Anime Con-Fessions: Nerdier Than Thou

Thursday, November 3, 2011

Anime Con-Fessions: Nerdier Than Thou

I entered my first anime convention as an “outsider.” That outsider never re-emerged from the crowd.

When I go on a road trip and/or attend an event, I often recap the day’s occurrences in a humorous vein.

Whether I truly loved the main subject matter or utterly despised it, I nevertheless have raked my collegiate alma mater, bad dates, the city of Philadelphia, and even several movies across the coals in various essays and blog posts. I had plans to do the exact same thing to my first anime convention.

My task to churn out a humorous essay about the convention was almost too easy, since, at such conventions, the jokes tend to write themselves. Over- and underweight people possessing more social disorders than IRL friends spend the better part of their year (and income) on the creation of elaborate costumes.

These costumes reflect characters from their favorite anime, manga, and video game series, characters who, to the best of my knowledge, never returned the favor by dressing up as life’s misfits. Cat ears are more plentiful here than they are in take-out Chinese restaurants’ garbage. It is not uncommon to see a plush representation of an obscure anime character selling for twice the price of a convention pass. It is not uncommon to see people forking over the money.

As my friend and I wandered the floor, my digital camera was clicking away. My Twitter feed was updated with posts like “35-year-old man dressed as ‘Naruto’ character just walked into the restroom.” My brain was making mental notes for future written condescension as I scanned the crowds in general and individuals in particular for ideas. “Is that guy honestly wearing a hand-painted refrigerator box?,” I would wonder aloud as Domo-Kun waddled past.

Armed with all of this knowledge upon my return home, I sat down at my computer. I looked at the pictures I had taken. I reviewed my tweets, many of which were hashtagged with “WTF.” I reflected on what I had seen over the past handful of hours.

I abandoned the idea altogether.

Why?

I suddenly realized that, as a fellow “geek,” I related to the attendees.

No, I don’t relate DIRECTLY to them; I find it fairly difficult—and probably illegal—to relate directly with a 15-year-old girl dressed in a Princess Mononoke costume. Rather, I connected with them on a much more general, yet deeper, level.

There is no doubt that most, if not all, of these folks currently or formerly found themselves labeled “nerds,” “dorks,” or “geeks.” I can only imagine how so-called “normal” people in their lives reacted to the idea of their anime-loving counterparts choosing to spend a $25-per-day convention fee to walk around in public dressed like Sailor Moon.

I pictured the younger attendees’ fellow schoolmates making their daily life hell through insults and condescension, their parents begging them to partake in “normal” interests, etc. Heck, the confused/frightened looks on the faces of guests at the hotel hosting the convention said it all. It is a certainty that most of the people associated with any anime convention in any way, be they staff, exhibitors, or attendees, have had their collective interest—and themselves personally—be referred to as everything from “weird” to “stupid” to “nerdy.”

For 362 days per year, these souls are more or less forced to pursue their interests in private or in the company of very tight-knit, poorly populated circles of friends.

But on those other three days of the year, they are free. Free from insults. Free from condescension. Free to be themselves.

If these folks wear an “Inuyasha” getup any other day of the year or in any other setting, they would be laughed at/beat up/institutionalized. On convention days, though, this same getup is met only with statements such as “I love your costume!” and “Can I get a picture with you? Inuyasha is my FAVORITE!”

For three days a year, their interest is the norm and they are the popular ones. Any old Joe out there can sport a team-of-the-week shirt and be met with hi-fives and cheers by common establishments full of people. Were such a person to enter an anime convention, however…

Well, he or she would be welcomed. Convention attendees and staff are, in my experience, some of the nicest people on Earth. Someone toeing the threshold of his thirties donning a homemade Voltron costume is initially off-putting. Anime con n00bs and outsiders have no idea what such a person might do to them. Is he some sort of pervert? Is he clinically insane?

Oh, wait. He’s actually acting pretty cool. He’s suggesting anime series I may be into based on the “Legend of Zelda” t-shirt I rescued from the depths of my closet to wear today, for it seemed appropriate. We share tales of our various “Zelda” quests and I learn a new way to beat The Shadow in the final showdown of “The Adventure of Link.” This is a conversation I could never have with my dad. Or my co-workers. Or even some of my friends.

I comment on his costume’s detail work. His plastic robot face lights up with gratitude. Either that, or the beginnings of a face-paint-related rash are beginning.

We both pause to check out the barely legal girl pass by in a Lolita costume.

We exchange Facebook URLS, Twitter feeds, Tumblr sites.

Try doing something similar to this at a sports bar, where established “rules” reign supreme.

Not sure who is in the home team’s starting lineup? You’ll have several bottles of beer and several bladders of urine poured on your head. You must memorize and like not only what is locally popular, but also what is currently popular. No hockey fans during the World Series. No New York jerseys in San Francisco. To these people, babies come out of the womb knowing that baseball features “innings” while football features “quarters.”

I attended subsequent anime conventions as a completely different person. The festive atmosphere intoxicated me. One year, I wore a Luigi cap all day and suffered little more than jovial “Hey, Luigi!” calls and photo requests.

If I wore such an item aboard a subway train, people would stare at me. I would find myself subject to ridicule at the hands of people who down $6 alcoholic drinks and yell at a television screen, as if doing so will somehow affect the outcome of the game being broadcast on it.

You know, “normal” people.

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Mike Fenn currently works in television and lives in Philadelphia, although not by choice. His musings on conventions, food, and other topics that have the misfortune of infiltrating his mind can be found at mundanemike.com. Photo by Mike Fenn.