When most Western audiences think of classic anime from the legendary duo Fujiko F. Fujio, their minds immediately go to the time-traveling cat robot Doraemon or the haunted mansion of Kaibutsu-kun. However, nestled in the pantheon of Shōnen manga and anime history is a gem that often gets overlooked in discussions of character depth: Perman (パーマン).
At first glance, Perman is a straightforward superhero comedy. A lazy, ordinary boy named Mitsuo Suwa is recruited by a bird-like alien from the Planet Perman to become a crime-fighting hero, complete with a cape, helmet, and a set of flying "copy robots." The formula is episodic: villain of the week, comedic mishaps, and a strict rule about identity concealment.
But beneath the slapstick and the "transformation sequence" lies one of the most poignant, complex, and surprisingly heartbreaking webs of cartoon relationships ever written for a young audience. The romantic storylines in Perman—specifically the tragic love triangle between Mitsuo, his alter-ego, and his idol—elevate the show from simple children’s entertainment to a meditation on unrequited love and the duality of identity.
(Note: Spoilers for the manga ending of Perman, which has been adapted in various forms.)
The final resolution of Perman’s romantic storylines is legendary in Japanese pop culture for its sheer emotional devastation. After years of adventures, Mitsuo is offered a chance to become a true, permanent superhero by traveling to Planet Perman. He would have to leave Earth forever. Perman Cartoon Sex
In the climactic scene, Mitsuo, desperate for closure, reveals his identity to Sumire. He takes off his helmet. He tells her: "I am Perman. The boy you hated and the hero you loved are the same."
Sumire’s reaction is not one of joy or immediate acceptance. She stares at him, the cognitive dissonance shattering her worldview. She realizes that the boy she ridiculed was the only one who ever truly protected her. The narrative suggests she forgives him, and she finally sees Mitsuo—not Perman—as the object of her affection.
But then, the alien Birdman arrives. He explains that if Mitsuo leaves for Planet Perman, all memories of him as Perman must be erased from Earth. Sumire will forget he ever existed. She will remember only Mitsuo Suwa, the annoying classmate who disappeared one day.
Mitsuo leaves. Sumire’s memory is wiped. The series ends with a middle-aged Sumire, now a retired actress, living a happy but incomplete life. She glances at a photograph of her childhood class. She points at Mitsuo’s face and says to a friend, "I don’t remember this boy at all... but looking at him makes my heart ache." Beyond the Cape and Helmet: The Surprising Depth
This finale re-contextualizes every single romantic storyline. The love was real, but the memory was a casualty of duty. Perman argued that some cartoon relationships are more powerful when they are tragic than when they end happily.
If Mitsuo and Sawako are the tragedy, then Sumire Hoshino (Perman #3) and Perko (Perman #4, a.k.a. the real name is less important than her role) are the tragedy in waiting.
Sumire is a gorgeous, famous child actress. She is initially shallow and obsessed with her image. Perko is a cheerful, athletic, tomboyish girl who wears a gorilla mask as a disguise. Here’s the secret: Perko is secretly Sumire’s biggest fan.
In a twist that feels decades ahead of its time, Perko has a deep admiration and romantic crush on Sumire. She blushes around her, prioritizes her safety above all else, and shows a level of devotion that goes far beyond typical friendship. Sumire, for her part, appreciates Perko’s strength and honesty, often calling her "the only Perman she truly trusts." Sailor Moon: The hidden identity romance between Tuxedo
The show never explicitly labels Perko’s feelings (it was the 1960s-80s), but the subtext is deafening. It’s a queer-coded childhood crush handled with surprising gentleness, adding a layer of repressed longing that modern re-watches highlight beautifully. Meanwhile, Sumire herself harbors a secret crush on Mitsuo (the civilian), creating a four-way circuit of pain.
The influence of Perman’s relationship dynamics cannot be overstated. You see its DNA in:
Fujiko F. Fujio took a "silly" premise—a boy who turns into a flying superhero—and used it to dissect how we love different versions of the same person. The Perman cartoon relationships are not about grand gestures or kisses in the rain. They are about the silent tragedy of being loved for a mask, and the loneliness of being hated for your true face.
One of the most unique mechanics in Perman that fuels its romantic drama is the copy robot. Each Perman receives a small, sleeping robot that, when placed on someone’s head, creates a perfect, autonomous duplicate of that person. Mitsuo often uses his copy robot to have a "Mitsuo" attend school while he fights crime as Perman.
However, this leads to an unsettling romantic subplot. In several episodes, Sumire shows mild kindness to the copy robot of Mitsuo—specifically because the copy robot is bland, obedient, and doesn't annoy her. This raises a grim question: Is Sumire capable of loving a hollow imitation of Mitsuo, but not the real, flawed boy?
Furthermore, the story occasionally plays with the idea of the permanent copy. In several story arcs (notably in the manga), the copy robots gain sentience and develop their own desires. There is a deeply melancholic chapter where Mitsuo’s copy robot admits that it also loves Sumire, but knows it is a fake. The romantic storylines thus become a meditation on authenticity versus persona—a remarkably adult theme for a 1960s children’s manga.