Cosplay and Ownership: Giving Life to a Digital World
What it means to craft something tangible from a digital existence
Looking back at the last four years, I never would have expected to spend so much of my time and money to be caught in the hostile abyss of the Javits Center, desperately trying to get signal in a crowd of thousands, unable to sit, yet standing in shoes that had long-ago reached the end of their comfort. Attending New York City’s 2024 Comic Con was a last-minute, unplanned decision that I still for some reason considered my whole week around. Prior to college, I had only ever experienced anime as a medium, rather than a community. Even after graduating as a film and television major, I am still surprised by the way the media can assemble an army of enthusiastic fans that pack a 3.3 million square-foot convention center for an entire weekend.
I want to spend my life in the film and tv industry partially because of the community it builds, and to see the visual ingenuity that comes from people who are simply driven by a story. We are all privy to the unfortunate production shortcuts made for the sake of convenience, having department work such as production design, special effects, and even wardrobe shafted onto underpaid, overworked CGI artists. Animation is used to this treatment, having corners cut and quality stories diminished to satiate corporate greed. However, the animation fanbase proves its loyalty by, in a way, reversing the modern process of digitization by bringing the experience of digital fiction to the real world.
Cosplay is a thrilling exhibition of hair & makeup, costumes, sculpting, engineering, acting, craftsmanship, and camerawork. Stepping into my first ComicCon three years ago, I saw a crowd of flowing capes, elaborate gowns, and humongous weapons, and all I could think about was what I could make of myself in this new world. Now I spend time applying body tape and heavy makeup, donning outfits that need consistent adjusting in weather that is either too hot or too cold. I spend money to avoid bumping into people’s wings and tails, limping in heels that I’ve practiced walking in weeks ahead. I attempt to personify the most death-defying, fearless beings, while I could barely parallel park to get to the convention itself. And I look forward to it every year.
These expenses and levels of dedication bring different forms of fulfillment, such as creative expression, exploring different realms of identity, the thrill of escapism, and forming a closer connection to worlds of fiction. Art is representative of people taking the time to live, and find reason to. And the cosplay community is a collective response to artwork, by people who seek to create their own experiences. The real-world appreciation of animation not only demonstrates the impact of media, but is one of many cultural practices that show our human desire to immerse ourselves in something real, and for our experiences to belong to us.
The essential component of a story told from the heart is the heart that yearns to tell it. Anime has not only become a world-renowned demonstration on what animation can be, it has also set a standard of what it means and looks like to respect a story, especially in the practice of adaptation. The structure of industry is not without problems, and as much as Anime and Japanese animation is still very much an industry, its storytelling isn’t held hostage to a corporate agenda in the way that most American media feels. While anime characters make their cameos in car commercials and food packaging, the shows themselves honor the manga source, and only exist to elevate the experience of the story. Individual animation and distribution studios earn their reputations for the quality of their deliverance and marketing, but there is not a fear that a manga story picked will be compromised by hidden sponsorships, actor demands and contracts, and other corporate strategy that throws American media under constant speculation.
Narratives are now largely susceptible to revisions that go beyond the practice of product placement, in order to appease executives. Writers rooms are forced to change the plot to make room for sellable League Skins through new character designs, character designers are forced to conform their work to match a toy company’s surplus plushie stock, editors are told to readjust the screen time that a certain actress’s contract stipulates, and live-action adaptations with the budget of a nation are casting actors in a way that cannot be condemned for either racism or social progression. In American Hollywood, behind-the-scenes transactions overwhelmingly flood the industry. A manga’s cinematic deliverance might depend on the studio, but its story is not at risk of capitalist manipulation; within the anime industry, fame does not permit a show to be used as a vessel for invisible commerce. Proven by early Game of Thrones, season one of Arcane, and the animated Avatar: The Last Airbender, fans will always respond to artistry that feels genuine, that feels real.
So much of the American experience seems to be helplessly watching several facets of life shaved away for the sake of corporate affordability and consumer convenience. We find ourselves in an ever-growing software era mixed with the plight of subscription hell, with an insane amount of experiences reconstructed for the sake of digital compatibility. We have access to more content than we ever have in human history, but an even lesser sense of ownership. There is an irreplaceable feeling of experiencing something in the real world, to be able to physically touch something in our presence. Even if we don’t want to own the item, we want to own the experience. Appreciating convenience is tied to an idea of compromised integrity, but I believe that people are willing to dedicate their time and effort to experience something they see as real, and as their own. Vacations, fine dining, concerts, baseball games; we covet and financially invest in these occasions to experience ownership of our time, and these ventures are being made deliberately harder to achieve through rising costs and quality cuts. Creativity is expensive, and innovation is an investment that companies are trying desperately to spare their money from.
It is required that in every con, there must be a little boy in a graphic tee with their bewildered dad, donned in a sports jersey after definitely being told to “dress up as something you’re a fan of”. As the boy eagerly pulls his father into the sea of wigs, colors, and Japanese trading cards, they join the many others in the house of worship who enjoy embodying the people they have come to know and love through a screen. Cosplay is mostly present in realms of fantasy media, but animation-oriented cosplay is extrapolated from a completely digital existence, from a world literally created from the ground up. Media such as animation and video games undeniably come from the efforts of people; However, within digital 2D and 3D animation, their construction and assembly is executed entirely digitally. While physical mediums such as stopmotion and hand-drawn animation do deliver physical material, its mass distribution is by digital means. And yet, we do everything we can to transform this experience into something we can hold and feel. Companies build on this enthusiasm with amusement parks and merchandise, and an anime con Artist Alley and showroom floors host genuine demonstrations of individual and collective passion.
Made up of many people who don’t get outside as much as they should, animé conventions are a thrilling reminder of how many people truly care about the arts, and put in the work to surround themselves with its presence. Artist’s Alley is one of the most famous elements of a media convention, where vendors contribute their own sense of ownership of the day’s experience. The heart yearns for a walkable market, and Artist’s Alley is where artists from across the country set up their booths to peddle their wares. Cash and card is still exchanged for their goods, but in the pursuit of their passion and visions of the world, they give us their hearts. It’s impossible to buy everything your heart desires, but witnessing the bounds of human creativity and joy is where the experience is still your own.
In the halls of a convention, it’s almost overwhelming how real everything feels around you. The cosplay community’s involvement with costuming, innovation, and physical gatherings reminds me of our ongoing relationship with physical media, particularly its distinct nature of reliability and ownership that digital, subscription-based media lacks. There is a convenience to subscription services when used to access variety, but corporations now constantly look for places to sever the bond between “access” and “ownership”, tightening our already exhausting relationship with property, access, and control under corporate America. As an expression of identity, craftsmanship, and community, I see cosplay as a practice tied to an important sense of creative ownership and control. Between outfits that were commissioned, purchased, or rented, the cosplayers’ individuality and efforts directly give to the look itself, and they take from the experience of embodying their character of choice. Photographers and videographers visually elevate the art they are presented with, and while costumers and makeup artists may not personally wear their work, they share creative fulfillment with their work being worn. Every element of the cosplay community gives and takes what is most important to them; even unadorned admirers contribute their appreciation, and take from it their own fulfilled experience. Rather than the crowd being there to witness a single spectacle, the attendees contribute to the spectacle itself. Even on a con’s busiest, most crowded day, nowhere else do I feel like the best part of the experience is other people.
I fall into my designated middle-seat of the designated driver’s car, right on top of my makeup kit, which is already atop the art prints we had all bought before lunch. First thing to come off are the shoes, and I’m in a state where I’d pay a very decent amount of whatever’s left of my money to be in a hoodie and sweatpants. With a fully occupied vehicle, it’s a struggle to respect the ideal storage conditions of every delicate costume piece in the car, but we chatter about what new treasures we have taken home from our escapades. The group officially departs from the convention center, off to get something to eat; probably ramen, just to stay in the experience just a little bit longer. Technology has made everything within the living experience more digitally accessible, but has never managed to eradicate the value of seeing or experiencing something in person. There will always be a desire to experience something in its most live, authentic state. To enjoy recorded showtunes, versus attending a theatrical production. To watch videos of nature and travel, versus physically standing in those destinations. Even fictional technology pulls from this desire, and is often imagined with the priority of ultimate VR immersion, capable of mimicking real experiences in their entirety. While excitement once came from embracing the digital experience, the new thrill is for the digital experience to feel real. The experience of physically tangible artwork and craftsmanship is something that our tech cannot yet replace, and hopefully never will. Cosplaying can be expensive, inconvenient, time-consuming, and painful, but the work goes hand in hand with the reward. I would argue that the any adaptation of media to physical commerce is proof that true ownership is an instinctive human interest, as well as the desire to truly own our experiences. We are tired of our time and entertainment being borrowed.
Thank you so much for reading!