Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Cosplayers are a pain in my dupa.

Well....the one living in my house is. Tekkoshocon is tomorrow, he wants to wear his cosplay (when I started in scifi fandom when I was but a dust mite, we called them "hall costumes"), and he's losing his rakkin-frakkin mind over special-order hair dye that didn't work, and bending a coat hanger to fit over his head properly. He got all the clothes and parts done, with his own two hands and my experienced advice, and it's what I'd consider incidental bits that he's stressing over. I, however, am not a costumer, so his priorities are a bit different, as the incidentals are what distinguishes Character A from Character B. Or so he tells me. I can't tell one anime character from another.

I have worn costumes myself, but they don't last long. As soon as I can, I find a reason to go back to my regular clothes. I seriously don't like people looking at me in that level of close observation, no matter if it's admiration. Don't be eyeballing me! The last time I wore a costume, I was a hobbit lad, going to see LotR in San Jose with friends also in costume (one was Capn Jack Sparrow, and just dead-on perfect in dress and demeanor), in January, and I was overwarm--San Jose in January, and Pittsburgh in January, are two utterly different weather systems, and I overheated with wool pants and a velour cape. By the time we got into the theater, I was down to my undershirt, my trousers were rolled up, and I was sweating. I was more than happy to let the cute hobbit lass to my right take all the attention.

Everyone may admire my doll things in as much detail as they want. The dolls love the attention a lot more than I do.

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