It’s not you Comic-Con, it’s me.

I love Comic-Con. I really do. I’ve attended somewhere close to a dozen shows. I’ve been to both the Comic-Con in San Diego and the one in New York. And, while the majority of these shows have been for work-related purposes, I always take whatever available free time I can to enjoy the show floor, panels, and events. 

But, before all that, I came under my own steam to Comic-Con because I loved comic books. I loved

the heroes, I sought out the companies that published them (I even made a pilgrimage to visit DC publishing in NYC as a youth), I met with the artists, and I listened intently to the writers about their craft. I discovered that the show floor was a magical wonderland of opportunity to find missing issues, new series at bargains, and items to help celebrate my fandom out loud. I was fully enjoying following my obsession, along with thousands of others.

Yet it wasn’t until years later that I discovered something was missing. Through a work product promotion, I attended my first Gen Con, a gaming convention, in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Almost upon arrival, the thought popped into my head and out of my mouth at the same time: “These are my people.” To be honest, I couldn’t explain at the time why a gaming convention would hold such an affinity over my beloved Comic-Con.  But, there it was.

 

I came to realize that Comic-Con, although jam-packed with all creeds of fan-boys (and girls) from all over the world, is a solipsistic experience. There is a sea of people emphatically facing in one direction and not at each other. I may find other die-hard enthusiasts in solidarity attending the same eclectic panel, or encounter another attendee in a favorite but obscure costume - but will we really converse and strike up a friendship? Will either of us do more than snap a picture and compliment the wearer? Not likely.

A friend of mine (let’s call him Ben) will often reject offers of gatherings when the main purpose is watching a movie or television show together. Watching stuff is something he can do on his own.  But gaming? That needs other people. At first I thought he was a bit of a loon (and he is); however, he makes a good point.

At a gaming convention, I can still find people wearing outrageous and clever costumes. I can still find groups of people who share a passion for interests from mainstream to eclectic. But only there am I bound to really meet and spend time with absolute strangers. More than that, we will be bonding and creating memories over card games, board games, role-playing games, video games, and even (sigh) Live Action Role Playing games. At a gaming con, you are creating shared experiences with other attendees and, if you aren’t careful, you might even make new friends. It’s happened.

This is why I still enjoy Comic-Con, fully.  Yet we can only really be friends going forward.  My heart belongs to gaming conventions, and frankly it probably always has.