Alexis Davis’ first experience with cosplay happened at 12-years-old, shortly after she and her family moved to North Carolina, when she read about a local comic book convention in the newspaper.
“[There were] pictures of people dressed up and everyone looked like they were having such a good time.”
The following year, she “begged her parents” to let her attend. With a costume from eBay, she turned herself into Naruto, the blond-haired, ramen-eating ninja from the titular anime and manga. She said she felt a unique sense of community.
“I felt like I belonged for once. It was such a wholesome feeling,” Davis said describing her experience. “I was like, ‘there are people who are accepting, people who are here that are loving and then there are people who are here that have treated me like their family, even though they just met me.’”
However, the more she cosplayed, the more Davis, who identifies as African-American, felt that other’s perceptions about her skin tone restricted her choices. She would choose characters that had dark or tanned skin to avoid getting into conflicts with other members of the cosplay community.
“When you cosplay… one of the first things that people see is the skin tone and it is clearly obvious that in the cosplay community there’s issues with race and there’s issues with colorism.”
“When you cosplay … one of the first things that people see is the skin tone and it is clearly obvious that in the cosplay community there’s issues with race and there’s issues with colorism.”
Like Davis, Rachel Millin found fun and community through cosplay. The Atlanta-based professional cosplayer Rachel Millin found her way into the scene when she and her friends volunteered at DragonCon in 2010. There, she saw people in handmade cosplays and decided she wanted the join. The next year, she put together a cheap rendition of the “soul reaper” character Yoruichi Shihoin, from the popular anime and manga Bleach.
“I felt really proud of myself for even just making a costume,” Millin said. “Then from there, it’s just been like just a snowball.”
Over the years she established a brand as “Yarn Goddess Cosplays,” primarily creating her cosplays through crochet.
However, like Davis, there have been moments in her journey where she’s had to push back in the form of fan critiques of her costume’s accuracy. In one instance, Millin cosplayed as Mizore Shirayuki, a favorite character from the manga and anime Rosario + Vampire. Mizore is a snow fairy portrayed with purple hair, blue eyes and light skin.
“A couple of people were like, ‘oh my gosh, you know, you’re too dark to be Mizore. Mizore is a Japanese girl,” Millin recalled.
Women of color and Black women in particular find themselves subjected to scrutiny from those who feel they do not fit the image of a character. Gatekeepers relegate members of the community who don’t have the right body-type of a character to a small pool of characters to dress as.
“I’m African American but like literally if I’m not cosplaying Storm [from X-men] I’m just not going to be accurate and that should be fine,” Millin said.
“I’m African American but like literally if I’m not cosplaying Storm [from X-men] I’m just not going to be accurate and that should be fine.”
Professor Nicolle Lamerichs, whose research encompasses fandom, defines gatekeeping from her research as the act of trying to limit the access of certain groups of people to texts, products and characters.
“It is tied up with feelings of privilege and entitlement often, and even nostalgia,” Lamerichas wrote in an email.
A senior lecturer and team lead at Creative Business at HU University of Applied Sciences, Utrecht, Lamerichs said policing in the cosplay community happens along many faultlines, including race, body-type or even the quality of a person’s cosplay.
“Cosplay relies a lot on our bodies, our looks. It is about re-enactment and creating a look-a-like, so it’s no wonder that this has been a struggle,” Lamerichs said. “Since it’s very visual, it’s easy to discredit those that are not a perfect copy of a character.”
Characters, especially in anime, tend to be depicted with lighter skin and petite features. Their stylistic design makes it impossible for anyone to replicate their appearance perfectly, but gatekeepers still insist some are better suited to cosplaying than others.
Samantha Ko is a Korean American cosplayer based in Southern California. She says she understands there are some characters she can dress as without having to worry about the backlash women from other ethnic or racial backgrounds would face.
“Given especially with anime characters I feel like it is easier as an Asian person to cosplay with that,” Ko said. “I recognize there is a privilege.”
Despite this, Ko said she still has insecurities about the characters she chooses to dress as, specifically when it comes to her weight.
“Subconsciously I’ll be like ‘Oh, maybe I shouldn’t cosplay certain characters because I’m not skinny enough or something, and being worried how people would perceive me if I did,” Ko said.
Kyndell Vu has her own doubts at times about her anime-inspired cosplays. Despite identifying as Asian-American, cosplaying as characters, like Sinon from Sword Art Online and Kyoko Sakura from Puella Magi Madoka Magica, who are fair-skinned sometimes gives Vu pause.
“There’s been times where I think of myself like, ‘Oh, should I really constantly have this character? I’m not as light-skinned as them,” Vu said. “Admittedly, people who are darker tend to have that type of trouble where they’re wondering if they should be able to represent a character because if their skin color doesn’t match them, their height, their weight.”
Maya McGhee is a Black, plus-sized cosplayer from Atlanta who knows from experience how gatekeepers extend policing beyond skin color. Her line-up has encompassed characters ranging from She-Ra from the 2018 Princesses of Power reboot to the popular anime character Deku from My Hero Academia and comic book icons Hellboy, from the titular series, and Raven, from Teen Titans.
“Existing in a geek space while Black and a woman is an act of defiance in itself, especially if you’re plus-sized on top of it,” McGhee said.
McGhee posts pictures of herself in cosplay under the name Lucky Luna on social media. She has close to 5000 Instagram followers and more than 7000 likes on her Facebook page.
A scroll through her feed and those of other WOC cosplayers show hundreds of complementary and supportive comments. But McGhee also finds comments about how her body-type and skin color don’t match the character.
“Putting my cosplays online will always attract some negative attention from those who don’t think I belong here,” McGhee said.
Hecklers that do show up in those spaces many times aren’t even from the cosplay community.
“The criticism towards cosplay tends to come from people who don’t cosplay,” Vu said. “I’ll see photos of people cosplaying for a character, and then in the comments section, they can include a lot of mean comments like, ‘Oh, this person shouldn’t be cosplaying. They’re too dark, they’re too tall.’”
“The criticism towards cosplay tends to come from people who don’t cosplay. I’ll see photos of people cosplaying for a character, and then in the comments section, they can include a lot of mean comments like, ‘Oh, this person shouldn’t be cosplaying. They’re too dark, they’re too tall.’”
Despite some of the obstacles social media has created, it remains a way for cosplayers to find each other and for people interested in cosplay to break into the community.
“I was basically introduced to cosplay because I was on Facebook,” Vu said. “I would see these cosplayers who look really good and I would follow them on their journey.”
“Through Instagram, I have actually been able to meet some really cool people. It’s how I met some of my closest friends,” Vu said.
While social media helps build brands and connect with the community, the goal for most who participate is still attending conventions.
People across fan communities in costume or not gather to celebrate their interests. Exhibit halls bustle with attendees wearing convention-provided bags as big as a person. Attendees can purchase everything from stylized pieces of art showcasing their favorite characters to independent comic books to full-scale model weapons. Fans can sign up for autograph signings with voice actors from popular anime or attend panels that encourage conversations around fandom ranging from world-building to budgeting out time as an independent creator. The bigger ones can attract tens of thousands of people.
Going to the cons can be expensive. To participate in all four nights of the con and the preview night, San Diego Comic-Con charges a grand total of $304.
That’s without the expense of a hotel, preferably close to the action. In 2018, prices for hotels receiving the Comic-Con discount ranged from $178 a night at the Days Inn San Diego Hotel Circle South to $439 a night for a Grand King at the Pendry San Diego.
Those prices represent the minimum cost to attend without a costume. Cosplayers have to factor in materials and hair and makeup for their elaborate outfits. Many also pay for photoshoots once they arrive. Depending on the quality and type of cosplay, this can add hundreds if not thousands of dollars in expenses.
Millin says those costs can limit participation for many of her Black and people of color. “POC cosplayers are already going to school, already working two different jobs and pay bills. And we’re also still trying to go to the con on the weekend,” Millin said.
As a professional cosplayer, Millin fundraises through Patreon to help offset the expense. Fans of her work support her by “pledging” to different monetary tiers. These unlock exclusive content from Millin unavailable through other social channels, such as cosplay-related videos and photo spreads.
Vu signs up to cosplay with organizations that compensate cosplayers by paying for their badges at booths. She cuts costs further by only attending local conventions and taking public transportation or carpooling.
“I really do try to make sure I don’t go broke spending on cosplay, because there are people who will go broke and there are more important things in life then cosplay.”
While many cosplayers make their own cosplays, Vu buys hers from eBay or international sites, using monetary gifts from birthdays and Chinese New Year. There is an entire industry around purchasing already made cosplays and having a cosplay commissioned.
Millin, who offers commissioning services for her crocheted cosplays, says she’s spoken with other cosplayers who’ve shelved out $1000 or more to have a custom-made look.
“That’s privilege right there,” she said. “I’m just like, ‘Cool, I’m in the Goodwill right now. I’m trying to find some yarn or find jeans or something I can turn into an outfit.”
“That’s privilege right there. I’m just like, ‘Cool, I’m in the Goodwill right now. I’m trying to find some yarn or find jeans or something I can turn into an outfit.”
Despite the costs, the energy a convention provides is worth it for cosplayers like Vu.
“When you’re at a convention, everyone’s so excited,” Vu said. “When you find another cosplayer it’s just nice to be able to talk to someone who understands how excited you are to be there.”
McGhee enjoys going to conventions because she’s surrounded by friends who make her feel like she has a place within fan-spaces.
“We’re all (check) women of color, we create a safe space with each other. It’s always so much more comfortable with that support system around me.”
However, even as conventions make it possible for WOC to meet up and find community, they often find themselves a minority in an otherwise majority-white space. They may have the same interests as other con attendees, but there can be a sense of disconnection.
“My biggest dream was to go to San Diego Comic-Con, but now I’m kinda like,’ Why would I go like it’s a predominantly white space?’” Millin said. “Yeah, I’ll be nerdy, but it’ll probably be very gatekeepy. I’ll probably be like one of like five other Black girls there. I don’t see myself in that space, so I’m less excited to go.”
Conventions, rather than internet channels, are where Lamerichs believes fan communities need to unite against gatekeeping.
“A large part of cosplay still centers around convention performances and spaces,” Lamerichs said. “These spaces don’t become more inclusive, gatekeeping will remain a problem.”
That’s where spaces like BLERD-Con comes in, a Black nerd convention based in Washington D.C.. Millin had the opportunity to attend this year and says it was different in a good way, from centering Black artists and comics to playing a remix of the theme of a Captain Planet parody mini-series starring Don Cheadle throughout the weekend.
The experience made her realize what conventions could offer in terms of creating spaces for Black nerds
“I’m now more focused on finding the Black nerdy groups just because I didn’t realize that I was missing something. And now having found it I want it again.”
Years after her Naruto cosplay debut, Davis is now a college graduate and a lab -assistant. As she’s grown in her craft through the years, she embraces her appearance and says she now feels free to dress as whatever character she chooses.
“Cosplay was never about race. It was never about accuracy, it was just about dressing up as your favorite character and having fun,” Davis said.