Anime Feminist Recommendations of Spring 2026

Our staff picks from Spring include fantasy adventures, earnestly weird high schoolers, and tender yuri.

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).

Bonus

In a new format, Chiaki has made not a season rec but a season wreck for Needy Girl Overdose. Check out her thoughts at the link!

Here are the rest of the team’s favorites—let us know your picks in the comments!

Agents of the Four Seasons: Dance of Spring

Recommended by: Alex, Cy

What’s it about? Long ago, the gods of the seasons gifted their powers to humans, bestowing them the title Agents of the Four Seasons and entrusting them with the sacred duty of maintaining the yearly cycle. But no one has seen the Agent of Spring for ten years, leaving the world locked in eternal winter. At least, until now… 

Content warnings: Kidnapping and captivity; child abuse, both by the series’ villains and the young characters’ own families; suicide (offscreen); attempted suicide and suicidal ideation (depicted); threatened sexual assault and forced pregnancy (by the villains, unsuccessful); gun violence; blood and injuries; depictions of PTSD and trauma responses, including panic attacks and dissociation.

Despite its epic urban fantasy premise (which is fun, don’t get me wrong), Agents of the Four Seasons’ storytelling strength is its characters and the relationships between them. While inheriting the world-altering abilities of a god sounds like a recipe for power fantasy, life is tough for the Agents, and the series is very interested in the dehumanization that comes with being more than human. It reminds me of Fruits Basket in that sense, using its fantasy element to explore the trauma inflicted on young people born into a grand, magical tradition, and the tight-knit relationships they forge to survive.

A highlight was the bond between Agent of Spring Hinagiku and her bodyguard Sakura. They were my favorite part of the premiere, but I presumed their friendship would take a backseat to the romance between Hinagiku and the Agent of Winter. To my pleasant surprise, this isn’t the case, and the girls’ wonderfully messy, fiercely protective, trauma-bonded dynamic is the emotional core of much of the series.

Despite all Sakura’s blushing declarations of loyalty, the narrative shoots down a romantic reading of them, and I very much understand if people are disappointed with this. However, their devotion to one another is given such narrative weight that I don’t read it as a “just friends” cop-out.

Whether you interpret Hinagiku and Sakura as something queerplatonic or otherwise, there’s no “just” about the intimacy between them, and I enjoyed how the narrative hashed out the nuances of their relationship. Two ride-or-die companions who have been treated badly by the world but have sworn to make it a better place for each other—it’s impactful stuff, and it’s genuinely nice that Hinagiku’s bond with Sakura is framed as being just as important, if not more than, her actual romantic subplot.

There’s some tender storytelling about trauma, love, and survival here among the fantasy action scenes, over-the-top villains, and pretty visuals. 

—Alex

Botan Kamiina Fully Blossoms When Drunk

What’s it about? Botan Kamiina is new to campus life, but that also means she gets indulge in the unexplored realm of drinking! From her first sip to the wide world of sharing drinks with friends, the simple experience of imbibing is set to be an exciting time.

Recommended by: Chiaki, Cy, Dee, Peter

Content considerations: Depictions of drinking and smoking; mild nudity and sexuality.

To say that Botan Kamiina is “just” a college yuri is to say that an arrangement of meat, cheese, dried fruits, nuts, and crackers is an adult lunchable. That is, it diminishes the impact of a fantastic queer series that pays off from its tender beginnings, delivering on a heartfelt story that shows young women growing into themselves holistically.

In a funny way, this show made me think of Legend of Korra, which was my first exposure as an adult to an openly bisexual romance in animation. From a 2026 perspective, Korra and Asami’s resolution feels downright tepid, but that’s because of the radical progress made for queer visibility since then. For me, sitting in my grad school apartment, it felt revolutionary.

I’d never seen a bisexual couple win and get Word of God confirmation in American animation. I never knew that I, at the time perceiving myself as a female, could have actualized love. It is my sincere hope that Botan Kamiina becomes that show for people who need it now, just like Legend of Korra was for me in 2014.

Baseline, this show is fantastic, offering up different expressive animation styles—and directors—each episode that breathe a uniqueness into the college life of a bunch of young women who feel intimately human. But as a queer critic, Botan Kamiina has the potential to mean a lot to viewers who missed out or thought it was “just another slice-of-life with yuri vibes” when it is, in fact, a triumph that reminds me of how far we’ve come with sapphic representation going beyond single-target romance to depict more diverse way of coming into your own identity.

From the first sip of alcohol to piercing their ears together, Botan Kamiina feels like the moment when sharing food, drinks, and good company becomes halcyonic, making not just a memory in the moment but bonding two hearts forever, even if the future is unknown.

In a year where globally, only thirty-eight countries recognize LGBTQ+ relationships, not including Japan, Botan Kamiina feels like a love letter: a promise that the love Botan and Ibuki share isn’t just a passing college fancy but a genuine, actualized relationship that exists outside of the boundaries of this single season.

—Cy

Go For It, Nakamura-kun!!

Recommended by: Alex, Dee

What’s it about? On his first day of high school, Okuto Nakamura fell head-over-heels in love with his classmate, Aiki Hirose. Unfortunately, no matter how many plans he makes to get closer to the object of his affections, things never manage to go the way he’d imagined. How’s he supposed to win Hirose’s heart when he can barely say two words to the guy?

Content considerations: Mild cases of stalking played for comedy; an implied (and unrequited) student’s crush on a teacher; a running joke about students shipping their classmates with each other and assigning them top/bottom roles.

I’ll admit that this show had to grow on me, largely because the humor of the early episodes leans heavily on second-hand embarrassment as Nakamura crashes out in various zany ways. This kind of cringe-reliant comedy isn’t always my cup of tea, nor are the gags about Nakamura being (unintentionally) creepy about Hirose (e.g., taking secret photos of him; all the business with the shirt-sniffing). However, the show evens out as the cast expands and Hirose and Nakamura become friends for realsies, and the end result is definitely worth the investment.

Nakamura himself also manages to remain endearing throughout his many over-the-top failures and slapstick antics. He’s a self-described shy, gay walking disaster in a way many viewers will no doubt find relatable. He’s also self-aware enough to know when he’s crossed a line, and to at least try and learn something from his messes. Crucially, while his idealized vision of Hirose and his ensuing goof-ups are usually the punchline, his crush—and the fact that he’s queer—are never the thing being made fun of.

While there’s not exactly a concrete resolution or traditional romantic arc for Nakamura and Hirose, they grow closer across the series in a way that’s quite sweet. Throw in some hints that Hirose might be figuring out his own non-hetero sexuality, and the show leaves us with a sense that this is the slow-burn beginning of something for these boys, even if this season is mostly about those first steps into emotional honesty, connection, and friendship.

Combined with the retro aesthetic and strong direction, the whole package radiates charm, even if it has some wonky elements that won’t land for everyone.

—Alex

Kirio Fan Club

Recommended by: Alex, Dee 

What it’s about: Aimi Miyoshi and Nami Sometani have a friendship forged from their mutual obsession with Ken Kirio. The pair spend their days plotting the best way to approach their classmate, but their image of Kirio doesn’t exactly match up with reality. Then again, they’re keeping some secrets from one another, too.

Content warnings: Suicidal ideation; grief and depression; gross-out humor; early objectification of the male love interest, although it’s intentional and falls away as the characters get to know each other.

What begins as a cringe comedy steadily morphs into an unapologetically silly but also heartfelt exploration of longing, grief, and other complicated feelings, particularly those of lonely “weird kids” finding people they can trust and care about for the first time.

Kirio Fan Club never loses its early silliness, sometimes taking its “teens shooting the shit” schtick a bit far (there are some bodily fluid conversations I really wish I could purge from memory). Still, I’m willing to give a series room for missteps if it also means I get to see teen girls depicted as horny little weirdos in addition to being compassionate and loyal kids.

Along with its refreshingly messy portrayal of female adolescence, Kirio Fan Club is also quietly queer, albeit in somewhat heartbreaking fashion. While Kirio’s intense feelings for his deceased friend remain vague, Nami is canonically in love with Aimi, even as she supports Aimi’s pursuit of Kirio. Yet the series manages to avoid a Sad Gays finale, keeping the relationships open-ended in a way that inspires hope for the whole cast. (I’m not saying it’s a canon OT3, but it’s not not that, either.)

I have a penchant for goofy shows that are secretly smart, and Kirio Fan Club fits that to a T. It made me laugh, wince, roll my eyes, frequently say “girls, no, no girls, NO,” worry, cry, and finally applaud. Not too shabby for a series I almost dropped after the premiere, huh?

—Dee

Witch Hat Atelier

Recommended by: Alex, Chiaki, Dee, Peter, Tony

What’s it About? Coco has wanted to be a witch since she was a young child, when a mysterious street entertainer gifted her a “picture book” full of strange sigils. But after everyone told her that witches are born with magic, Coco had to give up on her dream. Then a witch named Qifrey came to town. Her encounter with him will change the shape of her life forever.

Content considerations: Child endangerment; depictions of emotional abuse and ableism; fantasy horror elements like magical body mutilation.

Witch Hat Atelier had a lot to live up to, given the absolutely beloved manga, and boy did it deliver. This is one of the most masterfully directed television anime of the last decade, with Episode 5 in particular showcasing astonishingly dynamic action sequences that also hit emotionally due to the Qifrey and Coco’s relationship. It is a tour de force of artmaking, and an absolute relief after BugFilms’ previous problems with Zom100.

It is particularly a relief here, because Witch Hat is also thematically rich, especially about the education system: how people get set on different life trajectories because of forces of ableism or organized abandonment, and the kind mentors who make it their lives’ work to remove those barriers. Qifrey represents the ideal of a teacher, allowing his students to make mistakes and try new ideas, but always being there to care for them and protect them when they need him. (Agott, a character who trusts almost nobody, trusts him, and that says a lot.)

Tartah, on the other hand, is shut out of spellcasting completely because of his colorblindness, highlighting the show’s interest in disability. His storyline effectively illustrates how the assumption of incapacity harms disabled people—and is actually what renders them disabled rather than any innate inability, as we watch when the use of magic (akin to assistive technology) allows him to do many things that broader society had assumed impossible for him.

All of this is grounded by an overarching story that touches on many broader political questions: what do we do with knowledge that can hurt as much as it helps? What are the ethical limits of the augmentation of the human body? At what point does hiding things from the children you protect end up hurting them instead?

Witch Hat is committed to looking for the nuances of these questions while refusing any kind of moral relativism. There are children whose lives matter, and if we get the answers wrong, their futures are on the line. 

—Tony