“Are you tired of being nice? Don’t you just want to go ape shitt?”
– Anonymous

It’s a little ironic that Ryuuji and Taiga initially bonded over their mutual inability to truly express their feelings. Though they have the same fears anyone might have about directly confessing to their crush, in a general sense, Ryuuji and Taiga are both unusually transparent, straightforward teenagers. Ryuuji would never lie or manipulate to get ahead, and Taiga wields her emotions like a rhinoceros driving a go kart, crashing through social niceties with the force of her feelings. And though they can’t really appreciate this, it’s actually that transparency and sincerity that their friends like about them. Kitamura respects Ryuuji for his straightforward decency, and Minori regularly lets Taiga’s rage be the vehicle for her own feelings. Our heroes envy their friends for their seemingly effortless cool and grace, but those friends in turn understand their own actions are in part performances, while Ryuuji and Taiga are always, unabashedly themselves.

Though Ryuuji frequently laments his isolation, the truth is, his honesty is its own kind of freedom – just not one he’s really able to appreciate, mired in high school’s drama and insincerity. But for many others, the freedom to embrace their most sincere feelings is no more than a naive fantasy, and the idea of a “sincere self” dubious in its own way. You can see what sincerity got Ryuuji and Taiga: bad reputations and almost no friends, the consolation prizes of refusing to play by society’s rules. They can afford to embrace sincerity because they have nothing to lose – but for those who actually want to succeed in this world, you either build a socially marketable self, or sink into the crowd.

So it goes for Ami Kawashima, whose teenage modeling career has “gifted” her with a keen understanding of the mercenary nature of social engagements. In her first appearance, she set to work stress-testing the bond between Ryuuji and Taiga, seemingly for no reason at all. There was no larger strategy behind this – she’s just a person who’s been taught to see relationships in terms of bargaining and power dynamics, and who enjoys flaunting her mastery of these exchanges. Having been brought up dancing between the cutthroat fashion world and a school full of envious classmates, Ami been forced to learn that smiling faces can’t be trusted, men are always after her body, and all of her peers are either rivals or enemies. Ami has learned to weaponize social engagements by necessity, and given how much of high school socializing really is a game of play-acting friendship with strangers, she hasn’t been given much reason to doubt that perspective.

We pan down from ominous skies as episode six begins, with Ami still in the process of mastering her new domain. As her supplicants discuss weight loss techniques, Ami gaily announces that “I’ve never been on a diet.” This is an obvious lie – Ami is hypersensitive to her appearance, and undoubtedly manages her diet carefully for her modeling career. The truth doesn’t matter, though; more important is the fact that her image hinges on the appearance of effortlessness, of being a natural airhead who just so happened to stumble into modeling success.

No one actually “stumbles into” success like that, of course. Ami has worked hard for her gains – but whether you’re a model or not, a key affectation among high schoolers is the appearance of effortlessness. When you try hard at something, you are revealing either your passions or your insecurities – and either way, that’s an emotional vulnerability that other high schoolers will be more than willing to exploit. Worse yet, what if you try hard at something and fail? That proves you’re a failure, and warrants even more derision. Plus, if your talent is out of your control, it’s less likely to seed resentment among your peers; better, then, to make your talent appear effortless, than to truly admit how hard you try.

In response to this unconvincing performance, Taiga and Minori commence a harsh offensive, and immediately begin teasing her about her belly. It’s a rude, mean trick, and a bit of a mask slip for Minori, who at this point seems unable to disguise her distaste for her new classmate. Minori, who tries very hard and is proud of that fact, is naturally disgusted by Ami – a girl who tries hard as well, but actually hides that fact because it’s “uncool,” and even uses the fruits of her labors for social evil. Minori attempts to be a role model for herself and others, while Ami’s whole affectation is intended to imply “you’ll never be as good as me, but that’s fine, because I was destined to shine.” In a way, Ami like reminds Minori of herself – a smart, insecure girl who’s attempting to present a happier self, but doing so in the most selfish way possible. And Taiga, well, Taiga just hates Ami’s guts.

Minori and Taiga’s game is mean-spirited, but certainly effective. Not only do their jokes undercut her bragging, they also make her complicit in the goofy games of the other two – and there are few things more embarrassing than being goofy or touchy-feely at school. Thus, after a brief flash of anger and a quiet moment of calculation, Ami chooses to respond by breaking down in tears. Ami wasn’t genuinely hurt or offended by the others’ actions, but their play fucked up her battlefield positioning, and thus framing them as “bullies” strikes her as the best way to regain her place. And Kitamura, assessing this exchange and likely thinking of the many to come, looks towards the window and offers a fatigued “looks like we’re in for a lot of rain.”

Having a mutual antagonist to hate might not be healthy, but it’s certainly good at bringing people together. Thus, after five episodes of slowly negotiating the dynamics of their new friend group, Ryuuji at last looks natural sharing lunch with Taiga and Minori. Later on, Taiga even offers to make a salad for Ryuuji, though her understanding of making a salad is of course “buy some lettuce and put it on a plate.” The two of them have grown completely accustomed to ribbing each other now – neither of them get genuinely angry at the other’s jabs, and though they make faces, it’s clear they’re having a good time. Watching them, you can see what their friends envy about them. They might have trouble conveying their romantic feelings, but their friendship is more honest and sincere than any other relationship in this show.

And while Ryuuji and Taiga have found honest friendship in each other, Ami’s choices have left her with few sources of security or comfort. Rushing up to the two of them, she seems genuinely frightened as she grabs Ryuuji’s arm, and tells them that she’s being followed. Along with all the backstabbing and political games, Ami’s career has left her with an outright stalker, a man who’s decided her professional visibility means he somehow has “ownership” of her. This stalker’s harassment has forced her to actually change schools, but even here, he’s still creeping along in her shadow. Perpetual exertion that you must pretend is effortless, a company of peers who’d all destroy you if they could, and the threat of genuine physical violence by some unhinged man: such are the prizes of being a woman in a public-facing profession.

In light of this, but more likely just because she doesn’t like Ami clinging to Ryuuji, Taiga offers her secure apartment to Ami for the night. Their battle continues at the apartment, with Taiga announcing that “I’d love to show our class who you really are,” and Ami defiantly responding with “I have no intention of ever showing my true self.”

In a more simplistic narrative, this disagreement would by itself present the arc of Ami’s character. Ami would start as a duplicitous person, at some point have her mask forcibly ripped off, and from then on learn to exist as her petty, “unlikable” self in public. But Toradora! is trying to be a story about real people, and real people don’t just “wear masks” – their masks are part of them, part truth and part performance, and ultimately just a version of the social graces we all employ to interact smoothly with society. Few of us wear the same face with every person we meet; if we occupy multiple cultures or environments, or simply if we are thoughtful, empathetic people, we will often modulate our behavior to fit more harmoniously within a group.

Taken to an extreme, this behavior can come across as straight-up lying, or a denial of the self. But in moderation, it’s just one of the ways we negotiate the vast differences in our individual perspectives. And Ami’s mask is not a “character flaw” that she must eventually overcome – it is a useful, hard-earned asset in both personal and professional situations. For Ami, the end result should not be to discard the mask entirely, but to find people she can go mask-off with, who appreciate even the harsher, less crowd-pleasing aspects of her personality. The ultimate tragedy of wearing a mask all the time is not that others are being deceived – it is that the deceiver is never loved for who they truly are.

At least, that’s how Kitamura sees it, telling his friends that “if Ami doesn’t drop that facade, she’ll never make true friends. Therefore, I want you two to help her out.” Though both Ryuuji and Taiga envy Kitamura’s confidence, his reliance on them here reflects his belief in the greater strength of his always-honest friends. It is one of the great tragedies of Toradora! that Ryuuji and Taiga never seem to understand just how much their friends respect their straightforward nature, and even envy them for their honesty. Kitamura, Minori, and Ami are all, in their own ways, bound by their understanding of social expectations; through the inherent rebellion of their inability to fit in, Ryuuji and Taiga have already learned to embrace their honest selves.

Things come to a head during a community garbage collection, when Ryuuji and Ami find themselves alone along the overcast channel. As clouds loom overhead, their muddy conditions prompt Ami to shift rapidly between affectations, briefly chipper, then furious, then chipper again. And as the rain begins to fall, Ryuuji asks a seemingly simple question: “do you think you could… be yourself?”

It’s a straightforward request from Ryuuji’s perspective. Ami is clearly performing – couldn’t she just stop performing? But Ryuuji has no expectations placed on him. He has the freedom to be who he truly is, even if people misjudge him for it, because he has nothing to lose. For Ami, her social standing and even career depend on presenting this “chipper, carefree idol” persona, on being “Everyone’s Ami,” rather than the individual Ami Kawashima. Ami isn’t afraid of being misjudged for who she truly is – she’s afraid of being correctly judged, and therefore deemed unworthy of the celebrity pedestal she has fought for. The rain can fall freely; Ami is only granted the privilege of fake tears.

And then, of course, the stalker returns. In a life where all her “greatest weaknesses” are actually focus-tested charm points, this stalker is something she truly cannot handle on her own. Ryuuji cannot understand what it means to feel powerless in this way; to live your life in fear, and accept that those are just the conditions of your existence. Fortunately, neither Ryuuji nor Taiga need to genuinely understand Ami in order to help her – they just need to lead by example. And so, as Taiga erupts into fury at the stalker fawning over her, Ami realizes she cannot let this puny, oblivious, slovenly hamster of a classmate outdo her. “No more cutesy crap,” she announces, relishing the thought with a twisted smile. “I’ll live with this nasty personality of mine!”

In the end, Ami chases down her stalker herself, and smashes his camera to bits in a gleeful rush. “You’re not the Ami-chan I know!” her stalker cries, and it’s true – this is not the sanitized, thoughtless, utterly audience-gratifying persona she’s been forced to adopt. This is Ami Kawashima, clever and petty and vengeful and strong, a legend who should never be forced to cower before the pungent waste byproducts of celebrity culture. “I’m still adorable,” she declares, admiring her own perfect nails, “so who cares what my personality is like?”

Ami’s mask is not something she can discard completely, or that she would even want to. Anyone with even a little social acumen understands the importance of modulating your behavior, and of working to facilitate harmony and open discussion between disparate groups of people. But having seen the bond between Ryuuji and Taiga, Ami has learned that genuine, honest friendships aren’t just a fantasy – and that seeking people you can be your least crowd-pleasing self with is a journey well worth pursuing. After all, doesn’t it get a little tiring being nice all the time?

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