I don’t attend anime conventions for anime. Nor do I attend them for manga. Music? No. I don’t attend them for the cosplay, the panels, or even to see the awkward fashions one would only feel brave enough to wear during these conventions while surrounded by those similarly dressed…please, you know what I am talking about, don’t pretend otherwise and become defensive.
No, I attend them for those people inside the fashions and cosplays. Those people who attend the panels and concerts. It’s not that they are particularly interesting to talk to, actually ninety percent of the time I find myself avoiding talking to people altogether. I tend to get easily annoyed at the matter-of-fact and almost robotic speech patterns of the every day anime fan. It’s easier to talk to those there for the music but at one point or another, no matter how long and how nice of a conversation you have, they are going to have a slight or maybe even large episode of what is liked to be called fandom. Not that anything is wrong with people speaking the way they do or even being extreme about a certain person or group, to each their own…but so much of it in such a short period of time? No, thank you.
I just want to stare at them. I want to find a high traffic area and place my ass on its make-shift throne, smoke my cigarettes and gaze at all them through my knock-off name brand sun glasses. Not because I find them beautiful but because I want to watch them socialize, watch them walk, pose and act. I enjoy comparing them all as well, although I normally find that almost all of a cons attendees act the same. Just like the speech patterns. Their slouched slumpy walks, they are either loud and overly confident or quiet and shy mannerisms. They are almost all clumsy in their existence, and that clumsiness and gaucheness is what makes them attractive to me. I find myself longing for their societal obscurity.
I know, I know. Now you are all thinking, besides what a snarky bastard I am, that wouldn’t I get bored after doing this for three days? Yes. I am normally bored half way past the first day of it so I have devised certain games and what fun, if not slightly antagonistic and cruel, they are! One game, that I don’t mind sharing with the masses, is one that I developed on accident but one that has become a favorite of mine. It’s simple and actually there are no rules or a planned outcome so it doesn’t technically classify as a game, now that I think really about it. All it involves is staring, as before, but more intensely. The trick is to never look away. It doesn’t matter if they make eye contact or how long the stare back or even if they look away and by doing so offer the chance for you to look away without making the situation even more uncomfortable. Do not look away.
Why? Because it makes them change. They go from being in their comfort zone, their once a year security blanket, to feeling exposed and they change in way that is more noticeable than they realize. They reach to fix their hair or wipe at their face, something could be wrong you know? Many draw into themselves, pull their arms in tighter, slump a little more and drop their chin so that the only convenient place to look is the ground which makes their bodies one giant contortion, which is hard not to find lovely with its strange and exaggerated angles. Some start giggling and tugging at their clothes, which I can’t help but think to be sickeningly cute. Some that are misfortunate enough to stop and stand by me when I am conducting my game, pull out their cell phones and flip it open to look at the time and remain holding it, and then a few seconds later look at the time again. And again. And again. Then some also have the habit of looking at their wrist, over and over again, like looking at a watch, and sighing and walking away as if someone just ditched them for a meeting. What I want to know is, where exactly was that watch you were hiding on your arm? Was it under the skin and if so, can I please have a look? That would be a wonderful sight for my eyes, could you imagine how gorgeous that would be? The skin stretched and paper thin over the glass and metal, the markings faintly exposed. The hands would have to be on the outside of the skin, in order for there to be even a slight possibility of it working, but them turning over the skin would be enough to make cry at the beauty of all of it. Eh, but we digress.
I absolutely love it when people don’t do any of the afore mentioned things and approach me instead. Those are the people I find worth talking to more often than not. Those are the ones that have something to say that is worth listening to, and they are the ones that actually possess the confidence that every one else has borrowed for the weekend. They are the ones whose minds are truly beautiful and whose personalities I find attractive for more than just a few seconds at a time. However, those that only approach and randomly hug before running off. I cannot stand them. At all. I feel the need to shower after they have touched me. It isn’t that I hate being touched or even that I know they have touched hundreds before me that day while counting the hugs. I hate that some one who is so unhappy with the emotions they receive from others on a day-to-day basis, tried to stimulate those emotions from me and the others they touched that day to fill whatever void it is that they have. Then there is the fact that they touched me without my permission…
I have other games as well but they are either not worth mentioning or ones that I am unwilling to share with others being the selfish person I am. Before I leave you all to fume I’ll address something that I am sure will be mentioned over and over again from here on out: don’t I feel bad about turning these places that these kids use as an escape from every day living, a place that they feel they can be confident and comfortable in their own skin and express themselves without judgement, into a living sociological experiment? Well, honestly I have tried to feel guilty and such but since we are being honest with each other, I just can’t bring myself to feel sorry over doing something that brings me so much pleasure.
à plus, ma chérie.
-Demetri
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