BY THOM
We are four blocks away from the convention when we join the 20-man procession towards the Grand Hyatt. All down the sidewalk in front of us we see the undulating rhythmic bobbing of a mass of glossy rainbow wigs. They are paired with an equally colorful assortment of schoolgirl outfits, kimonos, and karate gis. The tourists hiking down towards Broadway to get day-drunk pass us by and stare wide-eyed. While we wait at a traffic crossing, a middle-aged woman turns to me and asks what event everyone is going to. It’s a convention, like an anime convention. She nods and smiles, trying to be polite given that she has no earthly idea what I had just said. Another woman, dressed in full Sailor Mercury regalia, then decided that that moment was the perfect time to announce to everyone around that she was looking forward to the K-Pop discussion panel. No one saw it necessary to reply. We crossed the street.
We step off of the escalator and onto the second floor of the Hyatt only to find that there is no room to stand in the sea of people. The pathway towards the main convention room is hedged on each side by these giant circles of seated teenagers animatedly talking to one another. I notice for the first time just how many people are actually wearing cosplay; in my plainclothes, I am outnumbered nine to one.
The actual cosplay ranges in both complexity and diversity. Many outfits seem like dollar store knock-offs or like something you would find in a costume store, but others are genuinely impressive. After seeing a few hundred cosplays in the span of a couple of minutes, one begins to pick out which costumes are either handmade or have been custom ordered. Doppelgangers are common. There is—no exaggeration—about 30 people dressed up as Mitsuri Kanroji from Demon Slayer. The most impressive thing I see by far is the Chainsaw Man costume complete with a cardboard demon mask and a giant facsimile chainsaw jutting out from its forehead.
The main room has been turned into a complex bazaar. Vendor booths are separated by a large main street which trailed off into snaking back alleys. The merchandise of some booths towers above us at least half the length of the 30’ ceiling. The power of dedicated resale aggregation is on full display. There are Pokemon plushies. There are posters and wall scrolls of women with impossibly large breasts. The prime commodity is figurines. There are piles and piles of figurines. At every second booth, there are pantomime plastic smiles that peek out from the little windows of the neat arrangements of boxes. The figures in bikinis all cost at least $30 more.
Sales of physical media, like Blu-ray discs and figurines, are integral to the continued financial success of the highly lucrative anime and manga industries. As a rule, even mildly successful anime have a deluge of licensed collectibles products made with the flagship character. One doesn’t have to be cynical to observe that many studios are competing in a character design arms race to produce an anime girl charming enough to carry them through the seasonal anime production cycle on a wave of tie-in brand deals. Otaku culture encourages uninhibited mass consumption whose needs are met by a comprehensive and equally engaged resale market.
The hall is full of shoppers constantly moving between different specialty booths. We enter a booth full of Japanese consoles and video games. The owner tells us that, “we have everything here except Madden.” He recites this joke to five or six other people who come in after us. But he isn’t kidding about the variety of games. Every PS2 game imaginable is present in both English and Japanese. I find Metal Gear Solid 2, myriad dating sims, and Dance Dance Revolution Supernova (complete with dance pad). I find a copy of Ico, a game that I have always wanted to play, and purchase it.
Before I know it I am in a buying reverie. I am holding up the second volume of an erotic manga called “To-Love Ru” and examining the artwork. I am rolling my eyes at the snapback hats which say things like “shota” and “loli” on them in big shiny block letters. I feel warm inside when I purchase the full DVD box set for the experimental anime series the Flowers of Evil. There is no distance between anything here, all of the body pillows and samurai swords and action figures and key fobs meld together into one stream of information and color and light. I am having serious child-like fun milling around with all of these weirdos.
I feel some connection between the ecstasy of buying and the power of the individuals in cosplay. Outside, the crowd had looked out of place surrounded by the dim monoliths of steel and glass of downtown Nashville, like a gangly circus troupe trudging in single file. Inside, hedged in by all of this polystyrene, they look more textured and human than anything in real life. Perhaps it is that we are set on the same task of sorting through these piles and piles of things. I catch the same wonder and amusement in their faces that I am feeling.
The derisive cultural conception of anime fans is that of escapist hoarders, totally immersed in their own wish fulfillment fantasies. Anime plots often center on the dysfunctional individual, usually a teenaged make, who is inadvertently pulled into the social fabric of their surroundings. Friendships are simple and reliable, girls are impossibly peppy and just waiting to fall in love, and there is a steady stream of action that the rhythm of normal life could never actually provide. Fans of these stories have the tendency to paper over their own social dysfunction with the aesthetics and sensibilities of a branch of foreign media that is already nigh-impenetrable to many people.
But the longer I am here the less accurate the stereotype seems. The cosplay and shopping and discussion panels are all opportunities to experience an organic social event. They grease the wheels of interpersonal interactions that would otherwise be either incredibly awkward or nonexistent. We see a man nervously hit on a cosplayer walking by, “Wow, t-that’s so dope. You’re the best Starfire I’ve ever seen!” She turns to him, smiles, and then proceeds to press a button in her purse which activates the orange LED lights she has strung through her wig.
In our final booth of the convention, I am examining a sort of chintzy-looking figurine of Misato from Evangelion. There is a girl beside me dressed in Samus’ Zero Suit who is approached by two women, who I quickly guess are complete strangers. One excitedly introduces herself and tells Samus, “we just wanted to say that you are killing it, you look so good!” Samus is shifting awkwardly, I can tell that she wasn’t exactly expecting this conversation.“Thank you,” she says, “I was worried that this might have made me look too big…” I am struck by the realization of just how much confidence it takes to wear a skin-tight anime bodysuit out in public. “Are you serious? You look so hot right now!” I glance over and see that Samus’ face is completely lit up. The three continue their conversation as we exit the vendor room and descend down the escalator.
We begin the long trek back up Broadway and I cannot get this last conversation out of my mind. If I had been anywhere else many of these events would have been pure anathema to me. These are the sort of things that happened in my 13-year-old self’s worst nightmares. It isn’t as if these events aren’t still awkward, but there is something overpoweringly genuine and charming in every conversation that I had or eavesdropped on at the convention.
It is relatively easy to exist on the outside edge of authenticity, to assume a pose of ironic detachment from the things that you really care about. It is much more difficult and terrifying to put yourself out there in an honest way. The social landscape is primed to cannibalize even the most negligible sincerity, especially about hobbies and interests which are already misunderstood. I realize that I never struck up a conversation with anyone at the convention of my own accord.
I notice a man in front of me is stumbling and wobbling down the sidewalk in these giant oversized wood sandals, with a big samurai sword on his hip. He is dressed as Mugen from Samurai Champloo, probably the coolest anime character of all time.
“Excuse me, do you think I could get a picture?”