How Marginalized Cosplayers Are Finding Their Safe Spaces

As a marginalized lover of pop culture, you tend to navigate fandom a little differently than the status quo. When the landscape is still largely cisgender, straight, white, and male, you end up having to cling to characters who don’t quite look like you or share many – if any – of your experiences. That’s certainly not an inherently bad or impossible thing, and unless you happen to be circling the topic of representation, it rarely comes up in a significant way. The differences, however, become slightly more noticeable when you arrive to the subject of cosplay.

For many fans, cosplay is the ultimate labor of love that can demand a hefty amount of time and/or funds to accomplish. And while narrowing down an interpretation of your chosen character is a large part of the fun, there are certain elements that can’t (and shouldn’t, really) be manipulated as easily as a hemline or wig style. Race, ability, and gender – while not necessarily acting as determining factors when choosing cosplay – can affect how others process and respond to a person’s costume. And that reaction isn’t always a positive one.

“I tried Deadpool once and someone went out of their way to tell me how bad it was,” shared TaLynn Kel, a writer and professional cosplayer who currently resides in Atlanta, Georgia. “That was pretty mean. He wasn’t wrong, but it was so intentionally mean that I was taken aback. It costs nothing to say nothing.”

Some responses can be more passive-aggressive, still work to minimize and further marginalize the cosplayer by reducing their work to a “version” of the character. “I’m not a frequent cosplayer so my bad experiences are mostly limited to ‘Hey it’s the Black version,” said Shareef Jackson of Wisconsin. “It’s always said with a negative tone.”

Jackson and Kel’s experiences mirror many who chose to cosplay non-canonically, or as a character who looks fundamentally different from their natural state. But the reality is that for those of us who aren’t heavily represented in media, we’re left with few choices. If you’re wheelchair bound and your passion resides in superhero lore, there are few examples beyond X-Men’s Professor X or Barbara Gordon/Batgirl. If you’re a physically disabled person of color, well…best of luck.

However, to limit your costume options in such a way negates the very point of cosplaying itself. Cosplay, at its core, is about testing the boundaries of your imagination and morphing into literally anything you want to be. While some may wish to resemble their chosen character down to the last button, many choose to pay tribute while allowing their unique personalities to shine through their work. At some major conventions, this may still earn a few less than savory glares.

And then there’s Dragon Con.

With an average attendance of 82,000 a year, Dragon Con is largely toted as the cosplaying mecca of fan conventions. It one of the few places where an army of one particular costume doesn’t induce eye rolls, but excitement: With so much eventual overlap, it the originality of each costume that draws such positive attention. And in the heart of one of the most inclusive cities in the country, cosplayers of color are much more likely to find community there than at even the most famous of fan conventions.

“As a fat, brown cosplayer I don’t stand out quite as much at Dragon Con,” Elia Crespo of Seattle explains. “I can dress in my Steven Universe crop top and not receive a ton of dirty looks. In fact, I end up making more friends there than in my city. There are still aspects that could be a little more inclusive, and yet it still exists as a kind of magical place.” Many share Crespo’s experience, turning to Dragon Con as a sort of safe space to test their more daring cosplay. While it’s certainly not a perfect event – such a gigantic turnout versus only so many enthusiastic volunteers can lead to an overwhelming experience – but it’s definitely a place that puts the fans first.

So what can other fan conventions do to cultivate safer, more welcoming spaces for all cosplayers? Would inviting more cosplayers of color, size, and disability as special guests help?

“It’s not just about inviting more cosplayers of color, size, and disability, although it does help a lot,” Kel explains. “It’s about specifically curating content for these groups and acknowledging the unique issues these groups may face. It means including members of these groups in the planning and organizing of events.” A significant change in any part of nerd culture can only happen when these major gatherings stop catering to one dominating group and continue to recognize that fandoms are wildly diverse and require a multitude of different needs. Like the committees planning the event itself, the cosplayers featured at these events must reflect the inclusive fandoms they celebrate. “It’s going to take a lot of work on multiple fronts to really create change in geek spaces, but I believe we can do it.”