Over the last three years, I’ve attended nearly twenty comic conventions, including San Diego Comic-Con twice. While I may not have hit the 10,000 hours necessary to call myself a Con Expert, I think I can safely call myself Con Experienced. The first time I went to a con I had no idea what to expect, what to do, or where to go, other than knowing as soon as I walked in that I was home, and these were my people. This is the first part of an ongoing series where I talk about my con experiences, tips and tricks for newbie con goers, and how to make the most of your comic con experience.
My first con was, if you want to be really technical about it, Starbase Indy in 1989. I got dressed up in my little homemade Star Trek: The Next Generation captain’s uniform and begged my mom to take me. Although I don’t remember it, I’m told that there was a trivia contest hosted by Marina Sirtis and Majel Barrett Roddenberry which I won, and when presented with my prize, as the precocious five year old I was, said something to the effect of “I already have that. What else ya got?” There would be more trips to Starbase Indy, but I grew older and grew out of cons until I moved to Chicago and went to C2E2 in 2015, after being alerted to its existence by a woman I was trying (and failing) to date. Though that relationship may not have worked out, I definitely got something out of it.
When I arrived at McCormick Place in Chicago, I genuinely had no idea what to expect. I had a few printouts that told me I needed to go somewhere and pick up a badge, and a schedule that said that Stan Lee would be there signing autographs for what seemed like the exorbitant fee of $100 each, plus one of the actors from the TV Show “Arrow” (side-note: I just looked up the guest list and Haley Atwell (“Agent Carter”) and Finn Jones (“Iron Fist”) were both there. FML). A friend of mine from back home came with me and we set out on our first con experience.
Now C2E2 is one of the larger conventions in the country, with upwards of 60,000 attendees over the convention’s three day run. The show floor is big, and if you don’t know where you’re going it’s easy to take a wrong turn and end up with a face full of anime body pillow. It’s also pure sensory overload – there are sights, sounds, and smells, of both the sacred and profane varieties, everywhere you look. From the moment you step on to the con floor until the moment you leave, you’re presented with a thousand temptations, all there to separate you from your hard earned dollars.
The moment I stepped on the show floor for the first time and saw what seemed like an endless field of nerd stuff, I knew that this was my happy place. I was five years old again and couldn’t wipe the grin off my face.
Of course, I was about to learn a hard lesson – the con gods are both mysterious and mischievous, and will do their level best to break you.
My first lesson was that as your feet go, so too goes your con experience. I was wearing less than supportive shoes and, by the end of the first day, I could barely walk. My feet and ankles felt like gelatin, and the idea of going back for more seemed like if it wasn’t outright masochism, it was certainly masochism-adjacent. I have since corrected the shoe situation, but the day someone offers bionic lower legs, I’m in.
My second lesson is that cons are the ultimate expression of “hurry up and wait”. You can rush through the con floor, get to a celebrity’s booth to meet them, spend three hours in line, and once you get to the front they tell you they have to go use the bathroom and will be right back (this is not an exaggeration either – Charlie Cox (“Daredevil”) did this to me at Wizard World 2016). The best thing you can do is to be patient, and bring a book. Or a tablet with a lot of books.
Speaking of electronic devices, my third lesson is that cons are the ultimate stress test for a phone’s battery life. You’ll be constantly checking something, whether it’s an actors’ IMDB page, the price of a collectible, which artists did which comic books, sharing photos with friends, or just texting with fellow con-goers to meet up. So, bring a battery pack and a cable, because outlets are few and far between and are almost always occupied by someone.
My fourth lesson is to set expectations around meeting celebrities. Some people make their way to the front of the line and expect David Duchovny or Gillian Anderson (“The X-Files”) to be warm and fuzzy and their new best friends, and end up feeling let down because they only got about ten seconds of face time, most of which was talking at the top of the talent’s head as the talent stared at a picture of themselves and their signature while being paid handsomely for the privilege of meeting them (side-note: if there is a more apt metaphor for Hollywood than that, I have yet to find it). Now, that’s not to say all celebrities are like that. I had a friend offer to arm wrestle Mike Colter (“Luke Cage”) and nearly got taken up on the offer. Ricky Whittle (“American Gods”) spends like five minutes with everyone, doles out hugs and selfies like candy, and is just a generally awesome dude to everyone. Chloe Bennett (“Agents of SHIELD”) loves to talk. However, with all that being said, just know that the talent is being paid to be there, they are not your new best friend, and that if you want talent to continue to come to your local con, be respectful.
Speaking of which, that brings us to lesson five: don’t freeze. There is nothing worse than spending hours in a line to meet your favorite celebrity, then locking up as soon as you’re sharing the same proximity and having to be carted away because you can’t move. While I wasn’t carted away, the first time I met Stan Lee I could barely squeak out a “Thank you for everything.” . This frail old man, the side of his hand smeared with black ink, had created characters I’d grown to know and love. He was literally a living legend, and I was just a Midwestern toad person. Of course, the next time I met him I did the same thing, but I did it for twice as long, so all things considered I think I did okay.
Part of the reason I froze up with Stan Lee is probably because I was seriously dehydrated, which is a constant issue at any con. That brings up lesson six: bring food and snacks. You’re going to spend multiple hours in a convention center, which means the most nourishing thing you’ll likely be able to find is bottled soda and reheated hot dogs and pizza. If you’re lucky, there will be something marginally better, but expect to pay upwards of $15 for a sandwich that probably has spit in it. I personally have a giant Yeti water bottle that is suitable for either crossing the Sahara or about a half day at a con. Food wise, I pack granola bars, almonds, Clif bars – basically anything that you can grab and munch on as you’re standing in line, walking around, etc. This becomes especially important in San Diego where you spend a lot of time outside and literally can’t sit down.
Speaking of San Diego, lesson seven: dress for the con, and dress for the weather. Any convention center worth their salt is going to hover somewhere in the 65-75 degree range regardless of what it’s like outside. That means that for fall and winter cons, you have to be able to get rid of a layer, and for spring and summer cons you have to be able to add a layer. Ever wonder why so much nerd merchandise is hoodie-based? There’s your answer. My first time at San Diego Comic-Con (SDCC), I was unprepared for just how hot it was walking the mile or so from my hotel to the convention center and had sweated through all of my clothes, plus my spare evening clothes, halfway through the con.
And speaking of sweat, lesson eight: for the love of god, take a shower, even if it’s the only ones you take that year. I know that cons are a haven for a part of society that, for a really long time, didn’t really have a space of their own. However, the times they are a changin’. Take a shower every day. If you’re packed six to a hotel room, find a way to make it work. Beyond personal hygiene and self-respect, it’s a courtesy to other con-goers. There is nothing worse than spending hours in a line behind some dude that smells like he hasn’t showered since the Reagan administration.
Speaking of hygiene, after the first con you go to you will probably end up sick. We con-goers call it “Con Crud”, the inevitable aftermath of sharing gases and personal space with people from sometimes all around the globe, or at least the country. Lesson nine: take care of yourself. That means hydrating, eating, getting off your feet when you need to, and not pushing yourself to exhaustion because OMG there’s something you HAVE to do or else you’re literally going to die. It’s a con, not a job. Have fun and relax.
I’ve talked a lot about meeting talent, buying collectibles, buying food, etc., which brings me to my next lesson, lesson ten: budget. I’ve seen people walk in to a con with rolls of cash and be out of money by the end of the first day, because they blew everything on a complete set of vintage action figures. If it’s something terribly important to you then by all means, get it. But, know that you’re probably paying a premium for getting it when you do. If you want to value shop, save your purchasing for the last day of the con – it’s when everyone has to start packing up their stuff and everything they don’t take back is less in shipping and transportation costs, which means less out of pocket expenses, which means that you can go up to a booth and say that you’ve come to bargain, and generally walk away with some decent deals.
There’s a good chance when you go to a con you’re going to meet people that share your interests. That means new friends, which means a new lesson – lesson eleven: make friends. Two of my best friends in Chicago I met at C2E2 in line for a photo op with Stan Lee. We went to San Diego together, where I met their friends, who are now my friends too. We’re a merry crew, and it wouldn’t have been possible if we didn’t start chatting in line. You never know who you’re going to meet or talk to, and I’ve had some genuinely awesome conversations just waiting in line. It doesn’t hurt that it helps the time pass faster either.
Finally, my most important lesson, lesson twelve: respect your fellow con-goers. I may rag on Walking Dead fans and purveyors of fine anime body pillows (for more on this, look out for my upcoming “Hater’s Guide To Comic Cons”), but I try not to shit on someone’s fandom because hey, I’m there too. That especially includes cosplayers. Because some people don’t seem to understand this, let me make it as unambiguous as possible: COSPLAY IS NOT CONSENT. Just because someone is wearing a revealing cosplay outfit doesn’t give you permission to ogle them, make shitty comments, or do anything physically untoward. If you do these things, get out and don’t come back. Treat people the way you want to be treated.
That about wraps it up for my first comic-con guide. If there are other topics you’d like me to discuss around cons, leave a comment and I’ll see what I can squeeze in. Happy conning!
