Anime Feminist Recommendations of Fall 2025

2025 closed out with some wildly ambitious shows that weren’t afraid to take big swings.

How did we choose our recs?

Participating staff members can nominate up to three titles and can also co-sign other nominated shows. Rather than categorizing titles as “feminist-friendly” or “problematic,” they are simply listed in alphabetical order with relevant content warnings; doing otherwise ran the risk of folks seeing these staff recommendations as rubber stamps of unilateral “Feminist Approval,” which is something we try our hardest to avoid here.

The titles below are organized alphabetically. As a reminder, ongoing shows are NOT eligible for these lists. We’d rather wait until the series (or season) has finished up before recommending it to others, that way we can give you a more complete picture. This means we also leave out any unfinished split-cour shows, which we define as shows that air a second season less than a year after the first (often defined by announcing a sequel with an already-secured upcoming air date).

Here’s what the team thought—let us know your picks in the comments!

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Campfire Cooking in Another World with My Absurd Skill — Season 2

Recommended by: Chiaki, Cy

What’s it about? Transported to another world, former office worker turned adventurer Mukohda uses his special “online shopping” skill to feed his motley crew of superpowerful familiars who also love his cooking.

This pick for the top anime of 2025 might come as something of a surprise given the amazing docket of shows that came out. Yet I feel like Campfire Cooking season 2 captured something that many series missed: the joy of just existing. 

You see, Mukohda never wanted to be isekai’d: it happens and upends his life, even if that life mirrors the hustle-crunch culture we all experience under modern day capitalism. But freed from that, he makes a very specific decision that many  modern isekai, and even action-adventure anime set in European-adjacent worlds, don’t do: he decides to be kind and caring and nurturing to the world around him, indulging not in becoming the most powerful, but in the community around him, whether humanoid or beast.

But in this low stakes series, even if we know what’s coming next, it’s not hard to drool over the food, laugh a bit, and feel comforted by a character that feels like a human we all know instead of a media caricature. There’s no gloating or sexual assault or revenge plot, as so many isekai tend to do: instead, what’s crafted here is a low-stakes series that maintains a skillful execution of what makes it good from episode 1 to episode 24. Campfire Cooking is never boring: instead, this is a world that makes you think, “I need something good to eat and someone to share it with.”

All of the cozy, epicurean vibes are still present from the start of this season, but what also feels amplified, even if it’s the same, is the bonds Mukhoda shares with his familiars. They’re all equals, forging a hodgepodge community powered by elemental gods who also get in on the snackage from time to time. What results is a subtle demonstration of non-toxic masculinity, positioning Mukhoda as a willful, eager caretaker who becomes a part of the communities he finds himself in, standing on equal ground even when he pulls out a mythical beast from his infinite storage box. He’s never braggadocious, even though there’s many times he could be. Instead, this is just an exploration of food and finding yourself outside of the fetters of social expectations.

In a time where all hope can feel lost or hard to access, Campfire Cooking is a reminder that to have a village, you need to be a villager and remember to embrace the optimistic while protecting that community. And that doesn’t mean having all the monetary and physical means. Sometimes it just means breaking bread and caring for those around you with a hearty meal that, thankfully, you don’t need to be in another world to access.

—Cy

The Dark History of the Reincarnated Villainess

Recommended by: Caitlin, Chiaki, Dee

What it’s about: When Konoha Satou was in junior high, she wrote a self-insert fantasy melodrama called “Dark History.” Years later, Konoha’s mother unearths her old cringe fic and tells her about it—just in time for Konoha to get hit by a truck. She reincarnates into “Dark History” as the villainess, Iana, and now has to figure out how to survive in her own story.

Content warnings: Threats of sexual assault; kidnapping; violence; coming face-to-face with your own bad middle school fiction.

Somehow villainess isekai haven’t gone completely stale for me yet, and The Dark HIstory of the Reincarnated Villainess is a good example of how authors keep finding new ways to play with the premise. Konoha getting reincarnated into her own self-indulgent junior high fiction—but as the villainess who dies in the prologue, not as her self-insert heroine—offers a playground for comedy and commentary on how many teenage girls use fiction to work through messy adolescent emotions.

The story feels like it’s in conversation both with puberty and with ‘90s shoujo, where raw emotion and sublimated fears and desires often found an outlet in danger-magnet heroines constantly under the threat of assault (sometimes romanticized, and sometimes just plain horrifying). Konoha not only has to survive as the doomed villainess, she also has to find ways to protect the entire cast from her past self’s bloody melodramas.

In addition to a clever premise and never-boring parade of conflicts (you can feel the “and this happened and then this happened and then this happened” intensity of junior high fiction in the pacing), Dark History was also just a good hang each week. Konoha-turned-Iana carries the narrative with plucky fervor, playing off the other characters both comedically and emotionally. 

It’s funny and tense in equal measures, with energetic storyboards and well-placed chibis helping to make up for the limited animation (which I honestly found kind of charming, as it helps evoke that ‘90s anime energy). I’d love for this to get a season 2, but even if it doesn’t, the manga is firmly on my to-read list. Konoha’s disaster fic is simply too much fun not to spend more time exploring it.

—Dee

A Mangaka’s Weirdly Wonderful Workplace

Recommended by: Alex, Dee

What’s it about? Futami is an insecure shojo mangaka who massively admires her editor…to the point where it’s getting in the way of her work. Her editor, Sato, adores her client’s work…but always seems to get flustered trying to compliment her.

Content considerations: comedic alcoholic character; one-off weight joke sketch; a bit of a romantic look at crunch culture in creative industries

In the premiere, Vrai pitched this series as “useless lesbians make manga” and I’m happy to report that this observation rings true throughout. As a rom-com, it’s definitely heavier on the com than the rom, and we don’t get a traditional love story arc between Futami and Sato. But honestly, I like how their mutual crush and growing emotional and creative intimacy is included so nonchalantly as a consistent background detail, underpinning everything without being overstated. Bless their brainless little hearts, they are—despite Sato seeming more elegant and aloof—as messy and awkward as each other. They’re supported by an ensemble cast of other women working in the industry who balance things out and vary the slice-of-life antics by being eccentric in their own ways. From assistants to editors to booksellers, manga is not made in a vacuum, and this series ultimately ends up as a love letter to creative collaboration.

The setting also provides some fun and interesting insights, including some commentary on the foibles of genres and demographics. The closest thing the show has to antagonists work at the adjacent shonen magazine: Futami’s former editor, and the only recurring male character, routinely drops condescending lines like “her art is nice, but it lacks punch” and “this might be confusing, why don’t you write a more straightforward romance?” Meanwhile, a female editor insists that Futami is “wasting her talent” writing high concept stories in a women’s magazine, and she’d make everyone some real money if she penned a tropey rom-com for a major (read: aimed at boys) publication. 

I wouldn’t call the show a scathing satire of the way shojo is looked down upon and reduced to “just romance for silly girls,” but I get the sense that the author is… taking the opportunity to vent some frustrations. For some possible context, the manga this is based on ran in a josei magazine, and mangaka Kuzushiro also writes shojo and josei yuri series like The Moon on a Rainy Night (and if you follow that series, there’s a cute little Easter Egg relating to it at the end of the show—a nice primer for Rainy Night’s characters getting their very own anime!) In any case, these moments give the show a sharper edge that’s grimly satisfying while not being incongruous with the fluffier slice-of-life tone. These details add an intriguing layer to the workplace comedy shenanigans and make the whole package all the more fun.

–-Alex

Sanda

Recommended by: Caitlin, Tony

Content Warnings: gun violence, child abuse, child neglect, bury your gays (depending how you look at it)

What’s it about? Kazushige Sanda has a secret—he’s the descendent of Santa Claus. That comes with Santa Powers, and his deranged classmate and crush Fuyumura is determined to put them to use, whether he wants to or not.

SPOILERS: Because of its importance to the series’ content warnings, the “bury your gays” discussion in this rec contains allusions to a major spoiler

Paru Itagaki works always feel like they are bursting at the seams with different themes, subplots, ideas, and backstories competing for your attention, and SANDA is no exception. SANDA has a lot to say about gender, sexuality, adulthood, and has all of the subtlety of a sleigh running you over. It is a joy to watch, but also at times deeply frustrating. I still think it’s worth watching.

SANDA is mad—I don’t think I’ve seen a show as angry about the fetishization of childhood and the devaluation of queer adolescents since Yuri Kuma Arashi. And likeYuri Kuma Arashi, Sanda is not afraid to display naked queer sexuality onscreen, presenting in the character of Ono an adolescent girl coming to terms with being madly in love with her best friend. Her plot encapsulates much that is powerful and much that is messy about SANDA. We see onscreen her fantasies about having sex with Fuyumura, in scenes where they question the historical roots and contemporary iterations of how they have been prevented from learning much of anything about sex. Her story ends in a way that, while it stands powerfully as a conviction of the organized abandonment of queer adolescents, arguably undermines many of the show’s other themes and completely forecloses the narrative possibilities I was most excited to see come to fruition. Adulthood seems to be, in fact, something actually to fear in this universe, if only because of the strange rituals the society in SANDA has constructed around it. I’m inclined to be relatively kind to SANDA, however, given I would rather a show swing for the fences than constrain itself. 

SANDA’s world building effectively skewers the ways that “think of the children!” family values discourses actually end up harming children. The concept of a “trauma-free” curriculum is one of the smartest satirical touches. When we try to make sure that no child ever experiences any pain, any failure, any actual struggle, we create such a circumscribed world for them that they actually are often more harmed and traumatized in the process than if we allowed them to explore the realities of the world in a safe, supported environment. The only way to create such a walled garden is through violent, traumatic policing, represented by the principal, who is one of the most compelling villains I’ve ever seen in a Battle Shonen.

Most compelling, arguably, is the question of dreams. When we cannot imagine a happy future for ourselves, do we lose the ability to dream? The show seems to suggest there is no greater loss than this, representing in literally preventing the children from sleeping so they will delay puberty. This has symbolic purpose: if we cannot dream of a better future, we cannot actually work to enact it. There is no actual possibility for a better life if once you hit puberty you are one foot in the grave–so those who could change the world are taught to think of themselves as disposable. SANDA, more than anything, reminds us that it is never too late to start dreaming and enacting a better future.

–-Tony

This Monster Wants to Eat Me

Recommended by: Alex, Vrai

What’s it about? Hinako Yaotose has been weighed down by guilt since an accident killed her parents and brother, leaving her the only survivor. The quiet fog of her life is lifted when a mermaid named Shiori appears and promises to eat Hinako…when she’s ready.

Content Warnings: suicide ideation; grief; depression; blood and gore; supernatural body horror

Full disclosure, This Monster Wants to Eat Me is a show I found interesting more than enjoyable. A story with suicidal ideation at its core is never going to be an easy watch—and yes, even with all the supernatural elements, this remains the crux of the story. Never mind the predatory yokai that Shiori and Miko fight off, the real horror element here is the fraught emotional reality of trying to convince someone you love not to kill themselves; or, from the perspective of Hinako herself, the fraught emotional reality of fighting through the fog and finding a reason to listen to what your loved ones are saying.

It’s grim, and, just as recovery is not linear (and this manga continues past the end of Episode 13), it’s not wrapped up nicely by the end of the series. So if you’re looking for a one-and-done tale of healing, you’re probably not going to find it here. Likewise, if you’re looking for a yuri series with a straightforward romance plotline or more direct queer representation, you may not find what you want. The focus is more on stranger, less easy-to-categorize intimacies like immortal devotion and blood-drinking… although I have to admit there is something romantic about Shiori’s ultimate “hey, no one’s allowed to kill you except me” move (and the bite-kiss that comes with it, of course). It’s the kind of deliciously messy relationship dynamic you can only get into within the framework of genre fiction, which is why these queer fantasy-horror series are always so interesting and valuable (I won’t compare this against The Summer Hikaru Died, but I think they exist in the same space—they’re neighbors, at the very least, if not siblings).

I critiqued Hinako’s lack of agency at the start of the series, but by the end I’ve come around to believing that this is a deliberate creative decision rather than a writing fumble. There’s a certain late game twist that really sold me on this, which I won’t spoil here except to say that it brings Hinako’s control over her body, her life, and her death into focus as a key source of conflict. It also lets the show dig deeper into the supernatural characters and ask thorny questions like, “is it selfish or selfless to save someone?” and “how does an immortal monster even get her head around human concepts like love and morality?” Again, juicy stuff. This definitely grew on me as it went along and showed its thematic hand more, so if any of this sounds interesting to you but you were reticent initially, I’d encourage you to give it another shot—with all the content warnings in mind, of course.

-–Alex

There’s No Freaking Way I’ll Be Your Lover! Unless…

Recommended By: Chiaki, Vrai

What’s it about? Renako Amaori has decided to reinvent herself in high school, from anxious introvert to outgoing normie, and part of that is making friends with school starlet Mai Oudaka. Unfortunately, after one good heart-to-heart, Mai declares that she’s fallen in love. Renako isn’t looking for the stress of dating, but Mai proposes a compromise: they’ll alternate being friends and girlfriends and see who can convince the other.

Content Warnings: Sexual coercion, nudity (bathing), light fan service

What, I’m gonna not recommend the poly yuri anime? Putting aside the historical noteworthiness (while not the first anime nor the first yuri series to focus on non-monogamy, it is to my knowledge the first to combine those things), I wasn’t expecting just how satisfying it was to watch a show defined by wacky harem shenanigans turn into an increasingly sincere look at non-traditional relationships.

Easily the biggest hurdle is the show’s first arc, which I’ve discussed elsewhere. In short, Mai’s initial willingness to push Renako’s physical boundaries is a flaw the story takes seriously and that Mai works to correct; but because Mai is such a larger-than-life character who acts almost exclusively in extremes, and because the first half of the show is so heavy on the shenanigans, it feels a bit like the consequences don’t have time to sink in before it’s on to the next wacky scenario.

They’re good shenanigans, don’t get me wrong—I’m rather fond of the bright if breathless sight gags and escalating chains of bad ideas—but it’s when the show reveals its heart that it really draws you in. Satsuki, Ajisai, and Kaho are all grounded by relatable teenage anxieties and struggling with the gap between their insecurities, their public perception, and their ideal selves. Renako is the biggest mess of all, and decidedly readable as being on the aro spectrum in her quest to define the line between friendship and romantic love. Usually by seeing her friends naked and touching their boobs.

It’s tropey as all get-out, but the bathing scenes do actually succeed in feeling like intimate character moments that matter, even if the getting there is sometimes contrived. It’s interesting to watch Renako both do the “but we’re girls” schtick while clearly voicing being turned on by women, and being called out for such by other characters. She’s a sometimes frustrating mess of self-loathing, but I was compelled by her desire to keep one foot in the closet, continually moving the goalposts for what “counts” as girlfriend behavior with an audacity that would make Bandai executives blush.

It’s a weird, sometimes uneven but undeniably ambitious show that I really looked forward to seeing every week; if you’re alright with those early rough patches and some light fan service, I think it’s worth watching. Just keep in mind that the full series isn’t just the 12-episode TV run but also the OVA/film that contains the story’s actual conclusion.

—Vrai