Understanding Representations of Gender and Sexuality in ...

Just a Girl, a Wig, and a Dream:

Understanding Representations of Gender and Sexuality

in Contemporary Comic Books and Comic Culture

Alexandra Christine Gago

Submitted in Partial Fulfillment

of the Prerequisite for

Honors in Women’s and Gender Studies

under the advisement of Elena Creef

May 2021

Copyright 2021 Alexandra Christine Gago

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Table of Contents

Title Page

Table of Contents

Table of Figures

Acknowledgements

Introduction

Chapter 1: Representation Matters: Contemporary Queer Comic Books

Chapter 2: Comics and Cosplay and Cons, Oh My!

Chapter 3: Sounds Gay, I’m In: An Ethnographic Account of the Thinly-Veiled Sheer Chaos

of Cons and Cosplay

Conclusion

Bibliography

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Table of Figures

Figure 1: Two women of color, the Prime Minister and Admiral Brito, are shown

conversing with Lady Atena, a Cumaean witch (from Volume Three: Haven).

Figures 2 and 3: (On top) Old Dagon speaks with their sister-brothers Desteria and Gull

(from Volume Three: Haven). (On bottom) The Sword of the East, the Warlord of the Dawn

Court, leans in to kiss her new bride Tuya, Baroness of the Dusk Court (from Volume Four:

The Chosen). Their marriage was used to unite the two courts. Both characters are women

of color.

Figures 4 and 5: (On left) Maika and Tuya are seen in bed in a sexually charged pose (from

Volume Three: Haven). (On right) The Warlord and Tuya are almost engaged in a kiss when

Tuya stops them for risk of pregnancy (from Volume Five: Warchild).

Figure 6: A hologram of elderly Cassandra giving the eulogy at her own funeral. In this

scene, she is reminiscing about all of the memories she got to create with her friends and

fellow Pantheon members (from Volume 9: “Okay”).

Figure 7: Cassandra/Urðr and Umar/Dionysus conversing in the hallway of the Pantheon’s

base, Valhalla. Umar has feelings for Cassandra, and Cassandra is attempting to discern

those feelings (from Volume 6: Imperial Phase Part 2).

Figures 8 and 9: (On left) Two queer women, Eleanor/Lucifer and Laura, kiss as Eleanor

loses her godhood (from Volume 9: “Okay”). (On right) Two queer people of color,

Valentine/Baal and Zahid/Inanna, in a scene of consensual erotic pleasure on the rooftop

of Valhalla (from Volume 8: Old is the New New.

Figures 10 and 11: (On left) A broad view of The Dirty Mind, the underground sex safe

haven run by characters in SfSx. (On right) A view from one of the rooms from the tour of

The Dirty Mind.

Figures 12 and 13: (On left) Main character Avery uses a (illegal) Magic Wand while having

sex with her husband, George. (On right) Main characters Silvia and Jones are caught

having sex in The Dirty Mind storeroom while Avery is on her way to an appointment with

one of her clients.

Figure 14: Main character Dennis attempts to locate Casey, one of the other characters

who runs The Dirty Mind, thus giving the readers a tour of The Dirty Mind’s fetish rooms.

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Figure 15: An infographic titled “Decriminalization of Sex Work is a Queer Issue” provided

at the end of the volume.

Figures 16, 17, and 18: (On top left) Ship captains Alma and Char share a tender moment.

(On top right) Main characters Mia and Grace, both women of color, share a kiss after

skipping school to go on a date. (On bottom) Mia and Grace share a kiss in the school

hallway, while their schoolmates look on and applaud them.

Figure 19: Jules corrects her friend Elliot’s pronouns when their new boss misgenders

them.

Figure 20: The Sunbeam crew relaxes together after a long day of restoration work by

watching a show on television.

Figures 21 and 22: (On left) Tasuku is mildly harassed by Misora as they interrogate him

about his crush on Tsubaki (from Volume 2). (On right) Someone San comes out as asexual

to Tchaiko and Iliya (from Volume 4).

Figures 23 and 24: (On left) Utsumi is reunited with one of his high school classmates,

who is good-intentioned, but manages to be very transphobic (from Volume 3). (On right)

Tasuku meets Haruko for the first time. Tasuku had been previously unaware that there

were other queer people like him, so he is shocked when he meets Haruko (from Volume

1).

Figures 25 and 26: (On left) Haruko and Saki are having dinner with Saki’s parents. During

this scene, they tell Saki’s parents that they are a couple, and they are planning on getting

married soon. Saki’s parents had been unaware of their queerness previously (from

Volume 4). (On right) Tchaiko and Iliya reminisce about the adventures they have had as

Iliya is dying from cancer in the hospital (from Volume 4).

Figures 27 and 28: (On left) Cosplayer A-ka-ki-o-ga cosplays as Nargacuga from Monster

Hunter Rise (Akakioga 2020). (On right) Cosplayer nonbinate cosplays as Scarlet Witch

from X-Men (Blackburn 2021).

Figures 29 and 30: (On left) A male cosplayer poses for a photo in a gender-bent cosplay

of DC’s Wonder Woman (Graham 2020--originally taken by Cantera Image in 2014). (On

right) Cosplayer Gustav Willendorf crossplays as Harley Quinn, a character from the DC’s

Batman universe (Willendorf 2020).

Figures 31 and 32: (On left) Megan Thee Stallion in a Shoto Todoroki (dubbed “Todoroki

Tina”) cosplay for the cover of Paper Magazine (Paper Magazine 2019). (On right) A

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reference image of Shoto Todoroki from the My Hero Academia series (My Hero

Academia Wiki). Todoroki has fire and ice powers, as depicted in the cosplay.

Figures 33, 34, and 35: Some of the more iconic images from my cosplay-making. These

images are meant to highlight the chaos of cosplay creation. (On left) A failed attempt to

take a picture of myself. (Center) Me, still in my pajamas, in my residence hall’s kitchen

making fangs at 7:30am the day of Anime Boston. (On right) Me, sitting in the cafeteria in

the Hynes Convention Center at Anime Boston, waiting for pizza.

Figures 36, 37, and 38: (On left and center) My personal photos taken after attending Fan

Expo Boston (August 2018). (On left) A close-up of Lan Fan’s automail (mechanical

prosthetic arm). (Center) A full shot of the whole cosplay. (On Right) This image is a

depiction of Lan Fan in the Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood anime series before she

receives an automail arm (Fullmetal Alchemist Wiki).

Figure 39: Aerial view of Fan Expo Boston, overlooking the merchandise section of the

convention floor (Rugo 2017).

Figure 40: The Artist’s Alley section of Fan Expo Boston (Rugo 2017).

Figures 41 and 42: (On left) A group photo of me and my friends at Fan Expo Boston

(August 2018). I finally stopped to ask someone to take a group photo. The three of us

are in our Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric, and Lan Fan cosplays. (On right) A depiction of

Edward and Alphonse Elric from the Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood anime series, on a

poster (Great Eastern Entertainment).

Figure 43: A selfie I took of myself at Anime Boston to send to my parents while I was

sitting in the lobby of the Sheraton. (April 2019).

Figure 44: Photo taken of me and my friends by the British Airways flight attendants in

the Sheraton lobby. (April 2019).

Figure 45: Figure x depicts an aerial view of Anime Boston from April 2019. This view

shows the general sales floor. (Scheids° 2017).

Figures 46, 47, and 48: (On left) Our cosplays for Anime Ball. Toga, since she is a villain in

the series, did not have a canonical formal outfit, so I had to make one up. Bakugo (center)

and Deku (on right) both have canonical formal costumes, so my friends reproduced these

for the Anime Ball (BNHAFF Wiki and DBZFF Wiki).

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Figure 49: An image of myself on the Red Line. This photo was originally sent to my friend

on Snapchat to let her know I was on my way. In this photo, I’m still wearing my

DeCordova Museum admissions tag. (April 2019).

Figures 50, 51, and 52: (On left) A close-up of my Himiko Toga cosplay, without the mask.

(Center) The full outfit, including the mask. (On right) Toga’s character design from the

BHNA anime series (My Hero Academia Wiki).

Figures 53, 54, and 55: (On left) My friends and I at our BNHA meet-up in one of the Hynes

Convention Center ballrooms. (Center and on right) Deku and Bakugo in their hero

costumes from the My Hero Academia series (Cosplay Reference Wiki and My Hero

Academia Wiki).

Figure 56: Still from Trans & Nonbinary Narratives in Fiction | Beyond the Binary, showing

moderator Jay Justice and panelists Vita Ayala, Lilah Sturgis, and Jay Edidin (New York

Comic Con 2020).

Figure 57: Still from History of Diversity in Comics featuring moderator Evelyn “Comic

Canary” and panelists and comic personalities Nico Action, Indigo, and Raven. (New York

Comic Con 2020)

Figure 58: A sketch of the New Warriors characters Snowflake and Safespace (Marvel

2020).

Figure 59: Still from Body Talk, featuring moderator Mariah McCourt and panelists Jules

Rivera, Christina "Steenz" Stewart, Mari Naomi, Sequoia Bostick, and Lilah Sturges.

(Comic-Con International aka San Diego Comic Con 2020)

Figure 60: Still from Out in Comics--Year 33: Virtually Yours featuring moderator Andy

Mangels and panelists Hazel Newlevant, Noelle Stevenson, Tim Sheridan, and Christian

Cooper. (Comic-Con International aka San Diego Comic Con 2020)

Figure 61: Flame Con’s recently redesigned logo. Each year, Flame Con adds more

characters to their logo, which are meant to be representative of their convention goers

(Blas 2020).

Figure 62: Still from Comics and Advocacy: Using Your Passion to Empower Your

Community featuring moderator Regine L. Sawyer and panelists Greg Anderson, Camilla

Zhang, James Seetal, Vita Ayala, and Diamond Stylz. (Geeks OUT at Flame Con 2020)

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Acknowledgements

I want to begin by acknowledging the impact of the coronavirus pandemic. COVID-19 turned our world

upside down and this thesis is no exception. From having to constantly reassess the components of this

thesis to having to navigate the symptoms of COVID-19 while writing this thesis, my honors project has

truly been shaped by this most unusual time. Even in non-COVID times, a thesis takes a village. This

project would not have been possible without the help of the following people:

To Professor Elena Creef, my honors thesis advisor, for her invaluable advice and unyielding support

throughout the whole thesis process. Professor Creef pushed me to examine intersectional comics more

deeply, explore outside my comfort zone, and assert my expertise in the subject. Your guidance has

allowed me to mold my project idea into the honors thesis it is today. Thank you.

To Professor Natali Valdez, Professor Rosanna Hertz, Professor Octavio González, and Professor Patricia

Berman for generously giving their time and knowledge. Thank you for sitting on my honors thesis

committee and giving me invaluable suggestions to strengthen the project.

To Marjorie Liu, author of Monstress, for her expertise in comic creation. I took her class The Art of Comic

Book Writing at MIT in the fall of 2019, and that course was the launching point for this thesis project. I

may or may not have fangirled a little bit every time we had class.

To my parents for always fostering my love of reading and for supporting me throughout my college

career and my thesis process. I was the kid who devoured books, and this thesis is a love note to the

important books in my life. Throughout my four years at Wellesley, my parents have never ceased

supporting me, believing in me, and helping to become the woman I am today. You have my immense

gratitude.

To my friends for their support and enthusiasm. Thank you to Nicole and Emma for inviting me to Fan

Expo Boston and Anime Boston. Thank you to Kerri for making mac and cheese when Nicole and I were

deep in cosplay-making and trying not to hot glue our fingers together. Thank you to Landon and Lily for

listening to me talk about comics incessantly for the past few months. And thank you to Gabe for

agreeing to watch anime with me and being my number one fan.

Finally, to the comic fans who I have met throughout my forays into comic conventions and comic

culture; I hope you know how incredibly cool you are.

I could not have done this project without you all--thank you.

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Introduction

The inspiration for this honors thesis began after I attended my first comic-con in August 2018.

Having always been fascinated with the culture of cosplay from afar, I was invited to join my friend’s

party to the Fan Expo Boston convention, where we cosplayed as characters from Fullmetal Alchemist. I

had already been reading comic books and graphic novels for quite some time, having begun exploring

some series in early high school. At this point in time, I would have considered myself a casual comic

reader, being familiar with many series and reading them for my own pleasure, but not having interacted

much with the larger comic community. It was not that I did not want to--I had certainly followed cosplay

artists on social media and enjoyed the concept of fandom--but I never really had an opportunity to go

to an actual convention. It is certainly no fun to go to a convention alone. So, when I was presented with

the opportunity to finally attend one, I went. At the time of Fan Expo Boston, I was just about to begin

my sophomore year of college and was not seriously thinking about thesising; however, the thought was

in the back of my mind. The question remained: How could I combine my love of comics and cosplay into

an academic project in the Women’s and Gender Studies department? As it turned out, it was easier

than my sophomore self could have imagined.

In most of the comic series I have read, I was always struck by the diversity of characters,

particularly when it came to the wide representational range of races, genders, and sexualities present

within their pages. In many of the new wave comics, one can see across their pages positive

representations of genders and sexualities that are rarely seen in mainstream media, especially those of

non-white characters. Something about this struck a chord in me: Why exactly were comics, of all of the

forms of media available for consumption, so diverse, and quite frankly, intersectional? What was it

about the medium that made it so conducive to the exploration and representation of a wide range of

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characters? Was this a historical phenomenon? An intrinsic principle of comics? Just a fluke? These were

just a few of the questions that began to drive my curiosity in the subject, prompting me to delve deeper

into my academic inquiry into the world of comics.

In addition to the comics themselves, while I read these stories and marveled at the characters,

I also thought back to my own experiences at comic conventions. “Heteronormative” would not be the

first word that comes to mind in these spaces. At the time, when I was a participant in these conventions,

I did not think much about the other people who were attending alongside me, nor was I particularly

thinking about the critical gender implications of cosplay. When I returned to my experiences for this

project, including some new ones undertaken at virtual comic conventions, thanks to COVID-19, I began

to realize how comic conventions truly reflect the diversity of race, gender, and sexuality displayed in

contemporary comics. For example, at Anime Boston there was a Human Rights Campaign table on the

convention floor. At most conventions, you often see queer couples cosplaying queer couples (whether

or not those characters are canonically queer). Additionally, gender becomes wildly amorphous in the

field of cosplay, allowing cosplayers to slip in and out of different gender representations with a change

of costume. Because of this, I knew that my thesis about comics and comic culture would not be

complete without an analysis of cosplay and comic conventions.

Of course, when you say the words “comics” or “comic conventions” to almost anyone, they

immediately connect this cultural world to one defined by the stereotype of a white, cisgender,

heterosexual man somewhere between his teens to mid-thirties. These imaginary convention-goers are

often represented, thanks to The Big Bang Theory and other similar popular media, as dorky, socially

awkward introverts who own nothing but Star Trek t-shirts and probably have a large collection of action

figures and Magic: The Gathering cards. This is not to say that this particular category of person is not

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attending comic conventions, but such an assumption tends to overlook a very large and diverse

population of attendees which include the female, POC, and LGBTQ+ participants who come in droves.

Just walking through the convention floor, you can see that there are participants from across a wide

range of genders, ages, and races. It does not help that much of the literature being written about comics

and comic conventions is written by cisgender heterosexual men (who are usually also white). Much of

the focus in comic studies has been centered on superhero comics, the normative history of comics, and

comic book distribution. To date, there has been very little published academic overlap between comic

studies, feminist studies, and queer studies--despite the ample evidence that warrants a queer theory

reading of comics and comic culture (Scott and Fawaz 2018, 197). Luckily, within the last two decades,

there has been some progress in the field. Scholars are finally beginning to see the merit of examining

comics through a queer theory or gender studies lens. With this project, I hope to contribute to the field

of queer feminist comic studies, adding an additional and much-needed review of the politics of

representation of gender and sexuality that are abundantly present in contemporary comic books.

Abstract

This honors project is simultaneously a passion project as well as an effort to build upon the

current research and literature available on the representations of race, gender, and sexuality in

contemporary comic books. Through my research, I hope to answer the following questions: Why are

contemporary comics since 2000 so diverse in their representations? What is it about the medium itself

that allows comic books to be like this? Why is this representation in comic books so important to fans

and popular culture as a whole? How is this diversity in comics explored in vivo at comic conventions and

in fandom communities? In order to contextualize comics within our culture, I first engage the queer

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history of comics and present a literature review of recent works in feminist and comic studies. Chapter

One will focus on my feminist reading of five contemporary comics that best exemplify the diversifying

nature of the medium’s representation. These five comics include Marjorie Liu’s Monstress, Kieron

Gillen’s The Wicked + The Divine, Tina Horn’s SfSx, Tillie Walden’s On a Sunbeam, and Yuhki Kamatani’s

Our Dreams at Dusk. Chapter Two will delve into the scholarship surrounding representation in fan

culture including conventions, cosplay, and fandom. Chapter Three will conclude this thesis with my own

ethnographic account of participating in comic conventions with some final observations on the world

of comics, comic cons, and cosplay during this time of Covid-19.

Exploring the Literature

One of the great ironies in mapping the vibrantly gendered world of comic books and comic cons

is the disappointing lack of feminist or queer pop cultural studies scholarship that has been conducted

in relation to comic studies. Nevertheless, I was able to find some informative works that helped me

shape this project. I encourage readers of this thesis who are interested in exploring this topic further to

read the following works. While some were more helpful than others, readers may find them useful

knowledge for how they engage with questions regarding the representation of gender and sexuality in

comics and comic culture.

One of the key works I read for this project was Bradford Wright’s Comic Book Nation (2001). If

you are looking for information regarding the history of comic books, comic culture, and the Comics

Code Authority, Wright’s work is a great place to start. Wright covers the history of comics

chronologically since 1933, leaving no stone unturned, and successfully creates a formalized history of

comics. Like a good historian, Wright also contextualizes the history of comic books alongside unfolding

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events in the U.S., indicating the level of connection between popular culture, current events, and the

comic world. Comic Book Nation was especially helpful in unraveling the crusade of Frederick Wertham1

and understanding how the vitriolic campaign against comics began.

Complimenting the work of Wright, Carol L. Tilley and A. Scott Henderson offer a feminist

historical and a queer theorist reading of the events leading up to the creation of the Comics Code

Authority in their works “A regressive formula of perversity: Wertham and the women of comics” (2018)

and “Just Like Us? LGBTQ Characters in Mainstream Comics” (2019). Tilley primarily focuses on the

depictions of women in comics pre- and post-Comics Code Authority (CCA), as well as the sexist

arguments of comic critics that lead to a “taming” of female characters in comics post-CCA. Henderson’s

work dives more deeply into the queerphobic rhetoric that surrounded the arguments presented by

Wertham and others for banning comic books. Both of these authors delve into the specific wording of

the Comics Code, showing the language that was used to prevent the writing of strong female characters

and queer characters. Together, these two works present a clearer picture of the motivations of those

who wanted to heavily restrict the content presented in comics.

The work of Darieck Scott and Ramzi Fawaz, “Introduction: Queer about Comics” (2018), was

another fundamental work for my research on representation in queer comic books and the intersection

of queer studies, gender studies, and comic studies. Scott and Fawaz stress the importance of combining

comic studies with queer theory and gender studies, and they provide well-researched historical

evidence for why the overlap of these disciplines is important. The two authors also go into some detail

1 Frederick Wertham was a psychiatrist who believed that comic books were too crime- and sex-ridden and were driving young people to become delinquents. Wertham campaigned for comics to be banned, and his book Seduction of the Innocent is one of the primary reasons that diverse comics were forced to go underground. More details about his anti-comic crusade can be found in the subsection: “Queering the History of Comic Books.”

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about fandom and the importance of representation to the fan community. Scott and Fawaz include

specific examples of important historical events that appeared explicitly or were hinted at in comics.

Scott and Fawaz also include references to their own personal fascinations with comics, much of which

stems from the first time they saw queer Black and Brown characters like them depicted in comics. These

two authors also provide a powerful framework with which to explore comics, noting that “comics

themselves ‘queer’ the archive of US culture” (Scott and Fawaz 2018, 199), which was one of the

fundamental frameworks for my overall argument.

Some critical comic works took a more statistical route to collect and interpret data regarding

comic characters and comic fans. For statistical data regarding queer and trans comic book characters,

Thomas J. Billard and Brian L. MacAuley’s “‘It's a Bird! It's a Plane! It's a Transgender Superhero!’:

Transgender Characters in Marvel, DC, and Image Comics” (2017) provides an excellent resource for

readers looking to find numerical data on representation in some of the most contemporary comics.

Billard and MacAuley meticulously go through up-and-coming contemporary comics from DC, Marvel,

and Image and document the presence of queer and trans characters and the quality of their

representation in the comic. If you are looking for statistical data regarding fan participation in comic

culture, look no further than Stephanie Orme’s “Femininity and fandom: the dual-stigmatization of

female comic book fans” (2016) and Angela Ndalianis’s “Female fans, female creators, and female

superheroes: The semiotics of changing gender dynamics” (2020). Orme’s research revolves around

exploring how “adult women who read comic books perform their femininity alongside their identities

as participants in a traditionally masculine culture” (Orme 2016, 407) as well as the various stigmas faced

by female fans in the comic community. Orme’s research is great for examining gender in comic culture,

but not race, with her research subjects consisting of an all-white panel (which she acknowledges as a

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shortcoming of her research). Ndalianis provides an excellent examination into the statistical breakdown

of the genders of fans of comics, and her central argument states that female fans are more common

than ever now. She also examines how the mainstream comic industry is still catering primarily towards

male fans, although change is happening rapidly, using Kamala Khan, the main character of Ms. Marvel,

as a case study.

Additionally, I would be remiss to not mention the work of Hillary Chute, who is one of the

premier feminist comic and comic culture researchers. Chute has done a variety of research in the comic

studies field including research on feminist autobiographical narrative in Graphic Women: Life Narrative

and Contemporary Comics (2010), the history of comics in Why Comics? From Underground to

Everywhere (2017), and feminist comic art in “Feminist Graphic Art” (2018). Chute specializes “around

issues of subjectivity, embodiment, and collectivity” (Chute 2018). While her work tends to take more

the form of reviews and detailed research on specific themes in comics and graphic novels, which did

not lend itself well to my research, I believe that many comic scholars could gain insight from Chute’s

research into feminist graphic art.

Unfortunately, not all of the selected works were as useful as I had hoped they would be. Part of

this stems from the fact that the comic book industry is changing rapidly and works published only a few

years ago now seem to be outdated. This happened with Andrea Wood’s “Making the Invisible Visible:

Lesbian Romance Comics for Women” (2015). “This article engages with and builds upon feminist

methodological approaches to popular romance to analyze the ways in which women artists use the

medium of indie comics...to craft different visions of lesbian romance through a medium that intersects

and overlaps the written and the visual” (Wood 2015, 294-295). Even though this article was published

only a few years ago and was one of the first, if not the first, article to address queer romance in comics,

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there are now many more queer romance comics in print that the narrative around their analysis is

changing as we speak. Readers and scholars are no longer having to sift through the archives to find

queer comics but are able to find them in mainstream bookstores and websites. Because of this and my

focus on very contemporary comics, I did not find this article particularly useful to my search.

Additionally, Wood only focuses on comics with all-white casts, which leaves out a large swath of comics

with queer POC leads, also making it less useful for my research. While Wood provides an interesting

analysis of some avant-garde queer comics through a feminist lens, which will be helpful for readers who

are looking to find information about some early queer romance comics, I would not say her study is all-

encompassing of queer representations in comics.

Another issue I ran into with the literature was the problem that much of it exists in the form of

book reviews. Many authors theorize around a particular set of comics or characters in these comics,

with little research being done on comics as a medium unto itself. I ran into this problem with Michelle

Ann Abate, Karly Marie Grice, and Christine N. Stamper's “Introduction: ‘Suffering Sappho!’: Lesbian

content and queer female characters in comics.” While this article offered a very good introduction to a

number of works that had queer women of color as main characters, it read more like a book review

than a queer theory or feminist reading attempting to explain why these comic books exist at all. I

decided not to read the rest of the issue that this introduction appeared in, as I found that the topics

covered in it would not be helpful to my overall review of contemporary comics and comic culture. I

think if readers are looking to begin exploring some specific works with queer themes and queer women

of color leads, this article would be a good place to start, but I would not recommend it for more general

research about the topic.

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In recent years, there have been more and more people examining cosplay within the context of

queer theory or gender studies. I was particularly excited about Paul Mountfort, Anne Peirson-Smith,

and Adam Geczy’s book Planet Cosplay (2019). The book claimed that it would provide “a unique,

multifaceted examination of [cosplay], from theoretical bases including popular culture studies,

performance studies, gender studies and trans-media studies” (Mountfort et al. 2019). I had imagined

this book would be exactly what I was looking for to complete my research of presentations of gender

and sexuality in cosplay. I was most excited about the chapter titled “Cosgender/Cosqueer,” as I figured

this would be the holy grail of cosplay research in regards to gender and sexuality. I was sorely

disappointed by this work, as it somehow managed to not address any of my questions regarding gender,

sexuality, and cosplay; indeed, this was the shortest section of the book and somehow covered

everything from masquerade traditions, Barbie, Lolitas, and theatre (which, in my opinion as a cosplayer,

really have nothing to do with cosplay whatsoever), but never settled on a definitive answer to whether

or not cosplay is queer. In this section in particular, I felt like there was a lot of theorizing around the

practice of cosplay, but not much examination into the practice of cosplay itself. This section could have

been talking about the creation of video game characters, theatre costumes, or fantasy RPGs2 and still

have come to the same conclusions as it did. To give this book credit, it was one of the first works to

exclusively theorize around cosplay and its practice. Unfortunately, this book tends to look into the world

of cosplay as an outside observer, rather than situating itself more directly into the world of cosplay, as

other works did. There is too much focus on cosplay photography and cosplay embodying “textual

citation” to really focus on the practice of cosplay as a lived experience.

2 RPG is the acronym for role-playing games.

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I also did not find the work of Joel Gn to be particularly useful to my research. Like Planet Cosplay,

I had expected this work to address more of the lived experience of cosplayers and their art. Instead,

“Queer simulation: The practice, performance and pleasure of cosplay” (2011) read more like a

philosophical debate surrounding cosplay and its connections to gender deviance and visual pleasure

rather than a queer theoretical interpretation of cosplay. Gn argues that there is a separation between

cosplay fans wanting to subvert gender roles in their cosplays and fans wanting to cosplay for aesthetic

purposes. My question is: why can it not be both? These two reasons for cosplaying are not mutually

exclusive. Even if the cosplayer is not questioning their gender identity, the convention floor is arguably

a space where gender identity and gender roles become blurred to an impressive extent. It is very hard

to know why cosplayers and comic fans participate in fandom the way they do without talking to any of

them, which is something that Gn was lacking. Gn’s article, like Planet Cosplay, fell into the trap of

theorizing around the practice of cosplay but not about cosplay itself.

If you are looking for a study about cosplay that really delves into the world of a cosplayer,

Elizabeth Gackstetter Nichols’s work “Playing with identity: gender, performance and feminine agency

in cosplay” (2019) provides an excellent first-hand account into the world of cosplay and fandom. Nichols

considers herself an “‘aca-fan’, someone who sees the value in merging ‘the roles of fan and academic’

and who is ‘explicit about the sources of their knowledge and the passion that drives their research’”

(Nichols 2019, 271). Nichols explores representations of gender and sexuality in cosplay through

interviews with female cosplayers and her own participation in comic conventions blended with her

academic knowledge in gender studies and media studies. Nichols illustrates what Scott and Fawaz were

hoping scholars would do more of: approach comics and comic culture with a queer theory framework.

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Bryan Jenkins also offers another particularly useful work in critical comic studies.

“Marginalization within Nerd Culture: Racism and Sexism within Cosplay” (2020) gives an excellent

glimpse into the world of comics and comic culture through the eyes of comic and cosplay fans. Jenkins

conducts interviews with numerous comic fans, asking them pertinent questions related to their

marginalized identities (specifically race and gender identity) and how these identities translate into

their experiences in the cosplay world. Jenkins also explores the motivations behind cosplay, which was

a central theme in my exploration of comic culture, as well. In addition, Jenkins scrutinizes the stigmas

that marginalized cosplayers still experience within the community, highlighting the work that still needs

to be done in order for all comic fans and cosplayers to find themselves comfortable within the

community. I would call Jenkins’s recent work one of the premier studies regarding race, gender, and

sexuality within the comic and cosplay community.

Unfortunately, many of the works that covered topics focusing on queerness did not take a

particularly intersectional lens to their research. Very few works discussed queer comics and comic

culture in relation to race, leaving readers with many questions regarding the intersections of

marginalized identities in comics. Although the primary focus of these works was queerness, it was

disappointing to see that many of the authors that claimed to be using a feminist lens for their project

were not using an intersectional feminist lens. Although this lack of intersectionality was disappointing,

there are many scholars who have been doing research on the historical and cultural significance of Black

comics. Although it is beyond the scope of my project to take a deeper dive into this new and wildly

intersectional frontier, I am excited to present some recent works in the comics study field that have a

specific focus on a Black studies, Afrofuturism, and Indigenous Futurism. The first of these seminal works

in this field is Sheena C. Howard and Ronald L. Jackson II’s Black Comics: Politics of Race and

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Representation (2013). This text delves into the historical milieu of Black comic creators and Black

comics, the character representations within Black comic books, and the sociopolitical importance of

Black comic books past and present. Following this is Deborah Elizabeth Whaley’s Black Women in

Sequence: Re-inking Comics, Graphic Novels, and Anime (2016) which examines representations of Black

women in comics as well as the important positionality of Black women comic creators within comic

culture. Finally, covering the topics of sci-fi, fantasy, and popular culture more generally, Ytasha L.

Womack’s Afrofuturism: The World of Black Sci-Fi and Fantasy Culture (2013) provides a detailed insight

into Afrofuturistic representations of Black characters and their importance to “Black geeks” (Womack

2013, 12). Fans can then celebrate Black comic and pop culture creators through events like

AfroComicCon, the “premier event for POC and the African diaspora” (AfroComicCon).

I also wanted to present some resources inspired by the new wave of work emanating from the

genre known as Indigenous Futurism. Within the last two decades, Indigenous Futurism has found a

niche within the comic industry due in part to comics’ unique ability to “meld storytelling, tribal history,

and artistic expression” (WeRNative). Much like Afrofuturism, Indigenous Futurism “imagines a world

where colonization hadn’t disrupted the civilization of indigenous people” (Latimer 2019). Recently,

there have been more and more Indigenous comic creators who have been breaking into mainstream

comics, including Marvel’s Voices: Indigenous Voices #1, and creating spaces to highlight Indigenous

comics, like comic bookstore Red Planet Comics.3,4 Just like AfroComicCon, Indigenous Futurists and

Indigenous comic creators and fans have been hosting Indigenous Comic Con--“the premier gathering

for Indiginerds”--since 2016 (Indigenous Comic Con). Identity-based comic cons like Flame Con,

3 https://redplanetbooksncomics.com 4 Also, Indigenous comic-related is the “Indigenous Comic Book Roundtable” episode from the Red Man Laughing podcast.

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AfroComicCon, and Indigenous Comic Con, give an ever-widening base of diverse comic fans a space to

express their love of comics and explore their identities within pop culture.

As you can see from the literature review, there is more work available regarding comics than

there is cosplay and comic conventions. Researchers are only just starting to delve into the unique world

of comic conventions, cosplay, and fandom. The past few years have been excellent for publications in

this field, so it is my hope that the trend continues and more research will be done on this topic. Having

familiarized ourselves with the literature, we can now delve into the queer history of comics.

Queering the History of Comic Books

There seem to be a lot of complaints recently about comic books becoming too politically correct

(henceforth referred to as PC), with authors going so far as to invoke a saving from “woke” superheroes

(Delingpole 2018). In his article for The Spectator, James Delingpole complains about how modern comic

books are not gory and subversive anymore (which I would personally argue as false), pointing out how

his brother no longer wishes to read 2000 AD due to its becoming “wearisomely PC” (Delingpole 2018).

Delingpole claims that white men are the main demographic who buy comic books, which simply is not

true--multiple studies have indicated that women make up 40-50% of comic bookstore customers, with

“women between the ages of 17 and 30 being the fastest-growing group of comic book purchasers”

(Orme 2016, 403-404). He also states that these white male readers do not want their “consciousness

raised” (Delingpole 2018), which presumably means that they do not want to see characters in comics

that are not white, male, heterosexual, cisgender, and able-bodied. Delingpole dubs this supposed PC

takeover as “Comicsgate” (Delingpole 2018).

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Similarly to Delingpole, comic book creators Chuck Dixon and Paul Rivoche, in their article for the

Wall Street Journal, bemoan “modern comics’ descent into political correctness, moral ambiguity and

leftist ideology” (Dixon and Rivoche 2014). They falsely claim that Marvel and DC created the Comics

Code Authority of their own volition (Dixon and Rivoche 2014), even though the CCA was created as a

self-governing body under pressure by conservative politicians and media watchdogs (Wright 2001, 173).

Had comic publishers not done this, the government likely would have intervened to create the

governing body. They also claim that after the dissolution of the CCA, “a new code, less explicit but far

stronger, replaced the old: a code of political correctness and moral ambiguity” (Dixon and Rivoche

2014). I find this claim mildly hard to believe, since the CCA was an incredibly strict code of conduct for

comic creators that silenced many comic companies. I think this claim is also unlikely since it is still can

be difficult to find representations of people of color, queer people, trans people, women, and disabled

people in comics, even though the industry is making strides in a more inclusive direction. The two

authors finish their article with the lukewarm rallying cry of hope that “conservatives, free-marketeers,

and yes, free-speech liberals will join [them]. It’s time to take back comics” (Dixon and Rivoche 2014).

Take back comics from whom, exactly? Considering the comic book industry is still primarily run

by cisgender heterosexual white men, the only people whom they could take it back from is themselves.

With cries that the left is attempting to tarnish the golden reputation of comic books serving a white

cisgender heterosexual male audience, certain readers supposedly wish to go back to the “good-old-

days” where the heroes and heroines of the story were white, cisgender, heterosexual, able-bodied, etc.

Delingpole in particular brings up examples of supposed groundbreaking new conservative graphic

novels that will be taking the comic world by storm and fulfilling the appetites of “true” comic readers,

i.e., Jawbreakers, which was cancelled due to poor behavior by the authors (Baker-Whitelaw 2018) and

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Alt Hero, which now has a QAnon-themed spin-off series written by Chuck Dixon himself. In terms of

taking the comic world by storm, I would not exactly call these series immensely successful. Before its

cancellation, Jawbreakers had a smattering of reviews on Goodreads and Alt Hero currently seems to be

on an indefinite hiatus.

The question becomes, when exactly did comics become (supposedly) PC? When were “the good-

old-days”? Comics have almost always been an underground and counter-culture medium, often

portraying content that would have been frowned upon in the mainstream. More specifically, “comic

books have been linked to queerness or to broader questions of sexuality and sexual identity”

throughout most of their history (Scott and Fawaz 2018, 198). Perhaps even more importantly, “the

history of sexuality and the history of comics [are] mutually constitutive” (Scott and Fawaz 2018, 199),

meaning that they act in a constant feedback loop of each other, with comics acting as both a question

and an answer to gender and sexuality. There’s no escaping the link between comics and queerness. This

then brings up some interesting questions regarding comic readership. Are comics queer because the

readers are? Do comics inherently draw queer readers in? I would argue that it is a mix of both--a bit of

a chicken or the egg situation. Comics often draw queer readers in because the more underground

nature of comics allows for writers to have queer characters in their stories, and as more and more queer

readers get involved in the comic community, the characters and stories evolve to reflect that. Again, it

is this idea that comics and culture are in a constant feedback loop with each other, so it makes sense

that comics would be active reflections of the world we live in.

Adding to this is the fact that comic books have never been a conservative media outlet, and

anyone who tries to claim that has not properly examined the rich history of comics which formally

emerged as a graphic medium in 1938 with the birth of Detective Comics’ (DC) iconic hero, Superman.

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Superman, arguably one of comic book fandom’s most beloved and popular superheroes, was quite

literally written as a “champion of the oppressed” (Wright 2001, 11). Superman helped to save people

who were falsely accused on death row, called out inhumane business practices, and put an end to

conspiracy theories within the American government that would have led to foreign wars (Wright 2001,

11). Superman, and many other superheroes created during the same pre-war, World War II, and

postwar period, fought against the establishment’s corrupt police force, government, and business

owners (Wright 2001, 13). Superheroes valued civil disobedience and adhered to a strict moral code to

help everyday citizens (Wright 2001, 13). Superheroes denounced far right and racist groups like the KKK

and stood up for those who were victims of racism or homophobia. Superman comics in particular placed

a heavy emphasis on critiquing political and judicial systems for not focusing enough on social justice

and for being slow and inefficient when they did try to implement change (Wright 2001, 13). It was only

after the Comics Code was established that comic books became more conservative. For all intents and

purposes, Superman would be considered a “PC” superhero by people like Delingpole, Dixon, and

Rivoche. Superheroes nowadays that are being revamped or created by DC, Marvel, and other comic

publishers hold many of the same values as the original Superman. Without the hold of the Comics Code

Authority, creators are free to go back to the origins of comic books without repercussion.

Before going any further, though, it is worth discussing the crusade against comics that led to the

creation of the Comics Code Authority. While this crusade did not begin with Frederick Wertham, it was

heavily influenced by his most influential piece of writing: Seduction of the Innocent. This small and

unassuming book written in 1954 explicitly called for the ban of comic books for being too violent and

sexual and would fundamentally alter the direction of comics for the next forty years. Wertham was a

psychiatrist who worked with youth and other underserved populations, particularly “the poor and

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disadvantaged” (Wright 2001, 92-93). Although fairly progressive in other aspects of his work, Wertham

had a personal vendetta against comic books and the comic book industry. He had brazen (and wildly

unsubstantiated) claims that comic books were ruining youth and causing them to exhibit delinquent

behavior (Wright 2001, 93). Although there were numerous qualities of comic books that Wertham took

issue with, one of his primary concerns was that of “sexually abnormal” activities portrayed in comic

books (Wright 2001, 97). We can assume this phrasing to mean queer activities and any activities that

fell outside of the realm of heterosexuality. Interestingly enough, Wertham lumped together his dislike

of violence and crime in comic books with his dislike of non-heterosexual sexuality (or perhaps just

sexuality in general). Wertham cooked up all kinds of accusations about comic books, from Wonder

Woman causing lesbianism in young female readers (Tilley 2018, 362) to Batman encouraging “sexual

malorientation” in young male readers (Henderson 2019, 2). Comics were the root of all woes for

Wertham--they contained all kinds of “veiled and not-so-veiled depictions of homoeroticism” that drove

Wertham to denounce comics whenever possible (Henderson 2019, 2). One of the issues with

Wertham’s argument, though, was his lack of evidence aside from a smattering of interviews with some

of his patients regarding their thoughts on comics. Despite this, because he was such a respected figure

in the field, that was all people needed to begin their own personal campaigns against comic books.

In 1948, comic books were burned in a large bonfire at the St. Patrick’s Parochial School in

Binghamton, New York (Wright 2001, 86). Other Catholic schools would follow, but all of them had a

similar vendetta against comic books: they portrayed too much crime and sex (Wright 2001, 86). For the

purposes of this thesis, the focus will primarily be on critiques of sex and sexuality in comics. Despite

people’s best efforts, the Comics Code Authority was implemented in 1954. The CCA called for various

restrictions in comic content that prevented any sort of queerness from being depicted, including “‘All

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characters shall be depicted in dress reasonably acceptable to society’,” “‘Sex perversion or any

inference to same is strictly forbidden’,” and an emphasis on “‘the value of the home and the sanctity of

marriage’” (Tilley 2018, 368). These three rules were some of the most damning, as they prevented

queer characters, and even queer-coded characters, from being depicted in print. While there was

nothing explicitly saying that queer characters could not be depicted, the implicit assumption was that

queer characters could not be positively portrayed (Greyson 2007, 130). This was a big shift from before

the CCA was enacted, when comics often held a neutral or even positive stance towards queer people.

Instead of comics continuing to be the progressive medium they had started out as, the CCA forced

comics to bend to regressive stereotypes and male-centered storylines. Many readers no longer had the

opportunity to see themselves reflected in comics, nor did they see pertinent social concerns of the

times being reflected in comics. We can only imagine what detriment this led to, the effects of which are

perhaps best stated as follows:

Young girl readers lost strong, unconventional female role models and were presented

instead with vanilla substitutes. Readers missed opportunities to grapple with social

redefinitions of sexual and gender norms that may have helped propel positive

discussions of feminism and homosexuality. The loss of comics’ ‘regressive formula of

perversity’ may have pushed queer readers back into closets, as they had to search even

harder for evidence that there were people like them in the world’s imagination (Tilley

2018, 369).

It is impossible to know for sure what we missed out on by having the CCA put in place, but it no doubt

delayed the explicit, not just implied, inclusion of queer and trans characters in mainstream comics. The

CCA also likely discouraged female, queer, and other marginalized authors from publishing through the

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larger publishers, as their works would have had to feed into the cisheteronormative boundaries

prescribed by the CCA. Even though the CCA has been formally dissolved, we are still feeling the effects

of Wertham’s crusade against comics. We are just now finally making up for the time that we lost during

the reign of the CCA.

The odd thing that happened with comics under the CCA was the more glaring issues that arose

after its implementation. There were instances of racism, sexism, and homophobia present in some

storylines both before and after the implementation of the CCA. To Wertham’s credit, he did find fault

with this as he was researching for Seduction of the Innocent, but unfortunately did not include much

focus on this in his critique (Wright 2001, 159-160). Post-CCA comic book critics generally chose to ignore

these various -isms that were still present in comics, though, rather focusing on critiquing queerness and

strong female characters. They were so focused on their crusade against queerness, non-

cisheteronormative behaviors, and crime-themed novels that they did not critique the more glaring

issues with comics at the time. In fact, critics went as far as to complain about comics that called out

racism, xenophobia, and homophobia for even portraying instances of such behavior (Wright 2001, 162).

Comic critics seemed to want to live in a world where they could just ignore all of those maladies by

forbidding even their mention in print. In the past, storylines from some comics, particularly those

published by EC, offered “blunt social commentary on bigotry” as well as “explicitly [attacked] racial

segregation,” among other important sociopolitical topics at the time (Wright 2001, 139-141). Under the

CCA, comics were prevented from expressing any sort of political viewpoint, which had often been a key

feature of comics in the past. Due to the CCA, comics had to become a bland storytelling medium that

existed in a vacuum from the rest of the world.

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Any comic book creators or publishers who did not want to bow down to the Comics Code

Authority’s rules had to go underground. One comic book publisher who did this was EC (who would

continue publishing their sole-survivor magazine MAD until 2018). EC continued producing subversive

comics, but ran into distribution issues, since many distribution companies feared the wrath of the CCA

(Wright 2001, 176). With the adoption of the CCA, writers and artists either had to be incredibly cryptic

with their queer-coded characters so as not to set off the alarms of the CCA or leave the mainstream

publishing world to publish in underground and independent comix5 (Greyson 2007, 132). In the 1970s

and 1980s, though, underground gay comix were becoming increasingly popular, with some publications

even “crossing over into mainstream readership” (Greyson 2007, 132). It was around this time also that

the CCA was beginning to lose its iron grip on the comic industry.

In the 1970s, the Green Lantern/Green Arrow series would effectively show how comic books are

tied to popular culture, illustrating their importance as a cultural phenomenon to a new audience whose

history with comics was not so entrenched with the CCA. Characters in these stories again engaged with

political and social justice issues that were at the forefront of people’s minds (Wright 2001, 227). Now,

instead of loathing the social issues that comics brought to light, critics started to note the “relevance”

of comics to the exploration of contemporary society (Wright 2001, 233). Again, these social justice

themes were nothing new to comics--writers and artists had been doing this since the beginnings of

comic book history--but now finally comics were viewed through a favorable lens. In 1989, the Comics

Code was revised to incorporate the changing worldviews of society at large. This included making

5 The term “comix” refers to small press or self-published comic books that often dealt with content that was forbidden by the CCA.

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“various ‘social groups identifiable by lifestyle,’ including ‘homosexuals’...be depicted in a ‘positive light’

[and] derogatory references to ‘sexual preferences’...be shown as ‘unacceptable’” (Henderson 2019, 5).

Not that these revisions really did much in terms of increasing queer representation in comics.

While the hold of the CCA was beginning to dissolve, comic book creators were still leery about pushing

the envelope too much and alienating conservative readers (Wright 2001, 237). Large publishers like

Marvel and DC had queer and trans characters in their comics, but they were very indirectly identified

as so by using “dress, mannerisms, and innuendo-filled language” (Mance 2016, 298). The move back to

the social justice roots of comics was rather slow, but this period of time post-CCA changes did illustrate

the importance of youth culture to comics. Many movements in recent history have been carried out by

young people (think the Vietnam War protests or, more recently, March for Our Lives). As youth culture

shifts, so do the topics in comics (Wright 2001, 229). Green Lantern/Green Arrow comics dealt with “the

social and political issues of the times: racism, poverty, political corruption, the ‘generation gap,’ the

plight of Native Americans, pollution, overpopulation, and religious cults” (Wright 2001, 227). Even

Spiderman comics had arcs involving the student revolts of the 1960s, an important “leftist trend in

youth culture” (Wright 2001, 236-237). Since today’s youth are invested in social justice movements like

Black Lives Matter (BLM), LGBTQ+ rights, and others, it makes sense that comics would also be portraying

content that addresses these issues and are thematically appropriate for the current sociocultural

climate. I am sure Delingpole would complain about how these comics are too PC, but since comics are

a reflection of issues important to the reader base, he cannot fault comics for moving in the direction

that the majority of readers want. I would argue that contemporary comics are simply returning to the

roots of comic creation and are trying to make up for all of the lost time they had to endure due to the

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CCA. And, just like when Wertham was the primary critic of comics, nowadays comics are attempting to

become more diverse (again), and critics are complaining about that!

Moving a little more broadly away from comics, I also wanted to address the importance of

fandom to the comic community. Fandom is often thought to grow “around ‘cultural forms that the

dominant system denigrates’ and [attract] individuals who are ‘disempowered by any combination of

gender, age, class, and race’” (Wright 2001, 252). Sound familiar? The idea of fandom itself is intertwined

with the ability to unite with others around an issue important to the fans, whether that is the premier

episode of a new series or diversity in a well-loved series. Because “modern comics deal with highly

complex issues in mature and innovative ways,” readers and fans can explore their opinions on these

issues and perhaps even find solutions to them through their discussions with other fans (Brown 1997,

18). While at first glance fandom may seem to be just a cutesy way for fans to gather, its origins do have

a political background and fandom fulfills a variety of the social, cultural, and political needs of fans.

There really is no way to separate out comics and comic culture from their sociopolitical origins, no

matter how hard modern critics try.

Despite all of the complaints from critics like Delingpole, Dixon, and Rivoche, comic book fans

keep reading comic books because they like how the fantasy and escapism of the stories is combined

with the reflection of our own world. These comics accused of being “too PC” are simply a reflection of

important sociocultural movements, as has always been the tradition for comics. This is not some new

phenomenon that started within the past few years, as conservative comic critics would like you to

believe. This is a historical phenomenon that has persevered throughout recent history despite critics'

attempts to keep it down. Nowadays, the comics industry is simply recovering from the harm done to it

by the CCA and making a promise to do better and be more diverse and have more representation in its

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stories. The work did not end with the dissolution of the Comics Code Authority--it was only the

beginning. Because of this work, though, we are able to have comics that expand upon this rich history

of queerness in comics, leading us to our first chapter: Representation Matters.

Chapter 1: Representation Matters: Contemporary Queer Comic Books

A thesis about queer representation in comic books would not be complete without an analysis

of said books. For this project, I have chosen a series of contemporary works that I feel truly exemplify

the diversifying nature of comics. Each of these graphic works brings something unique to the table. Not

only do they give us excellent stories, but they are crafted with a diverse representation of queer and

trans characters and worlds where queerness is the norm, not the exception. A lot of queer theorists,

when they do look at comic books, often focus on a select few, namely Allison Bechdel’s groundbreaking

series Dykes to Watch Out For, Bechdel’s 2006 award winning graphic memoir Fun Home: A Family

Tragicomic, and even William Moulton Marston’s classic DC feminist superhero Wonder Woman from

the 1940s.6 There is nothing wrong with doing a close reading of these classic and early 2000s comics,

but for this thesis, I wanted to choose from the most recent wave of comics to emphasize how the comics

industry has been diversifying its representation of race, gender, and sexuality in increasingly more

striking ways. Additionally, while many researchers often fixate on the dominant superhero genre, it is

important to point out that it is not the only genre that exists in the comic medium. Furthermore, while

6 Wonder Woman has often been thought to be queer, particularly for the “undercurrent of sapphic longing and bondage that runs through early Wonder Woman stories” (Century 2021). Wonder Woman is from a woman-only island, so readers have often wondered if all of the inhabitants of the island, including Wonder Woman, are queer. Unfortunately, she has never been confirmed as canonically queer. See Jill Lepore’s richly researched study of Wonder Woman’s surprisingly feminist origins, The Secret History of Wonder Woman (Vintage 2015).

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DC and Marvel have long been established as the two central comic book publishing houses, there are

now many comics being published on the web, by alternative publishers, independent publishers, or

even through self-publishing (Ndalianis 2020, 317). When looking at comics and queer representation,

we cannot put blinders on to ignore the multitude of comics currently being produced.

Comic Selection Process

In selecting my sample of the most cutting-edge contemporary comics books that have been

pushing the boundaries of intersectional representation, I have chosen to focus on a combination of

those that I have already read as well as those that have been sitting on my “to read” list. In order to

make sure I was able to get the most out of my analyses, I closely re-read all of the texts in these graphic

series, with a critical eye especially attuned to the intersectional representations of queerness. I looked

specifically for characters discussing queerness, visual representations of queerness (usually in the form

of romantic and/or sexual relationships), and also the depiction of queer friendships. In addition, I also

marked the sections that I thought were particularly subversive in their handling of cisheteronormativity

or else disrupted the typical assumptions about comics altogether. Of course, there is only so much that

looking at dozens of sticky note flags can indicate. Overall, these moments added up to a critical focus

that placed queerness at its core. In my critical readings of these graphic works, I selected only a few

examples that best demonstrated how these graphic works offer breakthrough representations. And

finally, it is important to keep in mind that these comics represent just a small selection of the queer

comics available to readers today. It is my hope that the comic industry continues in its current upward

direction of generating the kinds of diverse representations that we are seeing today.

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Marjorie Liu: Monstress

There is always a way for your voice to rise...never be silent, always push,

always ask for more, always be you. Be you, in your whole true self, be

grounded in that self, and you will find a way to be heard.

--Marjorie Liu, author of Monstress7

Marjorie Liu’s Monstress was the first graphic novel I ever read and therefore holds a special

place in my heart. When I was choosing which comics to use for this project, I knew I had to include

Monstress. First published in 2015 by Image Comics, Monstress is a serial comic currently comprising

thirty-three issues (at the time of completing this thesis), which have been collected into five volumes.

The story follows its main character Maika Halfwolf as she attempts to unravel the secrets of her past

and prevent an impending war between humans and archanics (a race of humanoid beings with special

abilities and unique physical characteristics). Over the years, the critically acclaimed Monstress has been

recognized with a Hugo Award, Eisner Award, and Harvey Award, among many others. I chose Monstress

both for its characters and the uniquely diverse representation of the world created by Liu, which

intertwine beautifully to create one of the best comic series that continues to unfold today.

The world that Marjorie Liu has created in Monstress is so vastly different from our own that it is

worth noting. The story arc takes place in a steampunk pan-Asian matriarchal society, where women

hold most, if not all, of the positions of power. There is no God, but instead there is a Goddess the people

pray to. The human Federation state is run by a female prime minister and a female admiral (Figure 1).

There is a Mother Superior who oversees a whole order of Cumaean witches. The ship captains are

7 This quote comes from an interview that Marjorie Liu did with Steph Arnaldo for Rappler in 2019.

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women, the generals are women, the main characters are women. Nobody questions why these women

are in power. This is simply how the world works. For a medium that is so often male-dominated, this

matriarchal world alone turns the usual narrative of comic books on its head. Monstress proposes an

alternate reality where women, and specifically women of color, hold all of the positions of power and

asks us in return to question the structures of our own world.

Figure 1. Two women of color, the Prime Minister and Admiral Brito, are shown conversing with

Lady Atena, a Cumaean witch (from Volume Three: Haven).

Monstress is also unique as one of the few comic series that is written and illustrated by a woman

of color duo: Marjorie Liu is Chinese American and her illustrator Sana Takeda is Japanese. Aside from

being a captivating story primarily focused on queer women of color, I believe Monstress highlights the

future of the comic book industry. Reading Monstress is like taking a glimpse into what the comic

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industry hopefully will be like in the near future. Monstress sets a clear precedent for proceeding works

and shows just how clearly the shift towards more diverse representations in contemporary comics has

become.

In addition to its unique world, the representations of queerness in Monstress are subtle, but

ever present. Gender also has different meanings in this world and is no longer bound to the patriarchal

standards that we are used to. The Old Gods refer to each other as hyphenated “sister-brothers,”

thereby stretching the boundaries of gender as understood in our society (Figures 2 and 3). Two female

characters comment on being careful, lest they impregnate each other because it is “both [their] lunas”

(Figures 4 and 5). Because Monstress is a fantasy series, it has the ability to include more fantastical

elements in its representations of gender and sexuality, while still allowing us to question our society’s

biases. This is exactly what Scott and Fawaz were talking about when they were examining

representation in comics. Monstress stretches the ideas of gender and biological sex and encourages its

readers to view both its world and our own more critically.

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Figures 2 and 3. (On top) Old Dagon speaks with their sister-brothers Desteria and Gull (from Volume

Three: Haven). (On bottom) The Sword of the East, the Warlord of the Dawn Court, leans in to kiss

her new bride Tuya, Baroness of the Dusk Court (from Volume Four: The Chosen). Their marriage was

used to unite the two courts. Both characters are women of color.

Another reason I chose Liu’s graphic series was for its many depictions of casual queer

relationships throughout the story. As we will see with all of the comics I have chosen, romantic and

sexual relationships are important to the characters and their development over the course of the series,

but they are not their only trait. There is no question that women hold the power in this society, and it

is also assumed that these powerful characters might be queer, as many of them actually are. This again

is not questioned, as the assumption built into the fabric of this world is that queerness is the norm. Two

main female characters, Tuya and the Warlord, enter an arranged marriage to unite their two courts

(Figures 2 and 3). Our main character Maika is revealed to have been in a relationship with Tuya before

36

they were separated (Figures 4 and 5). Each of the characters are complicated, complex people with

their own backstories, motivations, fears, and desires. They are not simply caricatures in order to fill the

diversity token of a story. Monstress beautifully highlights how far comics have come in terms of

representations of gender and sexuality and provides a precedent for future comic authors and comic

fans for what to look for in a contemporary series.

Figures 4 and 5. (On left) Maika and Tuya are seen in bed in a sexually charged pose (from Volume

Three: Haven). (On right) The Warlord and Tuya are almost engaged in a kiss when Tuya stops them

for risk of pregnancy (from Volume Five: Warchild).

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Kieron Gillen: The Wicked + The Divine

Fundamentally recognizing our shared humanity as people, and these are

important and not small things, and holding on to them especially in

times as politically grim as they are now, is really important.8

--Kieron Gillen, Author of The Wicked + The Divine

I chose Kieron Gillen’s The Wicked + The Divine (abbreviated henceforth as Wic+Div) as the

second comic book series I wanted to examine because it was the first graphic series where I first really

saw myself represented in the mirror of its pages. I started reading Wic+Div right around the time I

started reading Monstress, and since then, the series has finished with a total of fifty-one issues filling

nine volumes. The story follows the lives of thirteen young adults who have been turned into Gods of

the Pantheon, transforming these ordinary people into popstar-like incarnations of ancient gods with

special powers. This phenomenon occurs every ninety years and the newly formed gods are slated to die

in two years. Guided by Ananke, who claims to have their best intentions at heart, the Pantheon

members must try to unravel the secrets of the Pantheon’s origins in order to preserve their own lives.

Wic+Div was first published in 2014 by Image Comics (the same independent publishing house that

supports Monstress) and has an amazing cast of characters who represent the wide range of identities

on the LGBTQ+ spectrum. While I would not call the series’ representation perfect, it gives a perfect

example of how queer readers can see themselves represented in comic characters. To this day, Wic+Div

remains one of the most diverse comic books I have read.

8 This quote comes from an interview that Kieron Gillen did with Chris Rooke for GCN in 2019.

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When I picked up the first issue of Wic+Div, I had no idea that the characters would be queer.

This graphic series caught my attention because it occupied a place on the comic bookstore shelf near

Monstress. It sounded interesting, so I decided to read it. When I began writing this thesis, I knew I had

to include it in my analysis, as it is by far one of the most diverse comics I have read to date. All of its

thirteen main characters are queer, and the majority of characters are people of color. This was really

important to me, because it is not often that queerness is centered as the norm, rather than the

exception. In this series, there was no assumption that every character was straight until proven

otherwise. From the opening scenes in the first volume, the characters creatively expressed their queer

identities in some manner or another. The best part of all of this was the fact that the queer characters

got a happy ending. With so much media, queer people often are not given happy endings, so it was

refreshing to see that these characters who we had followed throughout the series were given the care

and consideration to have a happy ending (Figure 6).

Figure 6. A hologram of elderly Cassandra giving the eulogy at her own funeral. In this scene, she is

reminiscing about all of the memories she got to create with her friends and fellow Pantheon members

(from Volume 9: “Okay”).

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Specifically, Wic+Div has representation of a lot of queer identities that often are not given much

attention in most forms of media. Cassandra/Urðr, a journalist-turned-goddess, is a polyamorous lesbian

trans woman of color. Umar/Dionysus is an heteroromantic asexual man of color. Zahid/Inanna is a

pansexual nonbinary person of color. The remaining cast of characters are all bisexual or pansexual.

When I say that I do not think I had seen the words “asexual” and “aromantic” written down outside of

queer social media and the occasional informational website, I mean it (Figure 7). This kind of

representation is so important for readers of the series, as they are able to see themselves in the

characters and have their identities validated by a more mainstream form of media. People who are

questioning their identities might be given the language to finally solidify their identity by seeing a

character who is like them. I certainly found this to be the case, and in re-reading these comics for this

project, I was comforted to know that others would have the same experience.

Figure 7. Cassandra/Urðr and Umar/Dionysus conversing in the hallway of the Pantheon’s base, Valhalla.

Umar has feelings for Cassandra, and Cassandra is attempting to discern those feelings (from Volume 6:

Imperial Phase Part 2).

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One of the distinct features of this comic series that makes it a worthy case study for my thesis

is its abundant depiction of queer romance and queer sexuality. This is not something you see on

network television (although some producers are getting a little bit better at having queer characters in

their shows) or in the world of literature (although, again, we are starting to see a bit more

representation). Even if there is, it is often not particularly explicit (or if it is explicit, it often gets pushed

into the erotica category). Wic+Div in particular made me begin to wonder why exactly comics are able

to have this on-page, often explicit, show of queer romance and sexuality (Figures 8 and 9). The answer

to this question is two-fold: comics are inherently subversive and the comic audience demographic

appears to be pretty queer from my personal observations. Readers want to see themselves represented

accurately, which includes their romantic and sexual lives.

Figures 8 and 9. (On left) Two queer women, Eleanor/Lucifer and Laura, kiss as Eleanor loses her godhood (from Volume 9:

“Okay”). (On right) Two queer people of color, Valentine/Baal and Zahid/Inanna, in a scene of consensual erotic pleasure on

the rooftop of Valhalla (from Volume 8: Old is the New New).

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Tina Horn: SfSx

The idea of Safe Sex as a dystopia, y’know, it shows these new liberal

responses of how things have to be shocking on a Donald Trump level in

order for people to look around and recognize that there is violence and

injustice and inequality and that the systems that rule our lives have been

corrupt since the beginning.

--Tina Horn, Author of SfSx9

SfSx (pronounced Safe Sex) by Tina Horn is relatively new to the comics scene. Published in 2020-

-also by Image Comics--the series currently has one volume and seven chapters at the time of writing

this thesis. I chose this comic for my project based on its name alone. This comic, literally titled after

“safe sex,” addresses exactly what I was looking for in my search for sex-positive examples for my queer

comics repertoire. In SfSx, “the Party--a nefarious marriage of carceral feminists with Religious Right

Fascists--has come to power and is determined to purge society of all of its sexual and gender deviants”

(Horn 2020). SfSx proposes a dystopic world where non-cisheteronormative appearances, behavior, and

sex are illegal. Gender roles are to be strictly followed. Any sex you do have has to be with your opposite-

sex spouse and has to be noted down on paperwork. On top of this, everyone has a “purity score”

denoting how well they follow the strict rules of the Party. No kink is allowed, no toys are allowed, and

no long sex sessions are allowed. Any sex that occurs has to be penetrative sex only. SfSx is perhaps one

of the best examples of how comic books are a treasure trove of depictions of sex and sexuality. SfSx

quite literally shows the rebellion of queer and POC sex workers against a repressive state that has

9 This quote comes from an interview that Tina Horn did with Joan Dark for Women Write About Comics in 2020.

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demonized marginalized people and presents an aggressively sex-positive underground safe-haven for

the reader to get lost in (Figures 10 and 11).

Figures 10 and 11. (On left) A broad view of The Dirty Mind, the underground sex safe haven run by characters in SfSx. (On

right) A view from one of the rooms from the tour of The Dirty Mind.

SfSx was as subversive as I had hoped. SfSx represents perhaps the biggest slap in the face to the

historical Comics Code out of all of the comics I chose to review. While the story is not explicitly against

the CCA itself, the characters are engaged in a battle against the conservative Party, which has eerily

similar goals to that of the CCA and even modern comic critics. I can imagine that comic critics like

Delingpole, Dixon, and Rivoche would not enjoy reading a work like SfSx (even though for all intents and

purposes it would fulfill their quota of sex and violence). Comics like SfSx invite us to consider the

following: it is perhaps not so much the amount of sex and violence portrayed in contemporary comics

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that rubs critics the wrong way, but rather the wrong type of sex and violence portrayed. Often,

characters in comics are trying to rebel against the government or a societal structure put in place by

someone so powerful that they have to resort to violence to ensure their own survival. When these more

powerful figures act violently towards the characters, they are shown in a bad light. When sex is

portrayed in contemporary graphic works, especially the ones I have highlighted, it is often kinky or

queer. Contemporary comics bring up issues of consent, rape culture, transphobia, and homophobia

which stray very far away from the forms of representation in comics under the CCA. Many

contemporary comics are inherently sex positive, or at least make an obvious effort to show positive

depictions of sex (Figures 12 and 13).

Figures 12 and 13. (On left) Main character Avery uses a (illegal) Magic Wand while having sex with her

husband, George. (On right) Main characters Silvia and Jones are caught having sex in The Dirty Mind

storeroom while Avery is on her way to an appointment with one of her clients.

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Like with the other comics I have chosen, SfSx’s world is one where queerness is the norm, not

the exception. The queer characters in the story are fully developed individuals and their representation

moves beyond mere tokenization. In our main cast of characters we have Sylvia, a queer trans woman

of color, Dennis, a queer nonbinary person, and Avery, a queer woman of color dominatrix. Even though

the society in this graphic novel is actively against queer people, these characters still find a way to thrive

and form a community amongst each other. For queer people reading this comic series who also live in

repressive environments, it can be encouraging to see others like them and know that you can be queer

and have a positive existence, even if the world is working against you. The comic also discusses the

harm of conversion therapy and the harm of not having proper sex education. These two themes are

woven into the storyline, but add an additional layer of complexity to the world and the plot. As with

Wic+Div, SfSx also has a high proportion of characters of color, further providing representation for

readers engaging with the work and allowing readers to see themselves in the characters.

Figure 14. Main character Dennis attempts to locate Casey, one of the other characters who runs The Dirty

Mind, thus giving the readers a tour of The Dirty Mind’s fetish rooms.

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Another unique feature of this comic centers on its positive depictions of kink, sex work, and

queer sex. SfSx took what Wic+Div started a step further and built its entire plotline around an

underground sex haven called The Dirty Mind (Figures 10 and 14). There are explicit, on-page depictions

of kink and queer sex, and consistent messaging that is positive toward sex and sex workers. At one

point, we are led on a tour of The Dirty Mind and catch a glimpse of the underground world the

characters have built (Figure 14). All kinds of readers can see themselves represented in SfSx and even

those who are unfamiliar can find some education throughout the story. SfSx, aside from being an

entertaining story, also acts as an important warning. What would happen if an organization like the

Party gained control in the United States? SfSx highlights the important work that sex activists, sex

workers, queer activists, POC activists, and others are doing to protect our rights and freedom of sexual

expression (Figure 15).

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Figure 15. An infographic titled “Decriminalization of Sex Work is a Queer Issue” provided at the

end of the volume.

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Tillie Walden: On a Sunbeam

Space isn't simple, it's endless — like the way our need to be loved is endless.

--Tillie Walden, author of On a Sunbeam10

I first saw Tillie Walden’s On a Sunbeam in a Newbury Comics store a few years ago. I put it on

my list of books to read, since I do love a gay space opera as its own unique comic sub-genre. Earlier this

year, I was participating in a comic book club where On a Sunbeam was our first book. After having read

this comic for the book club, I knew I wanted to include it in my thesis. Published in 2018 by First Second

Books, On a Sunbeam is a hefty graphic novel that spans 275 pages. Unlike the other graphic works I

chose, On a Sunbeam is not a serial comic and consists of only one large volume. The story revolves

around a restoration crew who travel the universe performing odd jobs and repairs, all the while trying

to find the lost girlfriend of the main character Mia. Walden creates such a beautiful and diverse world

through her illustrations and text, making this work a prime example of a queer comic published by a

smaller publisher.

On a Sunbeam is inherently queer, from its world to its characters. Yet one of the most noticeable

characteristics of Walden’s world is that it contains no men. Women and nonbinary people abound in

On a Sunbeam, but not men. There is never any explanation for the gendered logic of representation in

this series, so we as readers can assume that this is simply how the world of On a Sunbeam works.

Beyond this gendered logic, queerness is so woven into the fabric of the world that it is impossible to

imagine it any other way. The two female main characters are in a relationship with each other with the

10 This quote comes from an interview that Tillie Walden did with Mallory Yu for NPR in 2018.

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full support and encouragement of their peers. The captains of the Sunbeam are two queer women in a

relationship. Many of the characters have crushes on their schoolmates, and this is viewed as totally

normal (Figures 16, 17, and 18).

Figures 16, 17, and 18. (On top left) Ship captains Alma and Char share a tender moment. (On top right) Main characters Mia

and Grace, both women of color, share a kiss after skipping school to go on a date. (On bottom) Mia and Grace share a kiss

in the school hallway, while their schoolmates look on and applaud them.

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One of the most notable occurrences in this comic is when Jules corrects her friend Elliot’s

pronouns when they are misgendered by a rude temporary boss (Figure 19). As shown in the image

excerpt below, Jules firmly corrects the boss when she misgenders Ell. This is important to see both for

queer readers and non-queer readers, as it gives an example of how to be an ally to someone and shows

that there are people willing to look out for each other, even in a magical fictional world. We can learn

many things from comics, including how to be there for our fellow fans. With the exception of the boss,

nobody questions Ell and their identity. They are simply allowed to exist as themselves in this world. On

a Sunbeam really captures what an idealized world could look like. Much like Monstress in its form of

representations, On a Sunbeam presents what the future of comics could look like if it continues to follow

the trend we are on.

Figure 19. Jules corrects her friend Elliot’s pronouns when

their new boss misgenders them.

I specifically chose On a Sunbeam for my project because it is a cute yet mature graphic novel

that acts as a standalone in its own universe. It primarily focuses on the formation of queer friendships

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and the importance of these queer friendships to the characters. I thought that it was particularly

important to include queer friendships in this research project, as the construction of imagined

community and “found family” formed through friendships are often important component of

queerness. I really thought that On a Sunbeam exemplified the wide range of comic genres available to

readers and was a story that values queer friendship and camaraderie. It is not enough for writers and

artists to depict queer romance and sexuality in their graphic novels, but also friendship. Walden creates

a beautiful world where the characters learn to trust each other as their friendship grows as the story

arc progresses. This too acts as a form of representation for readers of this work who can see that

friendships are a valuable form of interpersonal relationships and are often key in finding your own

identity.

Figure 20. The Sunbeam crew relaxes together after a long day of restoration work by watching a show on television.

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Yuhki Kamatani: Our Dreams at Dusk

I admire those who raise their voices, but [I] can only quietly support and

cheer them on from the sidelines...what I can do is draw comics that

provide an opportunity for people to think about these issues.

--Yuhki Kamatani, Author of Our Dreams at Dusk11

To close this chapter’s discussion of edgy intersectional contemporary comic books, I turn to

Yuhki Kamatani’s Our Dreams at Dusk (Shimanami Tasogare). Our Dreams at Dusk, consisting of four

volumes, was published in 2019 by Seven Seas Entertainment. Although this comic book technically falls

under the category of Japanese manga and not an American comic book, I thought it was important to

include it in my analyses, as manga have found an increasing popularity in the United States and are now

found in essentially all small and large comic shops. Not only this, but manga “have allowed LGBTQ

characters to flourish in a way that American and other Western artists have only recently begun to do

with mainstream comics” (Dean 2020, 429). I had not heard of Our Dreams at Dusk until I began planning

for this thesis project, so it was a welcome surprise to my repertoire of readings. Our Dreams at Dusk is

an own voices12 series, as Kamatani themselves identifies as asexual and x-gender--a Japanese term for

gender identity similar to being nonbinary. Our Dreams at Dusk highlights the increasing number of

contemporary queer authors and illustrators breaking into the mainstream comic industry. Our Dreams

at Dusk revolves around the story of Tasuku, a high school boy who has been recently outed as gay. He

11 This quote comes from an interview that Yuhki Kamatani did with Lynzee Loveridge for Anime News Network in 2018. 12 Own Voices, sometimes seen as #ownvoices on social media, is “a term coined by the writer Corinne Duyvis, and refers to an author from a marginalized or under-represented group writing about their own experiences/from their own perspective, rather than someone from an outside perspective writing as a character from an underrepresented group” (TSCPL 2018).

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struggles with this occurrence, as his classmates are not the friendliest towards him, and one afternoon

he stumbles across the Drop-in Center, a community center of sorts run by the mysterious Someone San.

The revelation of characters’ backstories, identities, and struggles are central to each of the four books

in the series. This series focuses on themes of coming out, acceptance, and queer community.

I was particularly impressed by the diversity of queer representation in this series. As discussed

previously, the main character Tasuku is a gay man. Haruko and her fiance, Saki, are lesbians (Figures 23

and 24). Utsumi is a transgender man (Figures 23 and 24). Tchaiko and his partner, Iliya, are gay men

(Figures 25 and 26). Someone San is an asexual and aromantic woman (Figures 21 and 22). Misora is a

transfeminine genderqueer person (Figures 21 and 22). Tsubaki, Tasuku’s love interest, is hinted at

questioning being bisexual. This series has become popular as of late because of this representation.

Similar to Wic+Div, Our Dreams at Dusk has a diverse range of queer identities represented across its

pages. People who read this series are able to see themselves reflected in the wide range of characters

and relate to them very easily. Queerness is a central theme to this series, but Kamatani manages to

write about all of the characters without tokenizing them.

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Figures 21 and 22. (On left) Tasuku is mildly harassed by Misora as they interrogate

him about his crush on Tsubaki (from Volume 2). (On right). Someone San comes

out as asexual to Tchaiko and Iliya (from Volume 4).

Figures 23 and 24. (On left) Utsumi is reunited with one of his high school classmates, who is good-intentioned, but manages

to be very transphobic (from Volume 3). (On right) Tasuku meets Haruko for the first time. Tasuku had been previously

unaware that there were other queer people like him, so he is shocked when he meets Haruko (from Volume 1).

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The important thing about Our Dreams at Dusk is that the characters’ stories do not simply

revolve around their queerness. They also have lives outside of their roles at the Drop-in Center, and

they do not fall into the usual trap of one-dimensional queer characters. Their lives are shaped by their

queerness, but it is not the only thing that they think about or do. The series addresses their struggles

related to their queerness, but also the camaraderie between queer people who understand each

other’s experiences. Our Dreams at Dusk has happy endings for all of the characters--even though they

struggle throughout the series, we as readers get to see them achieve their goals and gain acceptance

from their families and peers (Figures 25 and 26). This is an incredibly important form of representation

in comic books, as queer comic book fans will be able to see people like them experiencing joy and happy

endings. Our Dreams at Dusk finds the perfect balance between hardship and happiness, giving queer

readers a place to turn to when they are looking to read about experiences similar to their own.

Figures 25 and 26. (On left) Haruko and Saki are having dinner with Saki’s parents. During this scene, they tell Saki’s parents

that they are a couple and they are planning on getting married soon. Saki’s parents had been unaware of their queerness

previously (from Volume 4). (On right) Tchaiko and Iliya reminisce about the adventures they have had as Iliya is dying from

cancer in the hospital (from Volume 4).

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Final Remarks

Although these five different contemporary comics represent just a small fraction of comics that

are currently breaking stereotypes based on gender, sexuality, and race, each work brings a unique

perspective to the field of feminist critical comics studies. Each of these graphic works highlights the

resurgence of comics’ social consciousness and the recent cultural shift to be more inclusive in the

representations of race, gender, and sexuality. The silence that the Comics Code Authority created is

being broken by these up-and-coming works. These comics and their representations of diverse human

and non-human characters with polysemous gender and sexual identities push the very boundaries of

comic book imagination itself. Writers, artists, and readers especially continue to “ask for more” as they

push for more intersectional representations of characters in graphic form (Liu 2019). Comic fans and

authors alike have chosen not to be silent and instead have forged ahead to make their voices heard,

presenting their “whole true [selves]” to the world (Liu 2019).

Chapter 2: Comics and Cosplay and Cons, Oh My!

A critical exploration of the world of comic books would be incomplete without examining its

complementary cultural world of comic conventions (comic cons) and fandom. The world of comic

conventions and cosplay have long served as a creative platform for the comic fandom experience that

is attached to the publishing industry of comic books. This interactive dynamic has been described by

Brown as a means of “expressing one’s sense of self and one’s communal relation with others” within

individual fandoms and the larger fan community (Brown 1997, 13). Since the very first comic convention

in 1964, fans have gathered together at these different conventions to view panels, attend meetups,

shop for art and fan merchandise, and revel in the convention atmosphere. As discussed previously,

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comic conventions have traditionally been seen as masculine cultural space, which is simply not true. On

the basis of numbers alone, comic conventions are a relatively egalitarian space. At New York Comic Con,

one of the conventions I attended virtually in 2021, around 50% of attendees were women (Orme 2016,

403-404). San Diego Comic Con also “reports having a 49/49 split between male and female attendees,

with 2% identifying as nonbinary” (Orme 2016, 403-404). In addition to this, the majority of cosplayers

are women (and I would argue nonbinary people as well, from the people I have met while cosplaying)

(Nagaike and Yoshida 2011, 23). The lines of queerness and gender identity have historically been blurred

in fandom. Unfortunately, because of the incorrect assumption that comics, conventions, and cosplay

are masculine cultural activities, people who are not cisgender men often face the dual stigmatization

of exoticization and disdain. When you really analyze fandom and convention spaces, there is much

evidence to suggest that comic culture is gendered in complex ways that defy its stereotype as a

cisgender, masculine cultural space.

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Figures 27 and 28. (On left) Cosplayer A-ka-ki-o-ga cosplays as Nargacuga from Monster Hunter Rise (Akakioga 2020). (On

right) Cosplayer nonbinate cosplays as Scarlet Witch from X-Men (Blackburn 2021).

It is important to first consider the cultural standing of comic books. Because comics are

considered a more marginalized medium, people with marginalized identities are often drawn to comics

and fandom in order to find others who are likewise marginalized in some way and can share their

experiences with one another (Scott and Fawaz 2018, 197). Since fans already share a similar interest in

the stories and characters in comics, they are able to find common ground with other fans, which evens

the playing field that people of different identities interact on. “Cosplay is a practice in which fans

interact with narratives and characters and thereby identify and reveal [information about] themselves”

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(Nichols 2019, 271). As a result, through cosplaying and fan culture, fans can reveal information about

themselves to other like-minded fans. At their core, comics and fandom critique “normative social

relations,” challenging participants and observers to further expand their definitions of normalcy and

deviance (Scott and Fawaz 2018, 200). According to Scott and Fawaz,

The fantasy aspects of the medium have historically lent themselves to the depiction of a

vast array of nonnormative expressions of gender and sexuality—from the most

metaphoric (in hyperbolic camp visuality or the metamorphosing of human bodies into

forms that call into question traditional gender norms, etc.) to the most literal (the actual

depiction of queer bodies and erotic attachments) (Scott and Fawaz 2018, 201).

These “nonnormative expressions of gender and sexuality” translate both literally and directly from

comic pages to the subcultural world of convention spaces, where fans and more casual observers can

examine these blurred representations in real-time. Cosplayers may cosplay canonically queer couples

from their favorite series or may create their own couplings as they see fit. Other cosplayers engage as

non-human characters while deploying extremely different creative forms of gender and representation.

For example, cosplayers may cosplay as Pikachu from the Pokémon series or Patrick from SpongeBob

SquarePants. Neither of these characters are human, but cosplayers still choose whether or not to

gender their cosplays in a particular way. Fans of these queer-coded or non-human characters will

interact with their cosplayers on the convention floor, further shaping fans’ views of queerness.

The term “cosplay” is itself a portmanteau of the words “costume” and “play,” with play most

likely coming from the whimsical nature of cosplay as an art form. Cosplayers are primarily women who

are likely drawn to cosplaying due to its possibilities as a gendered “medium through which they can

articulate their identities” through a wide variety of gender expressions, pleasures, and roles which

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“challenge socially imposed concepts of conventional gender identity” (Nagaike and Yoshida 2011, 23).13

Because cosplay is essentially fancy adult dress-up, cosplayers “can safely question [their] gender”

without the threat of retaliation from peers (Nagaike and Yoshida 2011, 23). Reality is suspended on the

convention floor, so no one really cares who or what you cosplay as. This provides an immense amount

of freedom for people who are cosplaying or even just attending the convention, as these more casual

observers may find themselves relating to representations of themselves through characters that others

are cosplaying. In a way, cosplay can serve a dual function, both allowing the cosplayer to explore identity

through cosplay and the observer to explore identity through their interactions with the cosplayer.

Still within the realm of cosplay but even more subversive are the practices of “crossplay” and

“gender-bent cosplay.” Crossplay, which is a portmanteau of cross-dressing and cosplay, can be loosely

defined as a cosplayer fully embodying the gender of their character, despite being a different gender in

real life (Figures 29 and 30). There are a few different varieties of crossplay, as described by Palmer:

Some crossplayers go to great lengths to disguise their gender, binding, padding, adjusting

their faces with makeup and their voices with laborious practice. Others only pay

attention to the character, paying no attention to concealing their gender so long as the

costume is accurate and recognizable. A third category intentionally brings attention to

the fact that they are crossplaying by wearing a costume which highlights their wrong-

gender physical traits, a hulking, hairy-legged sailor scout being the stereotypical example

(Palmer 2007).

13 From my own personal experiences interacting with other cosplayers, I would argue that many cosplayers are likely queer. Unfortunately, there is not yet any data available to determine whether or not this might be true. As a queer cosplayer who has met a lot of other queer cosplayers, though, I would think the likelihood of queerness in cosplay is high.

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This kind of cosplay is very common to see on the convention floor, although it is generally more

socially acceptable for women to crossplay as men than it is for men to crossplay as women (Palmer

2007). Part of this stems from the fact that there “is no cultural stigma attached to females wearing male

clothes, so female cosplayers dress as male characters very casually, often without ever thinking about

the fact that it is crossplay” (Palmer 2007). It is socially and culturally “normal” for women to wear pants

or more masculine clothes, whereas male crossplayers “are actively violating social rules, so both the

crossplayer and the spectator are far more conscious of the male's choice than they would be of a

female's” (Palmer 2007).14 Even though social mores are usually blurred on the convention floor, some

of the stigmas from the real world bleed into fandom. Another reason might be because the ratio of

male to female comic characters favors male characters (Palmer 2007). If female cosplayers want to

cosplay their favorite character, it is more statistically likely that this character will be male rather than

female. Therefore, and I would concur with this from my experiences at conventions, it is more common

to see women crossplaying.

Another kind of subversive cosplay is “gender-bent” cosplay, known shorthand as a genderbend.

This type of cosplay is based on the idea that there is a male version of a character for every female

version of a character, and vice versa. Thus, you may see a female version of Superman and a male

version of Wonder Woman. The main idea with a genderbend is to keep the primary characteristics of

the original character present but portray them as a different gender (Figures 29 and 30). It is not the

same as having both a Superman and Superwoman character, as Superwoman was created as a

14 Such cross-gender cosplay spills over (and is likely influenced by) the performance art known as “drag.” Although it is beyond the scope of this thesis to delve deeper into the interplay between the gender play present in both cosplay and drag, this would be an extremely interesting field of research to pursue. Scholar Marjorie Garber explores this in her seminal work Vested Interests: Cross-Dressing and Cultural Anxiety (Routledge 1997).

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character separate from Superman. A genderbend cosplay of Superman would entail portraying

Superman in a totally female form. Both of these types of cosplay follow the same inherent motivations

of regular cosplay--dressing up, expressing your love for a character, and interacting with other fans--

but they also begin to address more the issues of gender roles and gender stereotypes. Cosplayers who

participate in crossplay or genderbends are able to subvert gendered stereotypes of characters,

cosplayers, and comic book fans as a whole. The cosplayers may or may not be queer or trans

themselves, but in performing in their cosplays, they may provide affirmation to other fans.

Figures 29 and 30. (On left) A male cosplayer poses for a photo in a gender-bent cosplay of DC’s Wonder Woman (Graham

2020--originally taken by Cantera Image in 2014). (On right) Cosplayer Gustav Willendorf crossplays as Harley Quinn, a

character from DC’s Batman universe (Willendorf 2020).

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Although many fans find safe haven within the comic community, there are inherent problems

with fandom and the cosplay community as well. Young female fans often feel nervous about being

public with their love of comics “for fear of being labeled as a nerd [a stereotypically masculine label] by

peers or of being judged by others in general” (Moeller 2011, 481). Young fans, especially young female

fans, often fear this criticism and labelling from their peers, parents, or families, which prevents them

from participating in fan culture. Female fans in particular often face a curious combination of judgment

from within the fan community, being simultaneously revered for their rarity and supposed exoticism in

the comic world while also being taunted by male fans for being “fake fans,” i.e., those who are deemed

not really invested in the comics they say they are (Orme 2016, 403). Female fans face this judgement

especially often in the cosplay side of fandom, even though they make up the majority of cosplayers.

Female fans are accused of cosplaying a character for likes on social media rather than for their own

enjoyment.

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Figures 31 and 32. (On left) Megan Thee Stallion in a Shoto Todoroki (dubbed “Todoroki Tina”)

cosplay for the cover of Paper Magazine (Paper Magazine 2019). (On right) A reference image

of Shoto Todoroki from the My Hero Academia series (My Hero Academia Wiki). Todoroki has

fire and ice powers, as depicted in the cosplay.

Rapper Megan Thee Stallion’s experiences within the anime community offers a perfect example

of this sort of judgment from other fans (Figures 31 and 32). Megan, who often posts about anime and

cosplaying on social media, publicly talks about her love of manga and anime. Yet, when she posed for

Paper Magazine in cosplay inspired by My Hero Academia (Boku no Hīrō Akademia or BNHA), she was

harshly accused of being a “fake fan” by others (mostly men) in the fandom. They accused her of simply

claiming to like anime for “clout” and trying to get her fans to like her more (Stitch 2020). Summed up

perfectly by Stitch, “No one gets into anime for clout. Not that girl with the Dragon Ball stickers on her

folder in high school who didn’t talk to you. Not the cosplayer who goes to conventions to show off her

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skill and won’t hook up with you at the con’s party. And certainly not Megan Thee Stallion” (Stitch 2020).

On top of this, women of color cosplayers face the ire of white (and sometimes non-white) male fans

pushing back against their admission into fandom due to their race (Stitch 2020). There is a lot of

gendered, and oftentimes racial, gate-keeping that occurs when female fans express an interest

participating in fandom, although it is very much a double-edged sword. If female fans are too eager,

they are called out as “fake” by male fans for supposedly trying to show off. If they are only casual fans,

they are still considered fake fans by male fans because they are supposedly not invested enough in the

fandom. At the same time, male fans often put the elusive female fan (the same one who they are

actively harassing out of the fandom) on a pedestal for being “rare.” Either way, female fans cannot win.

Thinking about the bizarre double- or triple-standard for women in fandom led me to an

interesting hypothesis: Perhaps male comic and cosplay fans only like women cosplaying when it is for

the pleasure and consumption of the male gaze, rather than for the sole enjoyment of the female

cosplayer and her own gaze. When male fandom members can no longer consume female fans’ media,

suddenly a switch is flipped and the women are denounced as fake fans.

Many cosplays are also risqué, either because of the nature of the character’s original costume

or because the cosplayer wants to put a sexy spin on it. This, of course, is done because the cosplayer

wants to express this facet of their identity while cosplaying, not because they want some random male

fan sliding into their DMs15 to harass them about their body or fan status. This has been enough of an

issue that essentially all conventions have some kind of “cosplay is not consent” public service

announcement that clearly anticipates women might be subject “to unwanted and uncomfortable

attention from male convention attendees” (Jenkins 2020, 158). Unfortunately, women are subject to

15 “DMs” is the abbreviation for the “direct messages” feature on most social media sites.

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this form of sexism and misogyny quite often within the comic community. A lot of mainstream comic

content is still male-created and male-centered, which leads to a lot of bikini-armor-clad women with

Barbie-like physiques and impossibly oversized breasts (Jenkins 2020, 158). Even though women make

up between 40%-50% of comic book readership and approximately 50% of convention participants

(Orme 2016, 403-404), many women are made to feel unwelcome or objectified in the comic

community.

Despite all this, comics, conventions, cosplay, and fandom are a safe haven for many female and

queer fans simply for the freedom that cosplay gives them for creative exploration. Various facets of

identity can be expressed through cosplay. Each costume or element of a costume signifies something

unique to the cosplayer. You can “be coy, sweet, strong, badass, vulnerable, violent, outgoing,

introverted or intelligent, all in the same weekend...The fact that they may do so in an environment that

accepts and even actively encourages such embodied and performative experimentation makes the

space of cosplay unique” (Nichols 2019, 276). Social and cultural gender constructions go out the window

when it comes to cosplay and one is free to perform whatever form of identity they like. In short, cosplay

allows a special form of agency for marginalized people and a way to take control over the

representation and perceptions of their marginalized identity (Nichols 2019, 271). This agency is perhaps

best summed up by Stephen Carpenter, one of the premier contemporary comic researchers:

Cosplay is a form of empowerment for all children and adults...It’s about the possibility of

what you can be or what you can do. And when you see people in underrepresented

groups, it takes on the empowerment fantasy of not just, say, being Superman, but also

the dimension of stepping on the much more narrow roles that we were assigned...it

inherently pushes against many of the stereotypes that are thrust upon us. It is this

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opportunity to push the boundaries of what you can be and in so doing, you’re imagining

a whole new world of possibilities for yourself that can extend beyond the cosplay

experience (Womack 2013, 14).

Cosplay gives us the unique positionality to examine our roles within society and allow us to bend those

roles and further explore our identities.

Other important fan spaces include online spaces dedicated to the comic and cosplay community,

especially during this global pandemic when comic cons have had to move to almost entirely online

platforms this year. Particularly with participation in online cosplay communities, fans have the

“freedom of anonymity and the potential to construct or present an online identity resistant to social

constraints surrounding age, gender, race, class, and sexuality” (Wood 2006, 400). There are numerous

popular social media sites to visually share cosplay, such as WordCosplay, DeviantArt, Instagram, Tumblr,

and others. There are also fanfiction sites, like Archive of Our Own (AO3), Wattpad, and Fanfiction.net

where fans can share written fan material. “It is reasonable to suggest, therefore, that important shifts

in how these readers conceptualize and fantasize about love and sex can be observed through their

participation in Internet communication, discourse, and textual circulation that mark them as part of a

global counterpublic” (Wood 2006, 400). Because of the theatrical nature of cosplay, fans might act out

these relationships on the convention floor, both allowing the cosplayers to express their identities and

convention participants to question their own identities. It is also very common for fans to be familiar

with certain seminal works of fanfiction and recognize when cosplayers are acting out these stories. In

this way, fans continue to add onto the lore surrounding their favorite fandom, becoming direct

participants in their favorite stories.

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Finally, it is worth noting the specific fan culture subsect of anime conventions, which can either

be lumped into larger comic conventions or housed in their own convention space. These anime and

manga-oriented spaces are particularly interesting fan spaces to observe. Convention-goers may often

see anime and manga cosplayers at events like comic conventions, even when there is not a specific

anime theme to the event. Anime and manga for a long time have had more diverse characters than

Western comics and cartoons, going so far as to have their own same-sex relationship genres (yaoi and

shonen-ai for male gay relationships and yuri and shoujo-ai for female gay relationships). Shoujo manga

and anime in particular “does [what] American comics never did [and] address gender issues and gender

identity directly” (Palmer 2007). This gets translated into cosplay at comic conventions, and you will

often see more anime cosplayers engaging in crossplay or genderbends because of this openness to

discussing gender identity and queerness to begin with. There is generally an overlap between manga

and comic book fans since both formats are sold together at comic book shops and comic conventions.

Such an overlap in the cultural space of conventions therefore makes sense.

Finally, one needs to address the changes happening within the industry itself that have led to

the queering of cosplay and comics. Although they are still a minority, there has been a steady increase

in the number of comic book writers whose identities have normally been marginalized within the comic

creator community (Ndalianis 2020, 317). As the base of readers has demanded more stories and

characters that reflect their diverse experiences, many publishers have begun promoting stories that

would satisfy this audience. Combined with fandom, comics have been steadily increasing their

representations of diverse genders, sexualities, and racial and ethnic identities. In tandem with this,

cosplay as a practice is slowly helping to break down the gender binary within fandom and the comic

community, as more and more people are able to use cosplay as a means of exploring gender identity

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regardless of their own gender identity (Nichols 2019, 274). Cosplay can exist outside of gendered

identities or embrace gendered identities--the option is left up to the individual cosplayer (Nichols 2019,

274). Cosplayers can be both admired and admire their fellow cosplayers, allowing for a transactional

exploration of queerness, gender, and gender roles, as well as admiration for cosplayers talent and skill.

Because of these fan interactions, cosplayers like myself are drawn to the art and continue to cosplay at

convention after convention, which leads us to my final chapter where I will share my own ethnographic

documentation of experiences at comic conventions.

Chapter 3: Sounds Gay, I’m In: An Ethnographic Account of the Thinly-Veiled Sheer Chaos of Cons and Cosplay Having now discussed the influence of comic culture and cosplay at large, this chapter will

chronicle my own personal experiences as an observer and participant who attends comic conventions.

My thesis project originally included plans to conduct in-person field work at various 2020 comic

conventions such as New York Comic Con, Fan Expo Boston, Flame Con, and Rhode Island Comic Con.

Unfortunately, due to COVID-19, these conventions were either postponed to 2021 or else moved

entirely to a virtual format. Luckily, I had attended some conventions in recent years, so I am able to use

those in-person experiences to add some breadth and depth to the analyses of my virtual experiences

of comic cons during the pandemic. It is hard to capture the full experience of attending comic

conventions through a purely online format; in fact, in order to fully experience comic culture, it is

necessary to attend a comic convention in person. The sheer chaos and joy that are palpable in the air

of a comic con are truly something to be experienced first-hand. I hope to give more insight into the

intersections between queerness and comic culture through this final chapter’s ethnographic account.

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Methods in Ethnography

The focus of this chapter is my feminist ethnographical account of my experiences at comic

conventions and participation in its accompanying fan culture. “Ethnographies are a strange cross

between author-saturated and author-evacuated texts, neither romance nor lab report, but something

in between” (Behar 1996, 7). What does a feminist ethnographic approach uniquely give to my personal

narrative describing this cultural world that would otherwise be missing? Central to feminist

ethnography is gender analysis, which incorporates a “feminist sensibility” focusing on “marginality and

power differentials” (Davis and Craven 2016, 11). Centering oneself within the context of one’s research

is also crucial to feminist ethnographic fieldwork. A feminist ethnographic framework allows me to self-

consciously document my role as an “insider,” as someone who considers herself an active participant

in comic culture, conventions, and fan spaces before and after the context of this senior thesis research

project. Because of this, I have both a personal familiarity with comic culture that uniquely positions me

to examine its rich history, while also critically considering the many biases that are ingrained in fan

culture--and my positionality within it (Davis and Craven 2016, 60).

Let me make my own self-location and positionality very clear: I am a white, Hispanic, and queer

cisgender woman approaching this project with these identities in mind in order to provide the most

accurate account of my experiences within comic culture. I offer myself up as a “vulnerable observer,” a

term famously coined by Ruth Behar through her own anthropological and ethnographic practices; in

other words, I position myself as both an “observed participant” and an “observing ethnographer” in

order to show others what the world of comics and fandom truly looks like--especially from where I

stand and engage in cosplay.

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Much of my research on comic cons stems from what I call “looking between the lines.” There is

some literature available for the topics I have chosen to cover in this research, but oftentimes,

particularly for the historically queer, many of the details have been scrubbed away or hidden under

vague language and allusions. Queer people especially were once forced into hiding, leading to a lack of

historical evidence. Even nowadays, there is can still be a stigma attached to being queer, leading to

more gaps in the literature. As Saidiya V. Hartman so beautifully says in her book Wayward Lives,

Beautiful Experiments: Intimate Histories of Social Upheaval, we must “grapple with the power and

authority of the archive and the limits it sets on what can be known, whose perspective matters, and

who is endowed with the gravity and authority of historical actor” (Hartman 2019, xiii). Hartman

describes a key methodological component of Black feminist scholarship which can be applied to queer

feminist research. If nothing else, I want my personal account to act as an explicit record of “queerness”

in comic culture, with the goal of “queering” this archive so that future queer and feminist comic

scholars, students, and fans will have a record of what queer comic fans were doing in the early 2020s.

So let me begin with my ethnographic account and overview of my own cosplay practices and

attachment to the art form. I will then go through the conventions chronologically, beginning with past

in-person conventions (pre-COVID-19) and end with some of the most recent virtual conventions (during

the height of COVID-19). Moving away entirely from the convention space, I will then provide an account

of my fan experiences outside of conventions. Lastly, I will be contextualizing comic culture within the

contexts of COVID-19 and the changes this global pandemic has brought upon comic conventions.

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Cosplay

As discussed previously, cosplay has always been an important component of the convention

experience. Indeed, I began attending conventions with the full intention of cosplaying at them. I have

always been a crafty person and I have long admired the aesthetics of various cosplayers from afar, but

I never found myself actively involved in the community. More than anything, I would call myself a casual

cosplayer. For my thesis research, I wanted to see if there was any particular connection between what

characters I choose to cosplay and what comic series I also enjoy reading. I found that, generally in my

cosplays, I portray characters who resonate with me somehow. Most of the time, I have simply enjoyed

their character’s design and costuming and thought that the cosplay would be fun to make. There is

something, after all, irresistible about the challenge of making a mechanical arm or a complex corset

design that really thrills me. Other times, I just am a big fan of my chosen character, such as Nausicaä,

the titular character of Hayao Miyazaki’s Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind (Kaze no Tani no Naushika).

I personally love Nausicaä’s character and wanted to embody her through my cosplay. I generally cosplay

as women, but I often cross over into characters of other genders. I do not have a particular preference

towards cosplaying a more masculine or feminine character.

One of the recurring themes in my cosplay is that I always choose a “badass” character. I love a

character who is strong, determined, and fights for what they believe in. These selections are perhaps

influenced by my positionality as a Women’s and Gender Studies major. The more rebellious, radical,

and transgressive characters appeal to me because of their feminist leanings, and their subversive

characterizations allow me to feel like I am subverting traditional gender roles through cosplaying as

them. There is something incredibly empowering about cosplay for me, since I can simultaneously be a

strong and/or terrifying character while still maintaining the beautiful aesthetics of their character

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design. There is also something about the anonymity of cosplay that emboldens me more so than in my

day-to-day life. Like Nichols found in her research regarding women and cosplay, I too no longer find

myself “restricted to one image, appearance or expression of self,” and I find myself “empowered

through cosplay to work creatively, constructing those images that will best represent [my] identity”

(Nichols 2019, 276). Cosplay allows me to take up more space than I usually would, as societal boundaries

and expectations of femininity are stripped of much of their power in the cosplay world. Because of this,

I return to cosplay again and again as a means of artistic self-expression and a passion project that allows

me to subvert gender norms and ideals.

Figures 33, 34, and 35. Some of the more iconic images from my cosplay-making. These images are meant to highlight the

chaos of cosplay creation. (On left) A failed attempt to take a picture of myself. (Center) Me, still in my pajamas, in my

residence hall’s kitchen making fangs at 7:30am the day of Anime Boston. (On right) Me, sitting in the cafeteria in the Hynes

Convention Center at Anime Boston, waiting for pizza.

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Before moving forward, I think it is important to briefly mention my positionality within anime,

manga, and cosplay culture. Anime and manga are historically Japanese graphic art forms, and cosplay

has been greatly popularized through the cosplaying of characters from these series. I am an outsider to

aspects of Japanese culture, but I grew up watching Hayao Miyazaki’s works for Studio Ghibli and later

transitioned to watching other anime series. I fell in love with the art form and the unique world-building

and plotlines that only anime and manga seem to contain. Although I have no formal connections to the

culture, through my cosplay of characters from these series, I hope to show my appreciation for the

works and creators that have been an important part of my life for many years.

Pre-COVID Comic Cons

Fan Expo Boston (August 12, 2018: Boston Convention & Exhibition Center)

Fan Expo Boston was my first ever comic convention. A friend of mine had been planning on

attending the convention with some of her college friends and invited me to come along. They were

cosplaying characters from Fullmetal Alchemist (FMA), a series which I had not read or watched yet, but

was interested in. This meant that I needed to read twenty-seven volumes of manga in a matter of a few

weeks, as well as choose a character and create a cosplay before the convention happened in August.

By the time I finally read the books, I was left with only a few days to create the cosplay for Lan Fan, my

chosen character. Lan Fan is the bodyguard of Ling Yao, one of the many princes of Xing, who comes to

Amestris, the country FMA is set in, to search for immortality. Lan Fan is also the granddaughter of one

of Ling Yao’s trusted advisors, and she plays a prominent role in the series, particularly after its second

half. This particular cosplay was perhaps the one I had to work the hardest to create under the most

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limited time pressure. Cosplay is nothing if not a labor of love and an exercise in frustration, and my

introduction into the world of cosplaying was appropriately a bit of a trial by fire.

Figures 36, 37, and 38. (On left and center) My personal photos taken after attending Fan Expo Boston (August 2018). (On

left) A close-up of Lan Fan’s automail (mechanical prosthetic arm). (Center) A full shot of the whole cosplay. (On Right) This

image is a depiction of Lan Fan in the Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood anime series before she receives an automail arm

(Fullmetal Alchemist Wiki).

With Fan Expo being my first convention, I found it to be more overwhelming than anything.

There were a lot of people, a lot of cosplayers, a lot of merchandise, and a huge convention floor. Fan

Expo takes place at the Boston Convention and Exhibition Center, which is a massive hanger-like building

in the Seaport District. “BCEC has 516,000 square feet of contiguous, virtually column-free exhibit space”

(Massachusetts Convention Center Authority 2021) and Fan Expo crams hundreds of vendors, artists,

and meet-and-greets into this space, as well as additional panels and meet-ups in the adjacent ballrooms

and meeting spaces. Each year, about 50,000 fans gather for Fan Expo, and when you first walk into the

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convention space, it really does feel like there are 50,000 people there. The aisles and convention floor

are just crowded enough for you to have to jostle your way through while attempting not to crush your

cosplay or someone else’s. Not everyone comes in cosplay, but many convention attendees do. Since

Fan Expo is a more generic pop culture event, you may see people cosplaying across genres and mediums

as comic, anime, video game, or movie characters. Even if they are not in cosplay, many convention

goers are hoping to get a photo with some of their favorite characters brought to life through cosplay.

Like most conventions, Fan Expo has a sale floor, where you can get props, fan merchandise, comics,

etc., an “artists’ alley” where local artists, comic artists, graphic artists, etc. gather to sell their works,

and a floor area for celebrity meet-and-greets.

Figure 39. Aerial view of Fan Expo Boston, overlooking the merchandise section of the

convention floor (Rugo 2017).

Since it was my first comic con experience, I had no particular plans for participating in cosplay

and wanted more than anything simply to “take it all in.” Some of my friends who I went with were

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interested in doing some of the celebrity meet-and-greets or autograph sessions, so a lot of my time was

spent in line waiting with them, holding bags and jackets when their turn in line arrived, and coordinating

meet-and-greet schedules. I loved just walking through the convention floor, particularly the artist alley,

and looking at all of the artwork and merchandise. We had debated entering a cosplay contest while we

were at Fan Expo, but by the time the contest rolled around, we were so tired of taking photos that we

did not want to promenade down a cosplay catwalk any time soon.

Figure 40. The Artist’s Alley section of Fan Expo Boston (Rugo 2017).

Because my two friends were cosplaying as Edward and Alphonse Elric from the FMA series, we

attracted many con-goers who wanted to take photos of us, rendering walking through the convention

hall almost impossible. We were stopped every ten seconds or so by someone who wanted to get a

photo of us, so we were moving along the convention floor at a snail’s pace. Everyone wanted a photo-

-including other cosplayers, groups of middle schoolers, families who were having an outing at the con,

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artists in the artist alley, and people who were selling merchandise. We got stopped by a couple of

photographers who had booths in the merchandise section of the convention floor to take pictures of

us to upload to their portfolio of the comic convention. We even got asked by a local newspaper reporter

who was covering the event to take a video of us in cosplay.

Figures 41 and 42. (On left) A group photo of me and my friends at Fan Expo Boston (August 2018).

I finally stopped to ask someone to take a group photo. The three of us are in our Edward Elric,

Alphonse Elric, and Lan Fan cosplays. (On right) A depiction of Edward and Alphonse Elric from the

Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood anime series, on a poster (Great Eastern Entertainment).

Despite being exhausted at the end of the day, I loved attending my first comic con, and the

experience would foster my love of cosplay and encourage me to attend future conventions. For me,

there was something very powerful about being able to walk through the convention floor and be

admired by other fans even as we admired them for their cosplays. At its core, comic culture and fandom

is about consumption, whether that be of comics, images of cosplayers, cosplay costumes, fan

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merchandise, etc. There is a very gratifying kind of pleasure that comes from participating in the comic

con spectacle, both as an observer and a participant. I was simultaneously at my most vulnerable in this

position, allowing my image to be available for consumption by all of the other comic con participants,

but also in a place of power as an observer as I interacted with other fans and also consumed their

character presentations. Looking back now, I can relate these experiences back to Ruth Behar’s concept

of a “vulnerable observer,” someone who is both perceived and perceives and must put themselves out

in the world in order to successfully experience it.

Anime Boston (April 19-20, 2019: Hynes Convention Center)

The second comic convention I attended as a cosplayer was Anime Boston in 2019. Anime Boston

is an anime-specific convention, formatted in the same style as a comic convention. It was undoubtedly

one of my more chaotic convention experiences due to the fact that it began on a Friday and continued

through the weekend, overlapping with my classes. On Friday afternoon, after completing an organic

chemistry lab, I ran back to my room to get partially dressed in my Lan Fan (Fullmetal Alchemist) cosplay.

I took the Peter Pan bus from Wellesley into Boston, perched on a seat with a large tote bag filled with

the rest of my cosplay trying to look as inconspicuous as possible to not draw attention to myself on the

bus. The closest I could get to the Hynes Convention Center was the Marlborough Street stop on the

Senate Bus line, which left me a few blocks away from where I needed to be. I then had to lug my tote

bag full of cosplay through Boston for a few blocks, which allowed me to take in the convention

atmosphere of the city at the level of the surrounding streets.

You always know when you are getting close to a comic or anime convention: The closer you are

to the convention center, the steeper the visible increase in numbers of cosplayers heading to the same

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destination. As I walked down Newbury Street, the closer I got to the epicenter of the convention, the

more I saw cosplayers dressed as Naruto and My Hero Academia characters in line for a ramen shop,

cosplayers with garment bags full of costumes walking down the street, Star Wars (despite not being an

anime) Stormtroopers standing in line at Starbucks. The ramen shop in particular seemed to be a popular

meeting location, as everyone from groups of teenage cosplayers to families somewhat in cosplay were

waiting in a very long line. Anywhere you walked, you were bound to see at least one cosplayer. Many

were dressed in honor of series I did not recognize, but others were clearly from familiar series such as

My Hero Academia (BNHA). As I wandered around Boylston Street, attempting to find the entrance to

the convention, the streets were filled with cosplayers. Eventually, I realized I simply needed to follow

the moving stream of other cosplayers, enter the Sheraton, check in, get my badge, find a place to alight

and get dressed in the rest of my cosplay, and wait in an unoccupied spot in the upstairs lobby of the

Sheraton, with a good view of the escalators, anticipating the arrival of my friends.

As I transformed myself into Lan Fan, it was curious to watch the rest of the con-goers going up

and down the escalators, helping each other with costumes in the hall, taking photographs with fellow

cosplayers whose costumes they liked, and talking about what panels they wanted to go to that

afternoon. Anime Boston boasts a large range of panels and exhibitions, including anime screenings,

cosplay “how-to” panels, Q&A sessions with anime voice actors and manga creators, crafting workshops,

and fandom-specific meetups. Many attendees were already getting in line for the film screenings, in

order to get a good seat. Others were trying to navigate the map given to all attendees at check-in. There

was somehow an even greater number of BNHA cosplayers inside the convention hall, as well as a gaggle

of middle schoolers in Ouran High School Host Club cosplays. There was also a surprising number of

Harley Quinns from DC’s Batman universe that I saw riding on the escalator. When I was finished getting

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dressed, I decided to walk around the convention center to do some more people-watching and see

what attractions were being offered in the convention hall.

Figure 43. A selfie I took of myself at Anime

Boston to send to my parents while I was sitting

in the lobby of the Sheraton. (April 2019).

Even more bizarre than seeing cosplayers out on the streets was seeing the sheer volume of

cosplayers inside the Prudential Center. Suddenly the mall had become overrun with people in costume,

intermingled with confused patrons who did not seem aware at first that a convention was happening. I

passed a Howl from Howl’s Moving Castle and an Ash from Pokémon. Even though I was also one of the

people in cosplay, I was quite mystified as well, as the Boston Convention and Exhibition Center is much

more closed off. The Prudential Center was absolutely packed with people in costume, so I had to sit in

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a windowsill to eat an ice cream cone, which was no easy feat to do with a mechanical arm. There’s

something to be said for the surreal experience that is the world of the convention. The energy in the air

is electric, and the excitement of con-goers is visible on passing faces. Everyone is so happy to be in the

convention space, showing off their cosplays, meeting other creators, and seeing their favorite

characters brought to life. It was fun to watch all of the cosplayers going by and witness the look of

excitement on their faces. Indeed, the sense of sheer joy was contagious.

Figure 44. Photo taken of me and my friends by the British Airways

flight attendants in the Sheraton lobby. (April 2019).

Eventually, my friends arrived, and it was my turn to help them into their cosplays. For the first

day of Anime Boston, we were re-wearing our Fullmetal Alchemist cosplays that we had previously worn

for Fan Expo Boston. These were particularly complicated cosplays, involving a large, unwieldy suit of

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armor and a mechanical arm and leg. We parked ourselves in the middle of the Sheraton lobby to give

ourselves some more space. This production culminated in a group of British Airways flight attendants

becoming quite enamored with our cosplay group and taking photos of us. By the time the flight

attendants were done, other convention patrons had spotted us and also wanted to take pictures.

To get from the Sheraton to the Hynes Convention Center floor, we had to take a quick elevator

ride up one floor and then walk down an interconnecting hallway that led from the Sheraton to the

Hynes. This walk was no more than 100 feet or so, but took us 45 minutes to navigate due to the crush

of eager photographers. Other convention goers wanted to take photos with us or ask how the Alphonse

cosplay worked or talk to us about Fullmetal Alchemist. Eventually we got through the throng and passed

through security onto the convention floor. Much like Fan Expo Boston, the Hynes Convention Center

has a massive floorspace where the bulk of the convention was set up. The main floor “has 176,480

square feet of flexible exhibit space with 4 exhibit halls that can be used separately or in combination”

(Massachusetts Convention Center Authority 2021). This main floor consists of a sale floor for props,

merchandise, manga, anime DVDs, etc. and an “artists’ alley” where local manga artists and fan artists

gather to sell their works. Celebrity meet-and-greets, fan meetups, and panels were organized on the

second-floor ballrooms and in meeting rooms of the convention center.

When we were not dodging over-eager photographers, we were trying to get a look at the

merchandise being offered at all of the many sales tables. I was looking for some specific manga at this

convention, and my friends who I went with were hoping to get some fan merchandise from some of

their favorite series. It is always hard to pick which booth you want to stop at first. Each one has so much

merchandise and the abundance of vendors selling similar wares make it difficult to choose. While we

were trying to find what we were looking for, one of my friends noticed a Human Rights Campaign table

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that was fairly central on the convention floor. It was nice to see such a visible show of support to the

queer community in the convention space.

Figure 45. An aerial view of Anime Boston from April 2019. This view shows the general sales floor. (Scheids° 2017).

Later that evening, my two friends and I were planning on attending the Anime Ball, which, for

lack of a better description, is essentially a formal dance in cosplay. We cosplayed as our characters from

My Hero Academia (Boku no Hīrō Akademia or BNHA). My two friends were cosplaying as Izuku “Deku”

Midoriya and Katsuki Bakugo, two main male characters of the series who are often shipped together as

a couple. As my friend put it, it was like “gay-ception16,” being a queer couple cosplaying as a queer

couple. They were definitely not the only people doing this, but “gay-ception” was a funny concept to

16 Gay-ception is a portmanteau of “gay” and “Inception,” the 2010 film starring Leonardo DiCaprio in which a team of spies attempts to plant an idea in someone’s mind through entering their dreams. In this film, the concept of a dream-within-a-dream is prominent, and my friend used this reference to make the comparison to being a queer couple within a queer couple (cosplay).

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think about. As a group, we had directly contributed to how blurred gender and sexuality can become in

cosplay. We felt completely comfortable doing so, too, as such boundary blurrings are a common

phenomenon within the cosplay world. We allowed other convention participants to perceive us as other

genders and sexualities that did not necessarily align with our own, while we simultaneously pushed the

boundaries of what would be acceptable outside of the convention space. I was third-wheeling for this

event as Himiko Toga from the same series, so I found myself dancing with many other cosplayers

throughout the evening. On the dance floor, it was common to see all kinds of dance pairings. I danced

with men, women, and nonbinary people--none of which was out of the ordinary or unique to me. The

dance floor was in fact an incredibly queer-friendly space.

Figures 46, 47, and 48. (On left) Our cosplays for Anime Ball. Toga, since she is a villain in the series, did not have a canonical

formal outfit, so I had to make one up. Bakugo (center) and Deku (on right) both have canonical formal costumes, so my

friends reproduced these for the Anime Ball (BNHAFF Wiki and DBZFF Wiki). (April 2019)

As the ball ended and we headed out of the Hynes to go home for the evening, we were

approached by a group of teenagers who were so overcome at the sight of seeing Bakugo and Deku

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holding hands that they asked to give my friends a hug (while sobbing at the sight of this coupling). My

friends were not weirded out by this, and later we laughed about this on the car ride home. We noted

that it was strange being the “elder gays” in this situation who younger queer people looked up to and

admired, even though the three of us were barely twenty at the time ourselves. Looking back now, this

experience really cements how important it is that younger (and older) queer folks have representation

in comic books and at comic conventions. In that moment, my friends embodied queer representation,

but it was just as nice for us to see other queer cosplayers hanging around the convention space. The

convention site really is a safe space for queer people and queer relationships. No one judges you or

makes a big fuss. They simply accept you as you are.

The next morning at Anime Boston, I had to join my advanced painting course on a scheduled

visit to the DeCordova Museum. Having to be at Anime Boston right afterwards for a BNHA meet-up, I

went to the museum trip half-dressed in my Himiko Toga (My Hero Academia) cosplay. Somewhere

stored in the Cloud, there is a photo of my painting class in the museum where I am wearing a Japanese

schoolgirl outfit. Was it mildly embarrassing? Yes, but I also didn’t want to waste any time going back to

campus to change into my cosplay when I was already halfway to Boston. This, of course, meant that I

had to put on a wig in the back of an Uber minivan, using the rear-view mirror as my stage mirror. Again,

cosplay is nothing if not thinly-veiled sheer chaos. I was sharing an Uber with two other Wellesley

students who were getting dropped off in Harvard Square, so I then had to ride the Red Line and the

Green Line to the Hynes Convention Center. Similar to the previous day, the closer I got to the Hynes,

the more cosplayers there were squeezing onto the Green Line train. I was not the only cosplayer

commuting to the convention, for sure. In fact, there were so many people that I had to squeeze myself

into a small corner of the train, trying not to squish my cosplay too badly. I saw a pink glittery fairy

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running down the platform at Park Street to catch the train, as well as a variety of unfamiliar characters

chatting with each other on the commute. For some reason, I was not expecting there to be cosplayers

on the train, so I found myself in good company for the remainder of the ride.

Figure 49. An image of myself on the Red Line. This

photo was originally sent to my friend on Snapchat to

let her know I was on my way. In this photo, I’m still

wearing my DeCordova Museum admissions tag.

(April 2019).

The second day of Anime Boston was fairly uneventful. We had our BNHA meet-up (that I was

terribly late to due to the train schedule) where some younger cosplayers wanted to take photos with

me because they liked my cosplay. My friends and I took photos together to commemorate the occasion.

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We then wandered around the convention floor to look for any last-minute purchases we were not able

to make the day before. My friends were cosplaying as Bakugo and Deku again, this time in their hero

costumes. Being the third wheel for a second day in a row, I was the one in charge of taking cute couple’s

photos of them in front of a pretty backdrop that we found on one of the upper floors of the Hynes.

Similar to how their cosplay had garnered a fair amount of attention from fellow fans on the previous

night, many fans once again asked to take photos of their favorite characters and ship.17

Figures 50, 51, and 52. (On left) A close-up of my Himiko Toga cosplay, without the mask. (Center) The full outfit,

including the mask. (On right) Toga’s character design from the BHNA anime series (My Hero Academia Wiki).

17 From Wikipedia: “Shipping [or to ship], initially derived from the word relationship, is the desire by fans for two or more people, either real-life people or fictional characters (in film, literature, television, etc.) to be in a romantic relationship. It is considered a general term for fans' involvement with the ongoing development of two people in a work of fiction. Shipping often takes the form of creative works, including fanfiction stories and fan art, most often published on the internet.”

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In comic, anime, and manga fandoms, it’s fairly common for fans to ship same-sex characters in

romantic and/or sexual relationships. Whether or not the characters are canonically queer, fans often

like to create headcannons18 in which these characters are involved with each other. From our own

series, there were numerous Bakugo/Deku ships being cosplayed. Oftentimes, the cosplayers

themselves are in a relationship, queer or otherwise, and cosplay together as a couple (either canon--

officially confirmed to have happened in the series--or fan-imagined) from a favorite series like my

friends did. I think this is one of the things I have always appreciated about the fandom community.

People can explore and express their identities however they see fit and other fans are right along there

with them celebrating their identities.

Figures 53, 54, and 55. (On left) My friends and I at our BNHA meet-up in one of the Hynes Convention Center ballrooms.

(Center and on right) Deku and Bakugo in their hero costumes from the My Hero Academia series (Cosplay Reference Wiki

and My Hero Academia Wiki).

18 Headcanon refers to a fan-imagined event in a series, often in the form of fan-written prequels or sequels. Headcanon is the opposite of canon, which refers to officially confirmed events that happen in a series.

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Post-COVID Comic Conventions

New York Comic Con (October 8-11, 2020: Virtual)

In spite of New York Comic Con’s sterling reputation as one of the greatest comic gatherings (next

to San Diego), I was mildly disappointed by its pandemic adaptation to online panel offerings on comic

books and cosplay. For an event called “Comic Con,” there were ironically not very many panels about

comics themselves. Of the few comics panels that were hosted, most engaged only with children’s or

middle grade comic books. These were all very interesting to watch, but they left a lot to be desired in

terms of a discussion of all of the wonderful adult comic books that are currently in print. As I was viewing

these panels online, I wondered if this focus was a holdover from the “comics are for children” mentality?

Even though you would think that Comic Con would be more willing to acknowledge the fan base of

contemporary comics, it seems like even this grand event fell into the trap. Despite this, I was able to

find a few panels during NYCC that I greatly enjoyed watching. Two of these were Trans & Nonbinary

Narratives in Fiction | Beyond the Binary and History of Diversity in Comics.

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Figure 56. Still from Trans & Nonbinary Narratives in Fiction | Beyond the Binary, showing moderator Jay Justice and panelists

Vita Ayala, Lilah Sturgis, and Jay Edidin (New York Comic Con 2020).

Trans & Nonbinary Narratives in Fiction | Beyond the Binary featured comic creators Vita Ayala,

Lilah Sturgis, and Jay Edidin with Jay Justice as a moderator. The primary focus of this panel was to discuss

representations of diverse queer and trans characters in recent comics. Sturgis opened up the panel by

commenting on how there were more trans and nonbinary creators in the comic industry, which was

leading to an increase of diverse characters (Sturgis 2020). This is something that had pretty consistently

been stated by both comic fans and comic scholars. I would say this phenomenon is especially evident

in independent comics, but even in more mainstream publishers like Image, we are seeing more and

more representation. Three out of the five comics I chose for this thesis are from Image and have been

published within the last ten years.

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One of the comments from this panel that stuck with me was when Ayala commented on how

often when there is representation, the character’s only trait is one of their marginalized identities,

whether that is their race, gender, or sexuality, instead of having them be a whole--or intersectional--

character (Ayala 2020). This was also often one of the things I would keep in mind when I was reading a

new comic and when I was selecting particular comics for this project. I specifically chose comics that did

not fall into this trap. It is incredibly disheartening to think that there is going to be a character in a story

that you can identify with, only to have them turn out to be the most cookie cutter, two-dimensional

character imaginable. One of the things I have appreciated about contemporary comics is that they seem

to be falling less and less into this trap. While the complexity and diversity of representation is getting

better and better in terms of quality, there is still not enough representation overall. There is so much

variation within the queer and trans communities that there need to be more stories, especially less

binary stories (Ayala 2020). I have a feeling that within the next few years we will begin seeing stories

that are even more representative of the diverse experiences of the community.

While I was watching these videos on YouTube, I noticed a curious phenomenon happening with

Beyond the Binary: it was the most commented on and disliked video out of all of the panels I watched.

None of the panels I watched had a ton of views on YouTube, but Beyond the Binary had 37 likes and 27

dislikes at the time of viewing, which was the closest split between any of the videos I watched. There

were also a few odd responses in the comments section and live chat including, “Uhh, who cares?”

(Virtus1912 2020) and “if u wanna be trans, then so be it but stop promoting it” (Gooner Hussain 2020,

11:19). I found these comments jarring--there are a lot of queer comic books and cosplayers, yet there

are still instances where other people in the fandom lack acceptance. The rest of the comments were

positive, but it was still disheartening to see that sort of negativity at an informational panel. This

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negativity would perhaps be something that would not be noticed at an in-person convention. When

these panels are held in person, everyone would be in a room or a sectioned-off area of the convention

floor sitting in rows of folded chairs and attempting not to trample the cosplay of the person next to

them. This sort of backlash would not be heard on the convention floor since there is no way for people

to comment in real time during the panel. It would be incredibly rude for someone to just shout out

negative feedback mid-panel, like people in the live chat were doing. You would maybe see some

comments on Twitter or Instagram later, but they would be published on people’s personal accounts

that likely do not garner much attention. This live-streamed negativity seemed to be a unique

phenomenon of comic conventions that have had to move onto social media sites on the Internet, which

was unfortunately one of the drawbacks of having a virtual Comic Con.

Figure 57. Still from History of Diversity in Comics featuring moderator Evelyn “Comic Canary” and panelists and comic

personalities Nico Action, Indigo, and Raven. (New York Comic Con 2020)

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Luckily, History of Diversity in Comics did not have this issue. This panel hosted comic

personalities Indigo, Nico Action, and Raven with moderation by Evelyn “Comic Canary.” The panel

opened up with a discussion about Marvel’s (poor) attempt at engaging with diversity with the

superheroes Safespace and Snowflake (Raven 2020). There was not much to discuss about these heroes.

Most of the panelists simply laughed and rolled their eyes at the absurdity of these characters and how

poorly they were thought-out by their Marvel creators. For more context, Snowflake and Safespace were

two characters proposed by Marvel to be in the New Warriors universe. Snowflake, a Black feminized

nonbinary person, wears a blue romper-jumpsuit, and Safespace, their jock brother, wears a pink

romper-jumpsuit. Their powers aligned with their names: Snowflake can create ice weapons and

Safespace can shield others. The creators wanted their names to represent a “post-ironic meditation on

using violence to combat bullying,” (Villarreal 2020). “These are terms [snowflake and safe-space] that

get thrown around on the internet...as derogatory, [they] take those words and kind of wear them as

badges of honor” (Villarreal 2020).

Figure 58. A sketch of the New Warriors characters Snowflake and Safespace (Marvel 2020).

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Unfortunately, to say that these new characters were a flop would be an understatement. All

their creation did was anger the conservative fanboys and give them more fodder that queer people are

snowflakes and social justice warriors (SJWs) and frustrate queer comic fans for making a mockery of

queerness and transness. Queer comic fans and creators commented on how these two characters

tokenized queerness and really did not address any issues of queerphobia and transphobia, particularly

that faced by people of color. Snowflake and Safespace were created by a white cisgender man, another

point of contention for many comic fans, who were angered that a Black nonbinary creator was not hired

to work on the character development and design (Villarreal 2020). With all of the amazing queer

creators of color in the comic industry, many fans and creators alike wondered why none of them were

chosen to work on this project. These characters were created with the intention of being positive

representation for queer, trans, and POC comic fans, but instead their characterization was so tokenized

and poorly thought out that fans instead felt alienated rather than inspired by them. More than anything,

Snowflake and Safespace felt like characters that Marvel could use to say “we created a diverse cast of

characters!” and then never actually do any of the work to increase diversity in comics.

Aside from the chaos surrounding Snowflake and Safespace, this panel also revealed more queer

cosplay and convention related information. Being a queer cosplayer and comic fan myself, I was

surprised that I had not heard of any of these events or resources before. Skin Tight USA, which I had

not heard of before this panel, is a queer superhero convention held in New York City during NYCC. I also

found out about the LGBTQ HQ which prides itself on being “the hub for all things gay at comic cons”

(LGBTQ HQ 2021). LGBTQ HQ hosts panels and events at various comic and anime conventions around

the country, including this panel. I do not recall having ever seen the LGBTQ HQ table at any of the

conventions I have been to, but it is also possible that I simply missed them due to the high volume of

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tables on the convection floor. The next time I am able to go to an in-person convention, I will be looking

for LGBTQ HQ sponsored events.

San Diego Comic Con (July 22-26, 2020: Virtual)

San Diego Comic Con is one of the longest-running and most iconic comic conventions in the

world. Founded in 1970, San Diego Comic Con hosts over 130,000 guests every year and has a next-to-

impossible lottery draw for convention tickets. San Diego Comic Con happened over the summer before

I started preparing materials for this project, but I decided to view the available convention videos to

supplement what I found in the NYCC comic content. Before COVID-19 completely foiled my comic

convention plans, I originally had no plans to include SDCC content, since San Diego is far away, virtually

impossible to obtain tickets for, and extremely expensive (especially without special thesis funds for the

trip). Since everything moved online, however, I decided to view some of the SDCC content for this thesis.

Since SDCC is famous as the “original comic convention,” I would love to be able to go in person one day.

My favorite panels from SDCC were Body Talk and Out in Comics--Year 33: Virtually Yours.

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Figure 59. Still from Body Talk, featuring moderator Mariah McCourt and panelists Jules Rivera, Christina "Steenz" Stewart,

Mari Naomi, Sequoia Bostick, and Lilah Sturges. (Comic-Con International aka San Diego Comic Con 2020)

Body Talk was one of my favorite panels from all of the comic conventions I attended virtually.

Panelists Jules Rivera, Christina "Steenz" Stewart, Mari Naomi, Sequoia Bostick, and Lilah Sturges were

joined by moderator Mariah McCourt for a discussion on marginalized people in comics. One of the

things I hope I have emphasized throughout this thesis is the importance of positive representation of

marginalized people in the media. Like Sturges said in this panel “[marginalized people] don’t sit around

having traumas all day”; in fact, it is possible to have characters with diverse identities in any kind of

story, not just a story that is identity-based (Sturges 2020). So often, queer people, people of color, and

especially queer people of color, are only portrayed in trauma narratives, so it is refreshing to see a

medium where joy is present too (Sturges 2020). The characters do not have to be taking part in

extraordinary actions; rather, that queer characters can simply exist as people is inspirational to others

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(Stewart 2020). Many of the panelists commented on how good they felt seeing people like them in the

world of comics, which is something that drew them to the industry (Naomi 2020). With the majority of

panelists identifying as queer people of color, they wanted others to be able to have the same experience

as they did, so they made it a goal of theirs to write diverse characters in their works (Naomi and Stewart

2020). I especially liked how the panelists acknowledged that comics are for all ages--it is important for

both children and adults to be able to see themselves represented in media and have their stories told.

Figure 60. Still from Out in Comics--Year 33: Virtually Yours featuring moderator Andy Mangels and panelists Hazel Newlevant,

Noelle Stevenson, Tim Sheridan, and Christian Cooper. (Comic-Con International aka San Diego Comic Con 2020)

Out in Comics can boast the title of the longest running panel in the comic world (Mangels 2020).

Featuring Hazel Newlevant, Noelle Stevenson, Tim Sheridan, Christian Cooper, and moderator Andy

Mangels, Out in Comics covered what it is like to be a queer person in the comic industry. An interesting

issue that was brought up in this panel was the fact that many content creators and fans are queer, but

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the large publishing corporations often do not want to acknowledge this and are in fact afraid to take

action to increase LGBTQ diversity in their stories (Sheridan 2020). This leads to creators and fans having

to take action, which often leads to a slower implementation of change due to existing power structures

in corporations. Sheridan often found himself as the only queer person in the room during executive

meetings, and he felt solely responsible for trying to get more diversity in the available comics (Sheridan

2020). Other creators were often forced to make characters less queer, as executives did not want to be

the first company to make the move to be more inclusive (Cooper and Stevenson 2020).

The panelists commented on how they were drawn to comics because they saw characters

similar to themselves and were able to explore various identities and surround themselves with other

people who were “out and proud” (Stevenson 2020). My favorite quote from this panel was by

Stevenson, who commented on how comic creators have a “huge responsibility to show the world the

way it can be” (Stevenson 2020). If queer and POC fans can see themselves positively represented in

comics and see a world where they are respected, and non-marginalized fans can see a world where

equality is achieved, it can lead to positive real-world change. Sheridan commented on how he wants to

“change people’s hearts and minds through comic book art” (Sheridan 2020), which I think is an

incredibly important aspect of comics and comics culture. As I had mentioned previously, comics are not

only a reflection of society, but can also project new ideals onto readers and society at large. We cannot

underestimate the importance of comics to queer people and other people with marginalized identities

as tools for positive change.

As much as I liked the panels at San Diego Comic Con, it was odd sitting on my bed and virtually

watching these videos from a distance. I felt very disconnected from the fan community and did not feel

like I was truly experiencing a comic convention. SDCC turned off their comment section and live chat

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for their videos, which was honestly probably for the best given how toxic some of the posted comments

were for videos from NYCC. At the same time, this prevented any possibility of a live interaction between

fans, which would have better mimicked the live convention experience. Leading to an even greater

feeling of disconnect for me was the fact I ended up watching these videos several months after SDCC

would have occurred in person. As a result, I could not find live commentary from other fans. I also

missed out on the “suggested content” from other cosplayers and comic creators on my Explore page

on Instagram because I was watching it so much later than when it originally aired. Despite this, SDCC’s

panels really proved to me that comic culture is very closely tied to representations of people with

marginalized identities.

Flame Con (August 15, 2020: Virtual)

Figure 61. Flame Con’s recently redesigned logo. Each year, Flame Con adds more characters to their logo, which are meant

to be representative of their convention goers (Blas 2020).

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Flame Con is a relatively new comic convention organized by GeeksOUT which hosts a variety of

LGBTQ authors, writers, and cosplayers. Flame Con is specifically geared towards the LBGTQ+

community, toting itself as “the world’s largest queer comic con” (Flame Con). The existence of Flame

Con itself proves that there are a lot of queer comic fans. In fact, one could say that there would not

even be an event geared towards queer comic fans if there were not any interest from queer comic fans.

I was so excited when I discovered that this convention existed, but unfortunately, with the limitations

of an online schedule during the pandemic, the programming was very shortened. Usually Flame Con

would host a variety of panels, informational workshops, and meet-and-greets, including a night-time

fan get-together. I wish I had been able to interact more with the fan community at Flame Con. When I

first discovered this convention even existed, I was so excited to attend it and cosplay in a space that

was created specifically for queer comic fans. Despite this, I was luckily able to attend one of Flame Con’s

panels: Comics and Advocacy: Using Your Passion to Empower Your Community.

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Figure 62. Still from Comics and Advocacy: Using Your Passion to Empower Your Community featuring moderator Regine L.

Sawyer and panelists Greg Anderson, Camilla Zhang, James Seetal, Vita Ayala, and Diamond Stylz. (Geeks OUT at Flame Con

2020)

Comics, as benign as they may seem, almost always carry some sort of political undercurrent or

societal commentary. The first comics were created in this manner, and the tradition has continued

throughout the years. The representation of queer and trans characters of color is political, so it was

appropriate that Flame Con would have an event that tackled this concept. The panelists for this panel

consisted entirely of people of color and included Vita Ayala, Greg Anderson Elysée, James Seetal,

Diamond Stylz, Camilla Zhang, and was moderated by Regine Sawyer. Like my experience with comics,

Ayala commented on how comics were one of the first places where they saw themselves represented,

which seems to be a common theme among queer comic fans (Ayala 2020). At all comic conventions,

but specifically one like Flame Con, con-goers really can be themselves and explore both their love of

comics and their queerness. The comic world can act as a community-building space where people can

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gather and learn from other comic fans (Stylz 2020). This panel also emphasized the important work of

the Women in Comics Collective International, an organization to help elevate of the voices of women

and queer people of color in the comic industry. As we saw with Snowflake and Safespace, it is not

enough to simply toss in a (poorly thought-out) character for the sake of diversity. At all levels of the

comic industry, from fan to writer to executive, queer people of color must be able to have their voices

heard in order to truly have diverse representations in comics.

Even though I focus a lot on queerness and transness in this project, I must note that it is

impossible to separate these identities from any others, whether it be race, class, or disability. You

cannot separate these intersectional identities from each other nor is one identity more important than

another identity. As impossible as it sometimes feels to define, this is what intersectionality is at its core.

As we saw from the comic convention panels, many queer comic creators are people of color, as are

many convention attendees, cosplayers, fan-artists, and fanfiction writers. Many times, even in comics,

queerness is portrayed in conjunction with whiteness, but that leaves out a huge swath of comic fans

and is simply not realistic. The panels from each of these conventions highlight the immense importance

of queer and trans creators of color and illustrate how interconnected marginalized identities are. In

order for comic fans to truly feel represented in comics, there has to be as wide a range of comic

characters as there are real people.

Beyond Conventions

As important as my experiences at comic conventions are, I feel it is also important to include an

account of some of my experiences in other comic fan spaces, the most important being bookstores.

This first experience is one that I still laugh about now, partially because of my own obliviousness to the

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situation at the time, and partially because of the absurdity of it all. While I have had overall positive

experiences with other fans, that is not to say I have not had some odd experiences as a woman in

fandom. A few years ago, I was in a Barnes and Noble quickly checking through the manga section to see

if anything new had come out. I was holding a book of Fullmetal Alchemist shorts that I had picked up in

the front of the store on one of the new releases tables. While I was browsing one of the manga aisles, I

was approached by a male patron (henceforth referred to as “Anime Man”) who proceeded to hit on me

for the next half hour or so while I tried to extricate myself from the manga aisle. I was running errands

that day and trying to be quick, so I do not know what about my demeanor indicated that I was even

mildly interested in being propositioned by a random man who I had stumbled across in the manga aisle.

Our tastes in manga and anime were not even similar. Since he noticed me carrying the FMA book, he

started out the conversation by asking me what my favorite manga and anime were. I told him what I

enjoyed watching, and he acted very surprised, stating how he thought those were too dark for him.

This was not the first, nor would it be the last time, I experienced the rather strange phenomenon

where male comic and anime fans are surprised when I tell them about which series I like the best. I am

not exactly sure what they are expecting me to say. Perhaps it is because I am a fairly petite and straight-

passing woman who wears lots of floral patterns and pink, so my outward aesthetic does not scream

dystopias, cyberpunk, and high fantasies sprinkled with a little romance. Still, I am insulted at the fact

that they always seem so shocked and surprised when I do tell them what I enjoy reading. It has

happened numerous times that their response is something along the lines of “oh, those didn’t seem

like the type of stories you’d be interested in.” Well, what kind of stories do seem to be my type? I think

the assumption is that the stories I read are more masculine, so how could I, a woman, possibly be

interested in them? Unfortunately, because of the double standard placed on female fans, had I said I

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liked the lighter genres, I would likely have been told that I was not really reading the good stories and

that I should read the darker stories. Either way, the implication is that I am not a real fan in the eyes of

these male fans. This was my own personal experience with what many academics, like Elizabeth Nichols,

and fans, like Megan Thee Stallion, have experienced--the double-edged sword of not fitting the

stereotype of the proper female fan. In the eyes of many male fans, there is no correct way for female

fans to explore the fandom, so no matter what these female fans do, it is considered wrong. This is one

of the more frustrating experiences in fandom, unfortunately, and one that has yet to cease despite the

large number of female fans actively participating in fandom. Of course, many of these odd in-person

interactions I have had with other fans have ceased during the time of COVID-19.

Comic Culture, Cosplay, and COVID-19

COVID-19 threw the comic world for a loop this year. No in-person conventions, no book signings,

no author meet-ups. All of the key components of the comic fandom experience that we have always

taken for granted were impossible to perform in-person this year. It is impossible to create the

atmosphere of a comic convention online. The energy on the convention floor and the excitement in the

air are impossible to recreate via YouTube live videos and Discord servers. The magic of stepping into

the convention hall and seeing all of the cosplayers and fans gathered in one spot falls flat on an online

platform. I watched San Diego Comic Con, New York Comic Con, and Flame Con online from the comfort

and privacy of my dorm room bed. I continued making some cosplays as planned, although this endeavor

became more and more sporadic due to the fact that I did not have any conventions to which to wear

the finished costumes. It is disheartening to put hours and hours into a cosplay and then have it sit in a

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garment bag for an indefinite period of time. I would imagine I was not the only fan and cosplayer feeling

this COVID slump.

To try to make up for the fact that in-person fan events were cancelled and to stay connected

with the cosplay community, I created an Instagram account @skyye.vega to document my cosplaying

and thesis journey. I am not the best with social media, but the process of keeping an account active was

a great way to create an online repository of my cosplay process, which was something I had never really

done before. This Instagram account documents the more mundane aspects of cosplay creation, which

is often something I overlook when discussing cosplay. Although the Instagram account was no

substitute for the real thing, it was nice to see the other cosplayers I follow posting about comic

convention memories, tips and tricks for cosplaying, and cosplay plans for when in-person conventions

are safely able to happen again. It seems like everyone is patiently awaiting the announcement of an in-

person convention. While there is a large base of fandom on the Internet, there is always something

special about being with other fans in person.

Despite this disappointment, I think it is possible to learn from our experiences with virtual

conventions. Not all of the COVID-19 changes were bad. On the upside, virtual conventions are much

more democratically accessible and make it possible for anyone from anywhere to join in on the

festivities. In theory, an even broader diversity of fans could log in from the comfort of their homes or

another space where they felt safe and still feel like a part of the comic community. Fans could attend

comic conventions across geographic sites that they would not have been able to otherwise. I originally

had no intention of going to San Diego Comic Con, but when it moved to its virtual format, I decided to

attend. Distance becomes nonexistent in the virtual world, which is a benefit for fans who may not live

near any large conventions. Another significant bonus was that convention activities were free this year,

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eliminating the cost barrier that could often be prohibitive to many fans. For reference, a one-day pass

to Fan Expo Boston costs anywhere from $40-$60 (depending on what day you attend) and three-day

passes cost $105. A three-day pass to Anime Boston costs $75. These passes give you access to

workshops, film screenings, panels, and all of the floors of the convention, but there is added cost if you

want to participate in celebrity meet-and-greets or purchase fan merchandise from the sales floor.

Between convention passes, transportation, cosplay supplies, merchandise, and food, con-goers can

expect to spend at least $150 per convention. I hope that we as a community can take the best of the

virtual and in-person conventions to make an even better and more accessible comic convention

experience in the future. History has shown that comic fans and cosplayers are nothing if not persistent.

As the past year’s lessons in “Shelter in Place” during Covid-19 have taught us: Neither anti-comic

crusades nor global pandemics can keep us from participating in fandom.

Conclusion

Despite how far comics have come, their reception still faces challenges from schools, libraries,

and others. As recently as 2020, One Million Moms19 called for a boycott of DC and Marvel (which

produce far fewer queer comics than other publishers) because Marvel includes a gay character in their

The Eternals movie (Arenas 2020). In 2012, OMM called for a boycott of Toys R Us for selling Archie

comics depicting a gay wedding on the cover (MacDonald 2012). As a homophobic watchdog

organization, OMM claims that queer comics will ruin the impressionable minds of young children. In

19 One Million Moms (OMM) is an offshoot of the American Family Association, a Christian fundamentalist organization that is strongly anti-LGBTQ rights.

107

2012, they completely disregarded the many adult comic readers who may be interested in having

themselves represented in a media they enjoy consuming and claimed the following:

Why do adult gay men need comic superheroes as role models? They don't but do want to

indoctrinate [sic] impressionable young minds by placing these gay characters on pedestals in a

positive light. These companies are heavily influencing our youth by using children's superheroes

to desensitize and brainwash them in thinking that a gay lifestyle choice is normal and

desirable...Children do not know what straight, homosexual, or coming out of the closet even

means, but DC Comics and Marvel are using superheroes to confuse them on this topic to raise

questions and awareness of an alternative lifestyle choice. These companies are prompting a

premature discussion on sexual orientation (Melrose 2012).

One of the reasons that comics remain a target of such watchdog groups like OMM is that they are still

seen as “a children’s genre” rather than as a medium through which a wide array of stories can be told

(Greyson 2007, 130). Because of this, they are often subject to more critical scrutiny than other forms of

media (Greyson 2007, 130). Even though comics are intended for a wide array of audiences, including

young readers, middle-grade readers, and adult readers, the medium is lumped together and labelled as

if they are primarily “for children only.” Unfortunately, comics have become pigeon-holed into a place

where they are still being pressured to conform to a certain standard that undermines the very diversity

I have been mapping throughout this thesis project.

In the same vein as OMM, the articles published by Rivoche, Dixon, and Delingpole also present

an interesting case study for comics as a medium. As I have discussed throughout this project, comics

have a very queer history that was once almost snuffed out by the likes of the Comics Code Authority,

Frederick Wertham, and others. Today, even though the CCA has been dissolved for decades, there are

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still complaints from people who would rather see comics pushed back into the closet than allow a

diversity of representation for all comic fans. This thesis has argued that there is no way to separate

comics from their queer history; in fact, it is becoming increasingly clear that many comic fans are drawn

to the medium for its intrinsic emphasis on marginalized groups’ stories and the medium’s creative

possibilities. Through comics, we can see the intersections of various identities and the promise of a

more equitable world.

Despite all of the challenges, both internal and external, I think we can be proud of the progress

that comics have made in the years since dropping the Comics Code. While comics are still not perfect,

increasingly more comic fans are able to see themselves represented in this medium. In the future, like

Vita Ayala said during the recent San Diego Comic Con panel on Trans & Nonbinary Narratives in Fiction

| Beyond the Binary, there should be a whole “Denny’s menu worth” of characters and representations

to choose from what we read (Ayala 2020). More diverse authors, illustrators, and publishing teams are

being hired at major companies like DC, Marvel, and Image and independently published comics are

gaining popularity at comic shops large and small, signaling a corporate cultural shift.

This cultural shift in the comic industry, comic content, and comic culture perhaps could use a

name. Most comic scholars and fans would argue that comics can be divided up into four main historical

ages: The Golden Age (1938-1956), The Silver Age (1956-1970), The Bronze Age (1970-1985), and The

Modern Age (1985-Present). Similarly, feminist scholars have divided the Women’s Movement and

growth of feminism into four historical waves: First Wave (1848-Early 1900s), Second Wave (1960s-

1980s), Third Wave (1900s-Early 2000s), and Fourth Wave (Mid 2000s-Present).20 Yet, neither comics,

nor feminism, are perfect. In fact, it is hard to delineate a precise beginning, middle, and end to each of

20 See “A Brief History: The Four Waves of Feminism” by Lynn Varacalli Cavanaugh.

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these ages and waves that mark the rise and development of comics and feminism. Perhaps this model

is too limiting in its descriptive power. Whatever one should choose to call the new age of comics, I

would argue that we are definitely seeing the birth of a new era of comic creation, one with more diverse

stories, characters, themes, authors, and illustrators than ever before. We are also seeing the

complementary nature of comics and current events, as more and more comics are influenced by the

shifting ideas of our culture and comic creators are producing work that represents what our society

could be like.

Perhaps because of this, comics have historically been a safe haven for marginalized groups of

people and individuals. No matter the pressure put upon the comic industry by the Comics Code

Authority, conservative critics, and angry fanboys, the inclusivity and diversity of comics has always

prevailed, perhaps sometimes underground, within the hearts of the comic community itself. I personally

have found representations of myself that I have not seen in any other form of media, and I know many

other comic fans have as well. Are comics queer because the readers are? Do comics inherently draw

queer readers in? Either way, comics are finally a place where fans can see themselves represented in

the stories they love. Comics are for everyone, and everyone can find a place in the comics community.

We will find our way to be heard, no matter what.

Through this project, I found my voice, and I hope to inspire other comic fans to do the same.

This project was the deepest dive I have ever done into any single topic, never mind one that is so

important to me personally. Before beginning this project, I knew that representation in comics was

important to many comic fans, myself included. I had seen myself in the characters of my favorite graphic

works and I was sure other fans did too. Working with this topic only confirmed what I knew in my heart

to be true: comics are an amazing creative space for comic creators and comic fans to be true to

110

themselves and their identities. Because comics are an ever-evolving medium, this project also has the

potential to be fluid and changing. Although my work on this project has come to a close, there are still

many things to be done to add to the queer feminist comic studies archive. As it was beyond the scope

of this project, there is still much to be done surrounding representations of race in comics. As noted in

the Introduction, there are many wonderful studies that have recently been published that are a great

starting point for this portion of the archive. Additionally, should this project be revisited when COVID-

19 restrictions have been lifted, it would be very worthwhile to conduct interviews with in-person

convention-goers, participants in online fandom, and comic creators. I hope that other comic fans will

be interested in pursuing this topic in the future and enlarging the queer feminist comic studies archive.

We must not let the archive forget about queer comics or the important cultural shifts that continue to

broaden representation in comics today.

111

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