On October 6th, two friends and I attended the annual Comic-Book and Video-Game expo Comic-Con, which has grown over the years to become the largest single fan event surrounding geek culture in the world. Comic-Con’s largest event remains their San-Diego expo, but New York Comic-Con has steadily risen to become the largest comic-con by attendance, a sign of the magnitude of the event on the pop culture landscape.
Arriving at roughly 11:00AM, the first thing you are greeted to – before even entering the great halls of the Javitz Center where the event is hosted – is a bonafide sea of people dressed up as characters ranging from zeitgeist prominent Harley Quinn, to the video game legend Cloud Strife, all the way to modern television’s current icons Homelander and The Deep of The Boys. My friends and I ourselves dressing up as the self-proclaimed ‘Supe’ killers Billy Butcher and Mother’s Milk, or ‘MM’ for short. Compared to the bombastic outfits of most of the superhero community we were surrounded by, our leather jackets and clad-boots were on the tamer side. Yet all the same, we reveled in being recognized every time we found a new supe to cross off of our list.
After a few hours of sheer exploration, my friend and I stumbled into perhaps the most interactive part of the expo itself. ‘Artist’s Alley’, where we had the honor of meeting a multitude of writers and artists of comic books ranging from New Yorkers, to international artists personally invited by the expo.
One interaction sticks with me above the rest. Meeting Reilly Brown. Allow me to paint a scene. My friend and I are walking through the table-ridden artist alley, stopping at and passing by various artists each displaying pieces of their work. And then something catches my eye. An artwork featuring Marvel Comic’s Deadpool, beside a hauntingly beautiful woman dressed in purple and black garb. I know that woman to be Shiklah, Queen of the Undead. I take my chance to strike.
“Hey man, incredible art! You drew this run?”
“Hey thank you. And yeah, from the start.”
“I grew up on this arc of Deadpool man. That’s insane. You did Cable & Deadpool too?”
“Yup.”
“Dude. Thank you for giving me and my brother the best childhood we could’ve asked for.”
“No problem man. That’s a part of why I do this thing.”
We continue talking, and being a writer, I cannot suppress my urge to prod Brown about how he managed to break into the industry.
“Expos like these man. I’d take my art to every one I could, and eventually people noticed.”
When I came to Comic-Con this year, my first Comic-Con ever, I really didn’t expect myself to be getting the kind of advice that could change my life. But that’s exactly what happened. In a way, I think that’s what Comic-Con has always been. An opportunity for the fan of literature to see its inner workings, meet its creators, take away motivation, so that one day the fan is sitting on the artist’s side of the table talking to new convention-goers at the next Comic-Con.
Comic-Con not only featured American comic books and publishing houses, but Japanese too. Shonen Jump, Japan’s biggest publishing house for teen action manga featured prominently at the convention, bringing their biggest IPs; Bleach; Naruto; One-Piece; and the father of all three, Dragon Ball. Yu-Gi-Oh! Tables were set up for fans to engage in the duel-based card game, and Nintendo set up a gaming space for any fans willing to endure the long lines to play the system’s newest titles.
It would be difficult to call everything at Comic-Con literature, but undeniably, the convention stands on the shoulders of storytelling itself, through every medium.
Eventually, my friend and I found the Game of Thrones table, something we joked might be akin to finding a unicorn amongst the various comic-books and video-games dominating the convention. We took extra time discussing the books with the woman behind that table. That’s the beauty of Comic-Con. It’s one of those very rare places where you’re not only allowed to, but encouraged to geek out about all of the fiction that’s shaped your life. It encourages participatory culture, challenging you to explore the ideas and themes of each written or playable work and find people who care about that literature just as much, to build a connection. It’s built on fan-culture.
By the end of the convention, my friends and I made that connection. Running into a man dressed as Rick Sanchez, we each bonded over the craft of each others costumes. Jay, the man’s name, offered me a swig of his Rick-accurate flask. And eventually, even introduced us to his wife of many years, Emma. I can’t say I would have had that exact same interaction with someone had we not shared a mutual love for the media we support. I can’t say I’d have come away from the experience refreshed and motivated had it not been an event built on the love of visual literature.
Overall, the experience was one I hope to repeat many times more, the highest honor I could give the convention. I only encourage anyone reading this to do the same. I can promise you, you won’t be disappointed.