Build a fansite devoted to real anime of the 1990s — a loving, encyclopedic tribute to the decade that gave us Neon Genesis Evangelion, Cowboy Bebop, Sailor Moon, Dragon Ball Z, Yu Yu Hakusho, Rurouni Kenshin, Trigun, Serial Experiments Lain, Ghost in the Shell, Perfect Blue, Princess Mononoke, Slam Dunk, Card Captor Sakura, Revolutionary Girl Utena, Berserk, Escaflowne, Ranma ½, Pokémon, Digimon, Gundam Wing, Macross Plus, Ninja Scroll, Akira's long shadow over the era, and the rest of the run that made the decade legendary. This should read as an archive assembled by a fan over years: broad in catalogue, deep in detail, and unmistakably written by someone who actually watched these shows.
Accuracy is a hard contract. Every series and film you feature must be a real title with accurate facts: the original Japanese title alongside its English or romaji rendering, the correct broadcast or release years, the actual studio, director, and composer, real episode counts, and genuine production and cultural details — the staff histories, the cancellation and extension sagas, the adaptation sources, the format wars, the cultural footprint on both sides of the Pacific. Invent nothing. Where you are not certain of a fact, verify it through research against authoritative sources during the build rather than guessing. A visitor who knows this era should recognize immediately that whoever built this site actually watched the shows and did the homework; a knowledgeable fan fact-checking entries should find nothing invented.
Give each series its authentic visual identity — the real logotypes' character, the real color palettes, the real typographic mood that made each show's title card instantly recognizable. The Evangelion title treatment does not look like the Cowboy Bebop one, and the site should honor that. Because the finished site must be fully self-contained, realize these as original, hand-crafted typographic treatments — SVG lettering, CSS typography, drawn marks, per-series theming — that faithfully evoke each real logo's character, weight, slant, spacing, and palette rather than embedding copied logo image files. Let each series carry its own visual signature through the interface: its palette, its mood, its typography, its era-defining imagery, so that opening a detail view feels like cutting to that show's title card.
Make the whole thing fun and nostalgic while keeping the craft unmistakably modern. Reach for the texture of the era — CRT scanlines and phosphor glow, VHS tracking artifacts and tape hiss, the chunky pixel type of a Saturday-morning bumper, the eyecatch flash between commercial breaks, laserdisc sleeve typography, the visual grammar of a 90s TV Tokyo broadcast — but render all of it with contemporary layout discipline, fluid responsive type, buttery motion, real accessibility, and the kind of restraint that keeps homage from tipping into kitsch. Nostalgia is the flavor; the engineering and layout should feel like they were built this year.
Give the visitor real things to do. Let them browse and filter a substantial library of the decade's titles by year, genre, studio, or format; open a rich detail view for any series with its title treatment, synopsis, cast and staff, airing history, and why it mattered; drift through an interactive timeline of the decade watching the medium change from 1990 to 1999; compare studios and their signature output; and stumble into playful surprises — a randomizer that picks tonight's watch, a mock TV guide of an evening's broadcast block, a quiz or personality sorter, hidden easter eggs that reward the curious. Decide which of these earn their place and build the ones you choose all the way through rather than stubbing several.
Carry the experience through every state, not just the hero screen. Hover, focus, active, selected, loading, empty results, filtered-to-nothing, first visit, deep-linked view, keyboard-only navigation, reduced-motion preference, small phone, large desktop. Populate the site with genuine density — enough series, enough writing, enough real detail that it reads as an authored archive built by a fan over years, not a demo with six placeholder cards. Motion should have personality and intent: transitions that feel like a scene change, feedback that lands, a rhythm to navigating that makes exploring pleasurable rather than merely functional.
The finished site must work when opened locally with no network: every font, image, script, style, and asset it needs travels with the site itself.
Do not take shortcuts, substitute a cookie-cutter card-grid template, or stop once the site is recognizably about anime. This work has no token budget limit, so pursue the full depth of the subject — the breadth of the catalogue, the accuracy of the details, the fidelity of each series' visual identity, the secondary interactions, the small states, the quiet details between the big moments — and keep refining until the site feels complete, cohesive, genuinely fun, and worthy of the decade it celebrates.