Otakon is always an interesting experience, to say the least. I’ve been attending them on and off for over ten years; back then it was a couple hundred people in the basement of the old Hunt Valley Marriot. These days, it’s got over 20,000 people spread out across the whole of the Baltimore Convention Center. So, yeah, the con has changed a lot over the years, and so have I.
As I stood in line on Thursday night, waiting to pick up my pass, my eyes wandered over the crowd. Costumes of all shapes and sizes, of course, worn by people of all shapes and sizes as well. The thing that sticks out most to me as every year passes, though, is how young they all are. That’s not to say they were all little kids or anything, but more that they all stood at the brink of growing up, at that awkward line between childhood and all the days past it. Like the group of girls standing behind me, all chatting rapidly about things I couldn’t understand, giggling with every other word. They all wore costumes from some show I didn’t know; short skirts, long, shiny boots, and fake wings pinned to their backs, strange sculptures of paper mache’ and feather. They were trying to look sexy; they were trying to look grown-up - trying to bring to life some vision that was only supposed to exist in ink and pencil in tiny frames trapped in time. I guess a me from those early Otakon days might have found them cute, but now me could only see how awkward they looked. They knew they didn’t belong in the clothes they wore - they hardly seemed comfortable in their own bodies. Postures askew from boots they were unfamiliar with, ready to show off their wings for a photo, but with a sense of embarrassment when they realized that people were really looking at them.
You could see that story over and over again in the crowd. The boy whose voice warbled every time he spoke, still trying to decide which age it wanted to be. The shy, quiet girl in the tiger bikini who comes out of her shell this one day each year, and who will be back to sitting in the corner unnoticed come Monday. So many reminders to me of what those days were like, and reminders of how different my days are now. Maybe I am too old for this, or maybe the world just wants me to feel like I’m too old for it.
I sighed, watching the line move slowly forward, with nothing else to look at but the people around me. I heard a gasp from behind me, followed by a muffled cry. I turned and saw that one of the girls had doubled over, clasping her knees to her chest and rocking slightly on the ground. Her friends stood over her, looking down with concern. A moment later came a sound like silk sheets snapping the breeze, and with a yelp of pain, a set of feathery white wings sprouted from the girl’s back, knocking off her costume fakes and sending them to the ground. The girl stood, a little dazed, but after a moment she unfurled them fully and gave them a gentle flap. They were soft, white, and beautiful in the summer evening sun. She was very lucky. Her friends looked on in awe, and gave her hugs of congratulations.
She smiled radiantly, though I don’t think she quite knew how the world would be different for her from now on. Her friends smiled too, but I could see they were less eager to pose for pictures now, and they stole quite glances of shame back at their own pale copies.
I finally got my ticket forty-five minutes later. I hate standing in line.
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Tagged nerds, otakon, transformations, waiting
