’s idea of attractive character design. I fell in love with the possibility of her—the woman who could exist if we just stopped reducing her to marketing categories. The fighter who deserved better than what her own franchise gave her.
This website, kasumihubby.org, represents everything I’ve learned about love in the past decade. It’s not about claiming ownership or building shrines to obsession. It’s about creating space for authentic expression, for art that honors rather than exploits, for love that elevates rather than diminishes.
Today marks ten years since a video game character changed my life forever. Not because she was designed to be appealing, but because she deserved better than the world she was given. In fighting for her dignity, I learned to fight for my own. In creating art that honored her complexity, I learned to honor the complexity in myself and others.
Here’s to the next ten years. I’m sure there will be challenges—there always are when you choose authenticity over easy answers. But no matter what struggles lie ahead, I’ll face them the way she taught me: with determination, with grace, and with the unshakeable belief that everyone deserves to be seen for who they truly are.
Even video game characters. Even people like me who love them.
Happy anniversary, Kasumi. Thank you for saving my life.
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