Comic Book Misogyny: an Origin Story

I figured out where all of the misogyny and bald hatred in the comic book industry is coming from. I'm ashamed to say, it's coming from my generation, Generation X, the fans in their forties and thirties. Oh, it's possible, just possible, that there are a few twentysomethings piling on--Gen Y entitlement can be palpable and for some doughy white guys in the suburbs who might still be living at home with indulgent parents waiting on them hand and foot, these "attacks on freedom of speech" might actually seem like that and not what they really are: a widening of the communal pool. But I digress.

I figured it out. I figured out where it started. Because it had to start somewhere, right? I mean, there was a time when we were all new to this, and the world was a much larger, more inclusive place. We used to be innocent, if not ignorant, and all of these conventions were full of fellow fans. We could make new friends from other cities and states who liked the same things that we liked. If only there were girls here, too, that would make it all better. That was myth number one, right there.

There I am, on the right. We were so young. So hairy. Reading comics, drawing comics, talking about comics. It was our life. 

This is my friend, Melisa. She was one of us. An artist, really talented, and into movies, comics, art, and all of the other things we liked, too. She was one of us in the "Let's Make a Loving Cup!" kind of way. We adopted her and she starting drawing with us on Sundays and hanging out and painting and going to movies and conventions and it was just not a big deal. This is her with Forrest J. Ackerman. Her hair is over one eye because she was too freaked out to say anything to him. She was a huge fan. This was taken in the early 1990s, by the way. Before the dark times. Before the Empire.

I mentions Melisa only to show that there were, even back then, Pre-Internet, women in the hobby, if not the industry. And you could be friends with them and nothing bad would happen to you.

Sometime around 1992 or 1993, the lawyers started patrolling San Diego ComicCon with suitcases full of money. Comics became Big Business. About the same time came the professional convention booth staff. Booth Weasels. Sometimes known as "Booth Babes" or "Booth Bunnies." These are the people who smile, greet you, and then give you the knickknack or the spiel that they were told to hand out to everyone who walked into the booth. It's a professional gig, like waiting tables or hospitality and hosting. They get paid to do it.

There's just one problem. These people--these women--were at a comic book convention. And so, to make sure that these media companies and Dot-Com companies and fly-by-night comic book companies and movie studios had the full attention of the doughy white guys in attendance, they staffed their booths with attractive women and put them in go-go boots and mini-skirts. Skimpy outfits that let the cleavage hang out. Because men are pigs and easily distracted, see.

Now, I'm sure not everyone who noticed this phenomenon thought for one second that these people were anything other than Booth Weasels. Some of us, in point of fact, were a little bit insulted. I mean, how immature do you think we are? Well, they knew something that we didn't, because a lot of man-children still have swag in their collections from companies that never made a single TV show, or comic book, or, hell, anything, before they went under as the Dot-Com bubble burst.

But the Booth Weasels remained. And I'm willing to bet you a million dollars here and now that every single one of these freaked-out, doughy, entitled, white guys who are braying like sea lions about Social Justice Warriors and women in costumes, and political correctness and all of that other meaningless bullshit--every one of them--made a pass at one of these booth weasels and got shot down, told that they weren't into comics, or just simply politely refused in some way. Much like what happens when one goes to, say, a Hooter's and tries to pick up the waitress, and gets told no, as well.

I promise you these whining slugs are still nursing the sting of rejection from some perceived slight that goes back to a convention experience circa 1994-1998. They were so busy being angry that the cheerleaders turned them down that they didn't notice the room filling up with band geeks behind them. Now, whenever they see a costume with cleavage, or see a woman saying they love comics, they react like Frank Burns on M.A.S.H. "Oh, ha ha, very funny!" when in fact, no one made a joke. No one was teasing them. But they don't see anything outside of their personal hurt and shame.

That's what all of this sounds like to me. Nattering nonsense from jilted man-children who tried out their A-list Monty Python impressions on the out-of-work-actress hired to be Catwoman at the San Diego ComicCon DC Comics booth in 1995 and she don't know who Monty Python is, and so now ANYONE dressed like Catwoman must be just like the one woman who said no to them once. They're like Dwayne Wayne from Die Hard. They're like Dickless from Ghostbusters. They can't change their narrative because they can't see the world any other way.






By the way, the electronics conferences are now banning "Booth Babes" and guess who's all up in arms about it? Yep. The same doughy white guys.

I'm ready to begin my campaign of publicly shaming any man who is still stuck in the 90s comics scene. It may not change them, but it'll at least give them something new to hate on, so that maybe we can get back to all moving forward into the 21st century.

San Diego ComicCon, and Why I'm Not There

My first ComicCon was coincidentally the same year that ComicCon began to change. It was 1994, and that was also the year that Jack Kirby died. Make of that what you will.

Prior to 1994, let me tell you what San Diego ComicCon used to be. It was the Mecca for comic book fans from all over the country. If you were serious about collecting Golden Age comics, or buying that hard-to-find issue to complete your collection, or if you were trying to expand your audience for your small press book, or maybe even get a job with one of the big companies, San Diego was your destination spot. It was the place you simply HAD to go to.

And it was big--sure, the biggest comic convention in the country. But understand, it was almost all comics. Of course, whenever there was the rare movie or TV tie-in, you could find those people at ComicCon. Mostly. I mean, sort of. You know, Lou Ferrigno, he was always there, and so were a number of ex-TV and movie super heroes. Just not, you know, the BIG stars, because, well, it's a room full of comic book fans. Who would want to hang out with us?

Oh, the times, how they have changed.

From Last Year, at the Ape Entertainment Booth. This was
a Light Traffic Day.

That year, 1994, was the first year people noticed guys in suits walking around with briefcases. Full of money, or contract, it really didn't matter. Hollywood was sniffing around, looking for stuff to turn into movies. It's true. 1994 was the year they killed Superman, and it made national news. Comics were very high profile, but it was in that "here's something you don't see every day" sort of condescending tone that newscasters use whenever they have to report a story that doesn't have a body count or speak directly to scaring the public into watching their program.

I've been a handful of times since then. The most recent was last year. I do not recognize San Diego ComicCon anymore. What it has become is not the place to network, to build a business relationship, to be a comic collector and wallow in back issues. San Diego has become the reward. The place you go once you've made it. If you're debuting a hot new book, or if you are the next Marvel super hero, or if you are Chris Hardwicke, or Felicia Day, or any of the other Celebrigeeks, then San Diego ComicCon opens up to you like a flower towards the sun.

Behind the Fake Ginger there. See it? That's a Tuscan Raider
moving single file to hide his number.

If you are a cosplayer, or if you are taking pictures of cosplayers, the only other place that affords you such an opportunity is maybe DragonCon. SDCC is the place to strut your stuff, and believe me, there will be enough guys desperate to take your picture to make it worth your while to attend.

If you've been with the convention since the early days, and already have your booth space claimed, then San Diego is a great, profitable show, one that you can rely on to help you engage with your fans, and sell art, or comics, or whatever it is you are doing as a creative person.

If you're an UberFan, and you like to be the person in your peer group that tweets pictures of Nathan Fillian from seventy yards out, and break news that's flying onto the Internet thirty seven seconds before the rest of the English speaking world gets it, and you don't mind spending literally eight to twelve hours standing in line for that privilege, then San Diego ComicCon is your convention of choice.

This was a line for a panel. And not the Tru-Blood panel.
If you wanted to go to that panel, you had to line up the
NIGHT BEFORE and CAMP OUT. I am not kidding.

If you are a dealer, and you have a budget of a grand or more to spend on exclusive toy releases, game releases, and comic releases, that you will dutifully truck back to your store and double the price on, then ComicCon was made for you.

If you want to be in the same airspace with G4, Entertainment Weekly, and all of the other Faux-Hip magazines, TV shows, Internet channels, and webisodes, you will find no better starfuckers than the people running San Diego ComicCon.  That's assuming you can get in. Or get a hotel room. There's now a lottery in place for the latter, and a Byzantine registration system for professionals. Not to mention the fans who just want to buy tickets. There's so many people that want to go, that not everyone can.

I've talked to a number of people, pros and fans, and folks who work in the industry, and whether they are going or not, they have all said the same thing: "it's gotten too big."

A Hobbit's Eye view of the trolls from the Weta Workshop
Booth. They weren't selling anything. They were just,
you know, there, because, well, it's cool, and stuff.

Me, personally, I don't fit into any of the above criteria right now. That's not to say that I won't, down the road, sometime, but to be very clear on this: unless you're in, you can't get in. I'm not in. Not yet. So I'm going to take the wads of money I would have spent going to SDCC and coming home with nothing to show for it, and instead, I'm going to hit up three or four shows that still focus on comics, with engaged fans, and people who are eager to talk to up and coming professionals. I want a chance to sell myself to folks who don't know who I am.

I'll get to do that at other shows. And I'll get all of the "hot, breaking news" from SDCC via facebook and twitter, along with the rest of the world. They'll even have the trailers and film clips up on YouTube shortly after each panel. So, aside from hanging out with my friends, I'm not missing anything. Well, I never got to meet Jack Kirby. I'll always be sad about that.

Policing Our Own in the Geek Nation

Cosplay used to be the exclusive province of the actors
hired by the companies to portray their characters. That
time is long past.

 Okay, enough's enough.

I've got to talk about this, because apparently, it's just not going to fix itself. Between the Science Fiction community and the Comic Book Conventions there has arisen a weird and completely inappropriate response to the steady influx of new blood into the geek nation. One would think, in the year 2013, that the Geek Nation would be grateful for new blood, but apparently, the supposedly enlightened and forward-thinking super nerds of the world have a problem with letting "those kinds" of people into their fun house, never mind playing with their toys.

It's the Cosplayers. It's the Fake Fans. You know, the ones who don't really "get it." The ones who dress up instead of go deep into the underpinnings of a certain character. The ones who weren't persecuted and driven away from the village for their beliefs, you know, like I was, once, long ago. You know who I'm talking about...Girls.

That's right! Girls in our convention! And they are dressing up as Captain America, and having fun, and getting attention, and it's JUST NOT FAIR! Not when I worked SO HARD on my pun-filled filksong about Firefly. And nobody is listening now, because everyone is watching the costume parade, instead. 

Obviously, that's not me, but I imagine that a lot of the nerd-rage in the electronic gaming, Science Fiction and fantasy, and Comic book communities sounds a lot like this in their heads. You have to know, they don't know how it sounds to other people. But the backlash from all of this new attention has brought some old, deep, salt-encrusted wounds to the top again, and those wounds will have to be debrised before they can heal. As an aside, we maybe need to leave those people who are too wounded to join us on the next leg of the journey at the watering hole, where they can be picked off by natural predators.

It's hard to know exactly where to start with this topic. Tony Harris' rant about cosplayers and "fake fans" seems like a good point of entry to the discussion, because it highlights some serious anger that has nothing to do with what's being discussed. Then again, the more recent Science Fiction Writers of America's blow-up happened just a few weeks ago, so that could be more topical. If those stories seem too broad, let's talk about one case in particular that is emblematic of the whole problem: the Black Cat cosplayer's harassment incident.

I think this about says it all. Here's a woman who does regular cosplay, and at her local convention, to boot, and she's chosen to portray the Black Cat, aka Felicia Hardy. For those of you who haven't read comics in thirty years, she's basically Marvel's version of Catwoman, only she's romantically involved with Spider-Man instead of Batman. Here's a cover from one of her comics:

This was the most tame picture of the
Black Cat I could find online. 

Now, the cosplayer in the story above (and there's a picture of her in said costume) bears a striking resemblance to the Black Cat. As a cosplay goes, it's an A+ job, all the way.

Part of the reason why cosplayers do what they do is to get feedback for presenting an authentic recreation of the character. That's unmistakably an aspect of cosplay. So, if I were to walk up to her and say, "That's an amazing costume. You look just like the Black Cat!" then that would be an appropriate thing to say.

I could, also, if I were so inclined, choose to engage this person as if she were really The Black Cat. That's also an aspect of why people cosplay. It's not for everyone, obviously, but by and large, if they are wearing the costumes, they are engaging in recreating that character as an avatar for interaction. So again, if I was to walk up to her and say something like "You know, Felicia, I wish you'd stop pining away for Spider-Man and just move on. You deserve some happiness in your life, and chasing after that web-head isn't going to do it." That would be a weird thing to say, but it would also be an appropriate interaction. It would be less weird if I was in a costume as well, dressed as Batman, or Spider-Man, or whatever, and make some in-character joke, for the benefit of the audience that has by now gathered around, gawking, staring, and leering as is usually the case.

Or, as a last ditch effort, if you lack the social acumen to walk up to a woman in a public gathering and not make an ass of yourself, you can just snap a picture or two and walk on. I think that's kinda creepy, but hey, it's not my choice, either.

You know what's not an appropriate interaction? Anything in this article by Cracked Online, for starters. Or anything like what this one cosplayer had to deal with. At her local show. Where she knows people personally.

But that's cosplay. It doesn't spill over into the world of literary Science Fiction and Fantasy, right? Guess again, Chuckles. Cosplay has been around in the smaller sub-circles of fandom for decades. People were dressing in Star Trek costumes for years before it was fashionable to do anything else. When the stormtrooper costumes, the Boba Fett costumes, and the Jedi Knight costumes first showed up in force in the early to mid 1990s, do you know who was the most pissed about it? The Trek fans in costume! Yeah. How dare someone else do what we were doing first!

But those were teapot tempests, you know. When all of the fans broke open the seals on the gates of Fan Fiction with their Harry Potter stories...well, that was just ridiculous. Until, you know, it wasn't. When all of the teenage girls started showing up at conventions dressed as Sailor Moon, that was just a fad. You know, until it wasn't.

Then a couple of professional actors revealed that they play computer and online games, and well, that was interesting, in the way that you can go to the local fair and see a chicken that plays tic-tac-toe. And through it all, from the early 1990s right up to 2012, when the bantha pooda hit the fan, everyone else chose to ignore it. Fans could see the difference, but not articulate it. Conventions continued to employ out-of-work actresses as "booth weasels," dressing them as either sci-fi sexpots, or as Hooter's waitresses, in the assured hopes that the underwashed, oversexed Geekoid masses would flock to their tables and pick up piles of their Chinese-made tchotchkes branded with whatever shitty movie or television show they were trying to get us to watch. Costume contests exploded, and a bunch of really nice, professional-looking costumes, worn by people straight out of central casting, all looking better than the actors hired to stand outside the DC Comics booth, were everywhere. Suddenly, there's an influx of Steampunk in all aspects of the sub-culture, including a metric ton of books that were never considered to be "real" science fiction. Costumes were everywhere. Families of geeks were attending comic book conventions. It was mad, I tell you, mad!

Then the scandals started. The accusations rose to the top like curds in cream. And like a good curd, they were all loud and squeaky. I'd see one go across my computer screen and think, "Wow, that sucks. Well, at least it'll be dealt with swiftly." But then the scandals just kept coming. More and more, all in different flavors, but all basically revolving around a kind of weird battle of the sexes. And I think it boils down to just one thing: Girls.

I really think that the Secret Masters of Fandom that run these conventions every year, the older, more established professionals in all of these sub-industries, and the fans themselves need to stop and take a good, long look at where we are from where we started out. I can remember a time, not too long ago, when comic book convention were graced with only a few people in costume. There was usually one woman who dressed as a super hero--Dark Phoenix--and she was kinda crazy, so people gave her a wide berth. There were no "booth babes," and the ratio of men to women at these conventions was roughly 90/10.

That was twenty five years ago.

I knew my time had passed back in 2003. I was working as a manager at a bookstore in Austin, Texas, and we had a large number of geeks in our employ. Back in 2004, I thought that meant we had girls who read comics. I'd had a few discussions with them about it, but never anything deep. I just thought it was, you know, interesting, because when I was in high school, if I wanted one of my girlfriends to read a comic book, I would have had to tie them to a chair and pry their eyes open, Clockwork Orange-style. Of course, when I was in high school, saying the word "Batman" conjured up an image of Adam West, doing the Batusi, and nothing else. So, you know, that was my experience.

One evening at the bookstore, I was shelving books when I heard a conversation between two of the women working that night. These were young women, early twenties both. It was a passionate discussion, in the tone regularly heard throughout the store when discussion the merits of Hemingway or the plotlines of Jane Austen. They were arguing over which Green Lantern was the one, true Green Lantern. I am not kidding.

One girl was making the case for Kyle Rayner being "her" Green Lantern, because he is the one who best encompasses her generation. His problems, his personality...all part of what she liked best about him. The other girl was insistent that if it's not Hal Jordan, it's just not Green Lantern. Hal was the classic, she argued, and everything else was a dalliance or a sales gimmick.

I leaped out from around the corner and shouted at them both, "You can NOT have this conversation without including me!" They both scattered like grouse, laughing at the old man, but the truth of that story should be obvious. Fans, and especially the older (40+ years old) fans tend to think that they discovered, well, whatever they first discovered, and were the last people to dig on it.

THE FUTURE IS NOW

It's a new generation of fans now. These are fans who grew up in the age of Harry Potter, when it was okay to read for pleasure in school. These fans grew up with the Star Wars prequels, bless their hearts. They grew up with the Internet, where they met people and developed friendships for years that turned into meet-ups at national conventions that had little to do with interacting with the Guest of Honor and everything to do with interacting with one another. This generation grew up reading (and watching) Japanese pop culture and comics, rather than reruns of Star Trek. They never tried to piece together from their meager comic book collection how many multiple Earths DC had floating around. They google that shit, instead of chasing it down in back issues for years and years.

And most importantly, their fan activity is very different, though no less valid, than our own. They engage the material in ways that I never will. They write fan fiction to address subtext in a story. They make their own costumes by hand, to better identify with these characters. They flip the gender on a super hero in order to take ownership of that character when maybe the other choices available to them don't speak to them directly. There's probably a component of irony in there, too, for the guys who insist on dressing up as Wonder Woman, But that's neither here nor there.

These new fans don't codify, organize, memorize, and catalogue the details and minutiae of their favorite show or character. They are much more interested in the bigger picture.  For them, fandom is not a closed, private club that you have to know the secret knock and the password to get into. For them, it's wide-open, social, and interactive. This is the new fan dynamic. And it's here to stay.

Well, maybe not. Right now, I'm going to estimate that the male to female ratio at, say, ComicCon International is roughly 60/40. There are other shows with a national bent that may be closer to 55/45 or even 50/50. I'll just bet you that there are more female than male geeks at, say, A-Kon, which is all about Anime. But I think it's safe to say that with more women than ever involved in both the creative/professional side of these sub-cultures as well as the fandom side of these sub-cultures, it's time to move our mental picture of "what fandom is" forward into the 21st century. We're supposed to be the visionaries of modern culture. It's time we acted like it, dammit.

Now, if you're not playing along, I can assume there's one or more of three reasons why this is so.

1. You are bitter, old, and cranky. You remember a time when you were pushed into a locker for daring to wear a Star Trek t-shirt to school. You were lonely, an outcast, and sad. Then you found fandom, and suddenly, all of the other kids who were bullied and tormented were here, in the room with you, and you felt as if you truly belonged somewhere.

Now these NEW kids...they don't get that. They were never bullied. Some of the girls are very pretty, and remind you of a time when you couldn't talk to them. So, naturally, you resent these new fans coming into your backyard (not really yours) and playing with YOUR toys (not really yours) and all without having to pay any "dues," which never existed anyway.

Your problem is your Jealousy. Get over it, and be a goodwill ambassador and a gracious host.

A convention moment caught in time. They are looking at me, slightly
miffed because I'm taking a picture before they could pose for me, and
Captain Kirk is looking at...well, he's not looking at their booth swag. And
yes, that is a wrestling belt slung over his shoulder.

2. Maybe you just don't know what to do. I mean, for years, in the SCA, it was okay to compliment the serving wenches on their ample bosoms at the Feast in Honor of Sir Clovis, of the Realm of Spitcup. Now here's this hot--I mean, smoking hot--woman over there, dressed in the same sort of bodice, and even though she's calling herself "The White Queen," she's not responding to any of my Ren Faire jokes. I don't understand. Everyone laughs when I do that bit from Monty Python about the huge tracts of land.

Besides, I wouldn't hurt a fly. Everyone knows that about me, right? I've been going to this convention since it was called GrokCon, and I've told that story about drinking at the bar with Nichelle and De Forrest to everyone who will listen, for years, you know, just you realize that I'm in the inner circle.

Your problem is your Social Ineptitude. Also, your peer group. They need to teach you, or ban you.


3. Or maybe you can't understand what the problem is. I mean, after all, anyone wearing that costume clearly is just asking for it, right? Right? And if you're putting that vibe out, it would be wrong to not say something about it. I mean, you know how these cons are. Everyone hooks up. Everyone gets laid. Those bitches handing out the Expendables II keychains over there? Just look at how they are dressed. They're begging for it, man!

So what if the hand should slip while Catwoman is posing with me for a picture? That's what she's there for, right? It's all good clean fun. Why dress like a sex object if I'm not allowed to objectify you? Right, fellas? Can I get a high five?

Your problem is your Misogyny. And you need to leave and never come back.

T.C.B., Baby. T.C.B.

I think the solution to all three negative reactions above comes down to one thing: we need to police our own. The days of cons being our own little private gatherings are over. Unless, you know, you want to throw your own little private gathering for whatever kink or sub-human throwback activity you're into. I'm assuming that most of the people running conventions wants greater participation, new blood in the hobby, and a positive, if not friendly, face for the outside world. Greater participation from women is one big step in that direction, and with it should come a general cleaning of house.

Policing our own is, I think, the best way to quickly get a handle on this problem. John Scalzi recently posted his new rules for appearing at conventions and I think it's a brilliant first step. What the Secret Masters of Fandom and the other Convention Planners and Fan Groups need to take from that is this: get in front of the problem. You probably have it, and don't even know about it, because there's no way to address it. Worse, some of you know exactly who in your community has been guilty of this kind of behavior before and you haven't done anything about it because "Well, that's just his way," or "You don't know him the way some of us do." Yeah, that's not going to cut it anymore.

I don't think you have to be mean about it. Just firm, and polite. I understand that in the SFnal communities, we tend to play fast and loose with what constitutes socially acceptable behavior. After all, we ALL know what's it's like to be picked on, bullied, and ostracized, right? And so as a matter of tacit acceptance, we don't want to be perceived as doing that to someone in return. Not one of our own, I mean.

Well, it doesn't have to be mean. You just have to decide that you're going to do it. Pull the fan in question aside, and say, "I know you probably aren't doing this on purpose, but X and Y need to stop right now. It's not cool. It's actually very sexist, and it's not appreciated."

If that fan gets upset about it, that's his decision to do so. He can either bitch and moan, or thank the person for pointing it out to him and rejoin the party. If he continues being an offensive clown, pull him aside again, and say, "This is your second warning. Get ahold of yourself, or you will be removed from this convention."

The third time, he's out. And done for the weekend. And if he's shown that he can't, in fact, keep from saying certain things, or acting a certain way, he can't come back to the convention again. Period.

I would go so far as to say, before the convention starts, "Hey, WarBear, you know, in the past, you've done some things that have made people uncomfortable. Well, here's the new policy for this convention, and we want to make sure you saw it so that you can decide to either follow it to the letter, or not participate in any of the parties or extra-curricular activities during the con." Then you don't even need to give him three chances. He gets one.

Here's why Policing Our Own is a good thing:

1. It'll actually help some folks--the folks who never ever learned how to speak to women in the first place--by breaking those bad habits and that "convention behavior" that no one ever liked, but merely tolerated, because, well, he was one of us. Those folks need the help, and pulling them off to one side to let them know they are still welcome, but now they have to act like grown-ups, is a good thing. Not everyone will be this way, of course. But some will change, because they value the social interaction.

2. It will quickly bring the neanderthals to the fore, because it'll force a confrontation with them. Unless you're at a Gor convention, you'll want to know who thinks the new policies are "bullshit" and quickly, too. These are the people holding us back. We have enough crosses to bear as fans of this stuff, already. We don't need people like this weighing us down. They've been hiding in this sub-culture for years, and it's high time we de-creeped the Geek Nation once and for all.

3. It will make conventions way less actionable should something go wrong. If the fans are actively self-policing, and there is a clearly stated sexual harassment policy in place, then congratulations, we have joined the human race. Incidents get dealt with, people banned, and we move on. Being a safe place for fan activity encourages more fans to come join us, and that keeps all of this healthy and active and still remains our "sacred space," where we go to unwind, to be who we are, and to temporarily escape the real world. If you think this is largely unnecessary, may I refer you to the current DragonCon controversy? I'm not saying that every instance will blossom into this, but I'm frankly surprised that more civil suits haven't been filed regarding sexual harassment. It's sheer dumb luck, I tell you, that E3 or ComicCon International hasn't had any legal problems.

 
Now, on the other side of things is this: I think we are all going to have to take stock of our behavior at conventions and grow-the-hell-up.

In a world where flirting can potentially turn into romance, it's going to be hard to get people in fandom--many of whom are actually proud of the fact that they have personality traits that show up on the Autism Spectrum--to recognize when "No" means "No." So, we're going to have to be very firm, insistent, and deliberate with the socially awkward geeks in our midst. We may have to invent a society where there is no subtext. This will be nigh-impossible, because fans lives for subtext in everything they ingest.

I'm talking about people behaving like professionals. I'm talking about behaving as if we're out in public (which we all are) instead of in our friend from Junior High's basement. The sexual innuendo, the double entendres, the wordplay and puns...all that has to stop. Okay, maybe not the puns. But there is a time and a place for punning, and if you don't know when and where that is, then you shouldn't pun. Ever. At all. For any reason.

It's going to be difficult. After all, most pros are also fans. And many pros and fans have a more convivial relationship, out of necessity. If you are a working professional and you are not George R.R. Martin, you need to network with the people that like your stuff. And should you ever break out, the way that George R.R. Martin did, you tend to take your fans with you. It's a victory lap that everyone can share, provided that your fans don't descend on the people who are cosplaying characters from A Game of Thrones and "doing it wrong" because they are dressing as the HBO versions instead of the book versions of the characters. But you get my meaning, I think.

I don't think it's unfair to ask people to behave in the same way they would if they were at, say, a work party. Or a social gathering at a non-geek's friends' house. And when it comes to the pick-up line, or misreading signals, well, those rules have been in place for far longer than all of us. No DOES mean no, after all. And if you misread a situation, then that's your lack of sophistication on display. Apologize and move on. Don't hang around, hoping to salvage something. Be a gentleman. Take the high road and never look back. Oh, hell, I hate having to spell this out for people. It's socially retarded. But hey, you know, there are some grown-ass men (and women) out there who don't know how to behave in public, much less inside the closed doors of fandom. Maybe a few etiquette and manners courses are in order. We'll call them "panels" and schedule them opposite the costume contest. 

This new group of people, these young girls and young women, are here, now, among us, and they want to be here. We need to be the goodwill ambassadors for The Geek Nation and welcome them with open arms. They need to be made to feel welcome, and safe, and we need to let them do their own thing. That's real acceptance, in a Star Trek, everyone is special, kind of way. It's not a boy's club anymore. It's a club for people. And we can be a part of this New Geek-World Order, or we can be slowly, painfully, drubbed out of the world we helped build. Because that's what happens to dinosaurs. They either become birds, or they end up in the tar pits.

San Diego Stories: Thursday

This year, I shared a room with one of my oldest, closest friends, and two perfect strangers. Thankfully, the two people we didn't know turned out to be excellent traveling companions and roommates. If only we weren't packed in like sardines, it would have been very pleasant. When our fourth showed up, we tried to get a rollaway bed for our room. "We're all out," they informed me.

Well, do you have a cancellation on a room, perhaps?

"Oh no," the lady said. "We no have cancellations. It's Comics-Con," she said.

I know it is, I assured her. But sometimes, people's plans change, and it's not like the Best Western Bay Side Hotel is particularly close to the action or anything. So, if something should open up...

"But we no have any openings," she said again. "It's Comics-Con."

I thanked her for not being able to help me at all, and asked myself how bad could it be? Hotel rooms aren't for anything but sleeping during Comic-Con, and so we sallied forth for breakfast and then made for the convention center.

The Bayside Hilton, whoring itself out to a television show.

It's difficult to accurately describe the size and scope of this show. It's probably easiest to compare it to some of the spectacle of Las Vegas, but even that falls a little short, mostly because Vegas was built for it and San Diego just wasn't.

See, the show has totally outgrown the convention center. They doubled the size of the place, back in the mid-nineties, when Hollywood first started sniffing around the convention. Since then, it's spilled out into the Gaslamp, across the street, and into two adjacent hotels. And it's packed to the gills again. The citizenry of San Diego, according to one local I spoke to, is contemplating adding onto the convention center--again. Since there's not a scrap of land left to develop, this would mean going out into the bay or something. I don't know how they'd do it.

Thursday is officially Day One of the show, and it's the most sparsely attended, as if anyone can tell the difference. I mean, I'm a people person, and I don't fear crowds, or get stage fright, or anything like that, but when the numbers start creeping up around 100,000, I just shut down. I'm only so entertaining, you know. I'm not Bon Jovi.

As exhibitors, we got in before the masses, to set up our tables. This didn't take long, and so I wandered around to inspect the floor before the chaos. It was nice, until the loud, booming, animatronic voice admonished me to get back to my booth, because traffic in the aisles would delay the opening of the floor. Everyone there was pointedly ignoring the voice, because we all knew damn well that as soon as the floor opened, we'd all be trapped behind our booths until the bell sounded some ten hours later and this was our one and only chance to snap a picture of some statue or booth before the crowds pressed in and tried to kill us all.

I tried to do one fun or fannish thing a day, which was actually pretty difficult to do. I made the conscious decision to watch the Assassin's Creed III presentation, for a couple of reasons: I wanted to see the game footage, of course, and also I wanted to see how they were presenting the material. In other words, what was their dog and pony show like over at Ubisoft.

Well, I learned a couple of things right away: these big entertainment companies, whether we're talking about a movie studio or a game studio, are less interested in meeting the end consumer and more interested in delivering their sales pitch. Whether that pitch is in the form of a cheap-ass t-shirt, or a blow up vinyl tomahawk (the new weapon du jour in Assassin's Creed III), these folks don't want your feedback. They want you out on the floor, wearing the shirt, flaunting the tomahawk, and in general being good little corporate shills for the mothership.

That said, the game footage I watched was really impressive. The people working the booth were friendly and excited and pleasant and ridiculously on-script at all times. These out of work actors from L.A. and other parts of California were only too happy to say their lines and hand out the gewgaws, and that above statement could be applied to literally every other company just like Ubisoft that was on the floor.

Some of these companies had crow's nests where some of the executives could sit above the fracas, looking out over the floor, and not have to mix with the rabble in any way. I found that particularly insulting. Either be here, at the show, or don't. If you're that freaked out by the unwashed masses, then maybe you need to stick to Internet marketing.

On the plus side: there were a variety of cosplayers dressed as Altair and Enzio (from the game). I walked by one of them and said, clearly in her direction: "Nothing is true." She let me get three steps ahead of her and replied, "Everything is permitted." I gave her the high sign and we went our separate ways. I tried it with a few other cosplayers, but no one else took the bait.

San Diego Stories: Wednesday Night

Preview Night is Wednesday night, and it is the only real time you have a chance to walk around, unmolested, and actually see stuff. This is especially true if you're an exhibitor, because once the show starts, you're trapped at your booth until they say otherwise. So, as you can imagine, everyone in the room was running hither and thither trying to snap pictures, talk to a creator, or get something signed while they could.

That's how I ended up in line for Darwyn Cooke's newest release from IDW, The Score.  This is the third adaptation of Richard Stark's brilliant crime series featuring the enigmatic and pragmatic Parker. It's possible you don't know what I'm talking about, so get thee over to the excellent website, The Violent World of Parker, and read Darwyn's interview with the guys. It's worth doing.

In any case, I spent about an hour and a half in line to meet the man, and I was one of the last ones actually in line, to boot. The last time I waited that long in a line to meet someone at a convention was Joe Kubert. So, yeah, I don't normally do that kind of thing. I just don't. But it was well worth it to me, just to get a little face time with Darwyn and shake his hand and thank him for doing the book. He drew a little Parker profile in my book, too; it's maybe eleven connected lines and it's perfect.

While in line, I got to have a couple of cool conversations with the two guys on either side of me in the line. You do that at San Diego, a lot. I ran into Joseph McCabe, an old friend and fellow writer. We shot the bull for a while until he was allowed to surreptitiously cut the line with me, and so all was right with the world. Joe was the first of many people I'd run into over the next five days that I've not seen in years.

Between the guys with me in line and Joe, I was almost able to deal with the guy taking photographs of the toys in one of the cases set up by an IDW affiliate. The resin statues were striking and wonderful and expensive, and none of this is in dispute. But this chucklehead with his camera insisted on taking multiple--dozens, really--of photos of each model from every angle he could get at. And between his camera bag, the rig he was shooting with, his haversack, and his constant squatting and shifting, he was completely disrupting the line. It was clear that he had no intention of buying anything, but reacted to anyone trying to work around him as if his picture taking was the most important thing in the world.

Truthfully, I felt sorry for the affiliate creators. They were, from the looks of things, concept artists, and while we were all politely checking out their table stuff as we were trapped into doing so, none of us were there for that. Occasionally some fan would try to wedge his way through us, and we were pretty shitty to them. One guy asked if we were in line for those creators and I replied, "Naw, we're all getting the same tattoo." He laughed, and moved around to the other side. Irritating for all, sure, but by no means the most untenable thing at the convention. Nearly every booth had some kind of traffic flow problem and there wasn't really anything to be done about it. Welcome to San Diego.


Whilst milling around, I also ran into Chris Roberson and Allison Baker, Chris Cox, Martin Thomas, Kerry Gammill, and Shannon Wheeler. It really felt like a family reunion. I forget sometimes how many people I actually know in the comics industry, until I see them all in San Diego.