There’s a photo taken of me at a mall in Austin after a successful panel at UshiCon earlier this year. I’m smiling after conquering a mushroom in the children’s play area. If I had known that’d be the last in person appearance I’d have for the entire year; I would have savored the time more.
I draw a shocking amount of power being in cosplay. Maybe it’s because I’m so detached from my human skin, perpetually unhappy with my hyperpigmentation, fat and various miscellaneous imperfections. I love dressing up. I love being someone, anyone, else than me. I knew that losing conventions would be hard. I knew that once the number of cases increased around the world that I’d lose that safe place and niche I’ve carved out for myself over the past decade of my life. I thought that I’d miss the food, the merchandise, the crowds, the mirth and merriment with friends in a city that owns my heart.
What I didn’t think is that I’d miss cosplay so much.
For some context, as a cosplayer, I love making costumes. I hate being in costume. It’s hot, uncomfortable; wigs give me headaches, the makeup makes me sweat and my shapewear puts little divots into my rolls when I peel out of it after the end of a long day in an impossible body shape and in painfully tight shoes or boots. My tights stick to my body, my foundation and mascara run from sweat and the pins that keep my wig stapled to my scalp all fall like scattered pennies when I get back to my hotel room. Ask my co-panelist about how quick I am to get out of costume once we’re at dinner or once we’ve reached the sanctuary of our hotel room.
I love painting, sewing, crafting and working on costumes but being in costume is likely to be the death of me. There are some fantastic photos of me throwing my wig into the backseat of my co-panelist’s car in a mad dash to look for the first time in hours more like myself. Not the blonde simulacrum I built for myself out of fabric, makeup and wigs.
That’s likely evident by the shockingly small amount of time I spend in costume at convention. I work for weeks, months at times, on outfits only to spend maybe four to six hours in costume. At first in my paneling career, I didn’t even stay in costume, thinking it would distract from my message. Now I keep my costumes on in an attempt to keep the look together and of course because it is more aesthetically pleasing than a skinny jean-clad tired person rambling on about feminism. Let’s face it, being in costume just makes for a better thumbnail.
I didn’t think I’d miss cosplay so much, honestly. With the few virtual conventions I’ve been part of this year I’ve had opportunities to be back in costume but it just doesn’t feel the same. It results in a lot of moments that can get me halfway there to that feeling of walking into my bedroom in the hotel room (I usually get my own room now, because I am indeed a prima donna) as me and returning as someone entirely different once I am met by my friends’ gaze once more. I miss the semi-aroused and confused stares of hotel staff and patrons. I miss marching to the car like I’m not dressed like some kind of blonde bondage nightmare. I miss the attention being in costume gives me. The feeling of power of hearing boots click, adjusting wigs in impossible shiny surfaces and getting compliments from con-goers and other cosplayers.
I just don’t get that sitting at home in a wig; if anything, it’s a little sad. Though there is some humor in being dressed as Draco Malfoy and still sewing masks while I waited for my call time to be “on stage” virtually. I’ve threatened many times to just go to Target in costume (wearing a mask, of course) and just relive some of the high that comes with cosplay.
What was most shocking was the gender-affirming part of cosplay. I am genderfluid which means that my pronouns are both he and she though I am biologically female and present as female a majority of the time. Even when I cosplay male characters, I know I hardly pass for male but just the power of binding even a little was a feeling I didn’t think I’d miss. I’ve always been lucky to rarely struggle with dysphoria, hence how I came to the conclusion I was genderfluid and not trans masc but since I spend so much time in costume usually as a male and still feeling male energy; I just have come to miss that. I don’t have a “reason” to bind or present as male in my day to day life because I am frankly not in the mood to go through the pronoun talk with everyone personally and professionally. Cosplay then for me is like a drag; a beautiful gender-affirming moment that I can take on and off and one that I am increasingly starting to long for as the pandemic’s path of destruction marches on.
I miss being exhausted and still eating in costume much to the shock and amazement of waitstaff. I miss midnight grocery runs in costume looking for hotel room provisions. I miss asking for more towels in the hotel lobby while idly playing with my wig. I miss photos with panel attendees and knowing that I have all eyes on me.
I miss the power, the pleasure, the pain.
