Does Makima empower or objectify women in Chainsaw Man?

Makima is not just another female character in anime—she’s a force. Her presence in Chainsaw Man commands attention, fear, desire, and endless analysis. She’s both a terrifying authority figure and a seductive mystery, carefully crafted by Tatsuki Fujimoto to occupy a liminal space: part dominatrix, part divine punisher.

But therein lies the controversy.

Is Makima a revolutionary portrayal of female dominance in a medium where women are too often sidekicks, love interests, or comic relief? Or is she simply a hyper-stylized object of fetishization—yet another “powerful” woman whose strength is designed to titillate rather than inspire?

This question touches on some of anime’s deepest gender dynamics. It’s not just about Makima herself—it’s about how Chainsaw Man plays with control, submission, desire, and violence.

And more importantly, it’s about how audiences interpret those layers.

The Empowerment Argument: Authority, Intelligence, and Independence

On the surface, Makima is exactly the kind of character we need more of in anime:

• She’s in control from the moment she appears.

• She’s intelligent and manipulative, commanding not through brute force but psychological mastery.

• She ranks high in the Public Safety hierarchy, showing no deference to male counterparts.

• She doesn’t rely on sexuality overtly—her dominance is quiet, terrifying, and charismatic.

To some fans and critics, Makima is a clear subversion of typical anime tropes. Rather than being defined by her relationship to a male protagonist, she defines Denji’s entire existence. She flips the power dynamic seen in most shounen anime: instead of the male hero saving or protecting the girl, Denji is utterly helpless before her.

Even the visual and narrative language surrounding Makima reinforces this dominance. She is calm, composed, unbothered, while those around her (especially men) scramble for her approval or simply try to survive her gaze.

In this view, Makima represents female power unshackled—a woman who uses her mind, her presence, and her fearsome abilities to shape the world around her without ever bowing to it.

The Objectification Argument: Fetish, Control, and the Male Gaze

But then there’s the other side.

Makima may seem powerful—but many argue that her power exists primarily to fulfill a specific male fantasy. She’s the classic “femme fatale” dressed in the aesthetics of dominance, constructed more for male desire than actual empowerment.

Some critics point out:

• Makima’s demeanor is hyper-sexualized in a subtle way—the calm voice, the unreadable smile, the control over Denji’s mind and body.

• Her character plays into BDSM and domination tropes that are popular in male-targeted media.

• She is framed often through Denji’s gaze, not her own narrative arc. Her mystery is titillating rather than liberating.

• Ultimately, her fate is decided by Denji, reinforcing the idea that she was never truly autonomous in the narrative.

In this sense, Makima is not empowered—she is fetishized. Her intelligence and power are eroticized, made appealing because they’re dangerous, not because they challenge systemic gender roles.

And while she controls others, it’s arguable that she’s a product of patriarchal writing—crafted to satisfy complex fantasies about fear and submission rather than to stand as an empowered female lead.

Denji and Makima: Consent and Control

Perhaps the most troubling dynamic is the one between Makima and Denji.

Denji is a deeply traumatized, neglected teenager who wants little more than food, warmth, and love. Makima exploits that. She feeds him, praises him, pets him like a dog—and manipulates him emotionally and physically into total submission.

Some viewers see this as a horrific commentary on grooming and power abuse, especially since Denji lacks the emotional maturity to understand what’s happening.

And yet, the anime never outright condemns Makima for it. Instead, these scenes are often stylized, slow-motion, seductive.

This raises a difficult question: is the story critically portraying Makima’s manipulation—or is it glamorizing it?

This ambiguity is where the line between empowerment and objectification gets dangerously blurry.

Makima’s End: Punishment or Liberation?

When Makima is finally defeated, she dies not in a glorious battle, but at Denji’s hands—quietly, in her own home, through deceit and dismemberment.

Some fans interpret this as a critique of her abusive power—a justice arc where the manipulator gets what she deserves. Others see it as a symbolic stripping away of feminine power, where a woman is killed for asserting control too effectively.

Her end is messy, uncomfortable, and deeply personal. But does it reinforce the idea that powerful women must be destroyed? Or is it simply the tragic conclusion of an antagonist who went too far?

Much depends on how you read her role: was she a monster using power to control others, or a woman punished for daring to wield that power in a system that wasn’t built for her?

The Duality of Makima: Why She Resonates

Makima might be both empowered and objectified—and that’s part of her appeal.

Tatsuki Fujimoto is known for creating layered, self-aware characters who simultaneously serve and critique anime tropes. Makima exists in a gray zone where empowerment, eroticism, violence, and tragedy collide.

She commands respect but is also consumed by the system she helped uphold. She’s both a master manipulator and a victim of a world built on fear and domination.

This ambiguity is why she resonates with such a broad audience. Women may see in her the ability to control their own narrative—even if it’s flawed. Men may be drawn to her dominance without interrogating the underlying dynamics.

Makima is a Rorschach test for power, gender, and fear—and that’s what makes her controversial.

Conclusion: Complex, Not Clean-Cut

So, does Makima empower or objectify women?

The answer lies in the middle.

She is powerful, but her power is tangled in fetishism. She is dominant, but her dominance is catered to male fantasy. She is central to the plot, but her story is told through a male protagonist’s trauma and desire.

Makima is not a perfect feminist icon—but she’s also far more than a fantasy. She reflects the contradictions of modern anime’s treatment of women: where progress and exploitation often coexist in the same character.

Rather than fitting neatly into one label, Makima challenges us to confront what we want from female characters, what we fear in them, and how we interpret power—especially when it’s wrapped in a red coat and a calm smile.