If you grew up in India, you’ve heard this line at least once: “Cartoons dekhne ki umar khatam ho gayi hai.”
Somewhere between Class 8 and adulthood, you’re expected to trade bright colours for crime thrillers, whimsical stories for gritty realism, and animation for “real content.” The message is clear: if it’s animated, it’s childish.
And yet, some of the most emotionally complex, life-changing stories of our generation aren’t live-action at all. They’re animated.
From the tender queerness of The Owl House to the radical empathy of She-Ra to the eerie, soft heartbreak of The Summer Hikaru Died, these stories do something rare: they tell the truth about being human.
But they’re also carrying a stigma, one we’ve inherited, one we don’t question.
The stigma you can feel in the room
In India, animation is often viewed as a childhood phase that one outgrows once they become mature enough for “serious” TV.
The irony is delightful: the same society that reveres mythological animation will judge you for watching anime or Western animated shows.
And the judgment is real. If I told you I watched Doraemon at 19, you’d probably look at me like I just confessed to drinking chocolate milk from a sippy cup. But if I binge-watched a chaotic dating reality show, not one eyebrow would move. The stigma isn’t rational; it’s cultural and deep-rooted.
Animation is detailed, deliberate, adult-created Art
This is something people rarely think about: animated series are not made by children. They’re made by adults.
Every frame is drawn, coloured, revised, shaded, scripted, acted, and animated by teams of grown adults who pour their experiences, politics, fears, and feelings into the work.
Nothing in animation “just happens.” Someone chose that colour palette. Someone placed that symbolic object in the background. Someone crafted that line of dialogue after thinking about it for days.
Animation takes years to create. A single 20-minute episode often requires more labour than an entire season of a low-budget live-action show. And because everything is intentional, every movement, every frame, animated worlds are full of nuance and subtext that most of us only understand once we grow up.
That’s why rewatching childhood favourites as an adult often feels like unlocking secret levels. You suddenly get the metaphors about identity. You read into the trauma arcs. You understand why a character’s silence in one scene spoke louder than their speech in another. But maybe you weren’t meant to revisit them as a nostalgia factor; maybe they weren’t meant to be shows you watched as a child. These weren’t childish stories. We were just too young to recognise the depth.
Does animation do better than live-action?
The emotional honesty of animation is unmatched. Luz in The Owl House doesn’t feel “fake”; she feels safe to relate to. Adora in She-Ra isn’t just a hero; she’s a metaphor for growing up under pressure. The impurities in The Summer Hikaru Died look supernatural, but the grief they symbolise is painfully real.
And if you want a perfect mainstream example of “kids’ animation” filled with adult-level subtext, Frozen and Frozen 2 say hello. Most people remember Let It Go, but fewer notice that Elsa’s entire arc is a metaphor for identity, self-acceptance, and the fear of being “too much” for the world around you. It’s colourful and musical, sure, but it’s also one of Disney’s most emotionally intelligent stories, proof that animation has never really been “just for kids.”
Animation makes heavy topics digestible. It lets creators blend colour with pain, humour with trauma, magic with loneliness. Ironically, animation looks whimsical but feels more human than most “serious” shows.
A culture that equates colour with immaturity
Growing up in India often means growing up fast. Adulthood is treated like a checklist: college, internships, job, marriage. Anything that looks “childlike,” even aesthetically, is frowned upon.
But our generation is exhausted. We’re overstimulated yet emotionally underfed. We’re navigating identity crises, friendships that feel like lifelines, anxiety about the future, and the pressure to have everything figured out right now.
Animation meets us exactly where we are. It doesn’t ask us to perform adulthood. It lets us feel without judgment.
“Cartoon shame” and the performance of maturity
Let’s call it what it is: “cartoon shame.” The instinct to hide your screen when someone walks in. The urge to downplay how much an anime meant to you. The embarrassment at admitting you cried over a show with bright colours. But adulthood is not defined by abandoning joy. It’s defined by understanding it.
People don’t actually hate animation; they hate being seen liking it, because it threatens the performance of being a “serious adult”.
How animation supports young adults
1. It gives emotional vocabulary.
It’s easier to process grief when it’s symbolised by a magical creature. It’s easier to face your identity when a character mirrors it.
2. It offers representation without sensationalism.
Western animation is leading the way with queer, neurodivergent, and mentally complex characters written with care.
3. It restores imagination.
Adulthood tries to crush wonder, but animation revives it.
4. It provides rest.
Not everything has to be intense, gritty, or hyper-real; sometimes softness is a necessity.
Everyone has that animated story that changed them
A show you stumbled upon accidentally, but it stayed, a character who understood you before you understood yourself, a scene that found you on a bad day and sat beside you.
Maybe it was Haikyuu!! teaching you the joy of trying, maybe it was March Comes in Like a Lion holding your hand through loneliness, maybe it was Mob Psycho 100 telling you to be kind to yourself, maybe it was a Studio Ghibli film that reminded you to breathe, maybe it was The Summer Hikaru Died, which felt like a soft, painful ache you couldn’t put into words.
We all have that one story.
Now, if you thought animation was childish, and you’re rethinking it now, then here’s a gentle place to start. These aren’t descriptions, just little invitations.
If you’re looking for Western Animation:
- The Owl House
-
A strange, magical world where being “different” isn’t a flaw but a superpower. Great for anyone figuring themselves out.
- Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts
-
Colourful, musical, funny, and shockingly deep in its handling of fear and community.
- Avatar: The Last Airbender
-
A story about war, compassion, and destiny that remains unmatched even after all these years.
- She-Ra and the Princesses of Power
-
A masterpiece of love, trauma, friendship, queerness, and healing disguised as a sparkly princess show.
If you’re looking for Anime:
- Mob Psycho 100
-
A deeply emotional journey about self-worth, masked as a silly psychic show.
- Haikyuu!!
-
The most uplifting portrayal of teamwork, failure, and effort you’ll ever see. No exaggeration.
- March Comes in Like a Lion
-
A slow, gentle exploration of depression and healing, wrapped in soft visuals.
- Death Parade
-
An existential, beautifully written series about what it means to live a meaningful life.
And if you’re looking for manga/webcomics
- The Summer Hikaru Died
-
Love, grief, identity, and the supernatural are woven into a hauntingly poetic narrative. It’s been made into an anime now streaming on Netflix.
- Heartstopper
-
Gentle queer joy and teenage soft feelings done right. This has also been made into a show streaming on Netflix, and season 3 is on its way!
If I had to sum this up in one sentence, I’d say animation isn’t childish, it’s just one of the few art forms honest enough to tell the truth about growing up.