A weekend as a girl (Part seven)

A WEEKEND AS A GIRL (Part seven)

There is something in this picture I just can't get enough of. I think it's The Stig.
I think Master Chewie wants a piece of him as well. 

NON-CON AND LIFE AS MUTE

This started off as an experiment to see what life at a convention was like, but already before day one had started, it had become so much more. You may think that my life as a girl for this weekend began with the first human interaction that day. It didn't. It started in the house. By myself. Putting my clothes on. This costume isn't something you just pop on and you get the form I got, even if you have the body that I have. I spent a good hour making sure the catsuit weren't clumpy, I adjusted clothes, I took it off and on again several times. As I was doing this, I realized something: I wasn't doing it for myself. As much as I wanted to feel beautiful, it wasn't me I had in mind when I did this. It was everyone else. I wanted them to look at me and be impressed, I wanted them not just to believe I was a girl, I wanted them to think of me as a beautiful one. Good body, good posture (I did practice posture a lot during the week before Comic Con) and simply being generally appealing. I made attempts at articulating myself without words in front of the mirror, and I even practiced sitting. For them. For  you.

And while I was getting ready to start day one, I had a moment of clarity. I realized that what I was feeling, what I was trying to accomplish, was something I had never felt before. I know that there are men out there that care for their appearance and spend a lot of time picking clothes and getting ready in the morning, but I've never been one of them. All of a sudden, I cared. Because I wanted the world to be impressed by the girl they saw. And in that moment of clarity, I realized what a ton of women must experience on a regular basis. It wasn't about being pretty for me, and it was only partially about being pretty for them. More than anything, I didn't want people to think I looked silly. I didn't want them to point out flaws.

One time when I was Deadpool, a group of us got into talking about cosplay bodies. I casually remarked that I wasn't overly comfortable being Deadpool, but that I'd gotten past much of my anxiety. What I was talking about, was the crotch bulge that a spandex suit makes no effort in hiding. I didn't however make this clear, what part of being Deadpool I was uncomfortable with. A friend of a friend then casually remarked, and I quote: "Well, I think it's cute that your belly is a bit round.". Before that moment, my belly hadn't even been part of the equation when I did cosplay. Now I think about it all the time. I pull it in for photos, and I often pose in angles where my belly doesn't bulge.

Funny thing is, I've always looked upon my belly with a bit of pride. Ever since I was small, I've had problems with weight: And not being overweight. Being underweight! My metabolic system is aggressive, and I've struggled with it. I was bullied for it in school, and the wounds haven't ever fully closed. So imagine my feeling when I was complimented  for it, and felt bad. It's one of the strangest feelings in my life. As much as I should've been happy she remarked upon it, all I could think of was: When she thought I felt awkward about something, she thought it was the belly. So even though she thought it was cute, it was still her immediate trail of thought. And that has stuck! A belly shows. Since then, for the first time in my life, I've tried losing weight. (Not by starving myself or anything like that. Just simply being mindful of it)

What's my point? Where am I going with this? When I put on the suit for Celty, I didn't want people to see my belly. I wanted them to see the rest of me. And if something as twisted as what I had experienced was enough to knock my rather comfortable acceptance of my belly out of balance, sending me twirling to the gutter and starting caring about my weight, what must the life of a girl whose whole life she's been told what a belly should look like, be like? That I stand there, making myself pretty for people whose opinions quite frankly doesn't matter, simply so that they would accept the woman I'm becoming ... that says something.

Anyway, I was out the door as soon as my friend came and we were on our way! I've mentioned that it didn't take more than five minutes before I was the target of stares, and the moment those three men stopped working and put their full attention on me, life was good again. Those three construction workers started my day off with the world, and gave me the greatest confidence boost ever. I went from worried people would see through my disguise immediately, to thinking that I will be able to do this! So thank you, inappropriately staring men! And I know I'm supposed to feel awful about it, but honestly, I couldn't. You can tell me a million times that I'm not supposed to like being looked at, but that's not going to stop me from liking it. It's only going to make me feel bad about it, and that does none of us any good. Me feeling bad that I'm being stared at, only hurts my confidence. It doesn't hurt the men staring at me. It doesn't assist the battle for equality. It isn't a blow against sexism. I can enjoy something, and still know it's wrong.

But this entry isn't about that! It isn't about telling you what you already know is wrong with the world. It's about my experiences, and now I'm going to tell you about them some more!

On our way to the convention, we had a lot of kind people bump into us. A beggar called me "pretty lady", boys fawned, girls frowned, and people of all kinds smiled. Throughout that weekend, a couple of things rang true without fail:

1. Girls never told me when they looked at me and disapproved, but made no effort hiding it was what they thought, and rarely waited until they were out of hearing to comment on me. They simply didn't say anything to my face. Ever. I'm not going to go too deep into that, but I still bring it up, because it's worth thinking about.

2. I can't think of a single time when a man looked at me and made me feel as though he didn't approve of what I was wearing. There were quizzical looks, there were excited looks, there were indifferent looks, and simply smiles at times. As far as I could see, men accepted me. That some of them imagined naughty things, I don't doubt, but in general, if there were judgement among men, they didn't show it.

3. Everyone, everywhere accepted my inability to talk. Some even had a good time with it, a genuinely good time, and didn't make fun of me. No one anywhere made fun of it. It was likely the most solid constant all weekend: People respected my inability to talk. Without fail. Without exception. I worried that I'd be asked to talk at multiple occasions, but didn't matter if I was ordering food, being addressed by security guard or asked question about ticket. I think that's wonderful, and it needs to be noted. As I was ordering food, the staff helped remind each other of what my whiteboard had said. They made sure everything got done right, and many times when they had multiple answer questions, they helped me answer them.

4. Children loved me! Sure some were worried, but that's the very youngest. The ones that can't even stand well. I'm pretty sure it was the cat ears, but there wasn't a single scenario where me and children didn't have a good time together. Didn't matter if they were three or thirteen. And it was indescribably wonderful. In these little people, I never saw fear, disgust, or any of the opposite. There was simply a genuine bliss.

Did you know that in the comics, Honey Lemon's purse is infinite?
If Celty had one of those, she could've kept her head in there.
She would've never lost it! (Except perhaps inside the bag)
Also , super much love to this delightful Honey Lemon cosplayer!

We've been talking about bad people a lot, so let's talk about wonderful people. Because they are far easier to forget than they should be! You can have a hundred good encounters, and then that one idiot comes along and takes it all away.

And I was probably lucky. Saturday evening aside, and a number of sleazy bastards spread out among the days, I had a good  time with the public. Strangers came up to me and asked who I was, asked about where I was going, and such things. No one commented the clothes, except that one woman who wondered if I was cold And without fail, they all respected the writing. People were amazing. And I guess it could've been that me as a man can't fully comprehend just how vicious the world can be to a woman (despite Saturday evening), but in general, men were wonderful. Some whistled after me, but I never read malice in their faces. Some eyes held a hunger I rather not talk about, and there were of course times when I didn't feel safe, but for the most part, I had a good time outside of the convention as well.

And to be perfectly honest, there are times when I as a man don't feel safe outside either. Therefore it was a bit hard at times to try and distinguish when I was afraid because I was perceived as a woman, and when I was afraid simply because I was in a presently bad spot. Men and women alike gets mugged, and granted, being a woman adds a bit of extra risk to the whole thing, and I did constantly feel that risk gnawing at the back of my neck. I've never before noted how long a man was following me before this cosplay, and never been so attentive of when that person was no longer there.

But I said that this would be a bit of a talk about good things, and at the end of the day, I felt respected! I don't know if it's that people don't expect a woman of a violent crime, but I never felt like people wished for me to remove the helmet. When I've been a Stormtrooper, when I've been Deadpool, when I was Rorschach; I have always felt a need to show people my face. To let them know what I look like, to make them feel as though they can identify me. I of course wouldn't harm a fly, but they don't know that. But as Celty, there were smiles. People didn't look as though they expected me to pull a gun at any moment. Was it because of my adorable ears, or was it because of my female body? Or it could be because WHERE IN THE WORLD WOULD I HAVE HIDDEN A WEAPON?! 

All throughout the convention, I had rocks to lean against!
This particular rock was never far away. He made me feel safe!
Thank you, Robin! (and Fluttershy)

Whatever the reason, I felt secure. I didn't just feel like they didn't fear me, though. I felt as though they would protect me. A lot of the time, didn't matter if it was a whistling construction worker or a mother of three. The looks I received most of the time, spoke volumes. And good volumes. Gushy romantic comedy volumes! Sure the occasional woman gave me a strange look, but I barely noticed that outdoors, because they could just as well have been thinking "Another Halloween weirdo", and I chose to assume they didn't judge me for my choice of outfit. Thing is, I felt safe. During daytime, I felt like a VIP. I can't truly explain how I could perceive this, but the atmosphere was kind. It felt as though many of the people I were near, would've taken a swing at anyone doing anything inappropriate.

It reminded me a little of an experiment I saw a while back online, where a Youtube channel orchestrated violence against women at a public location. These actors pretended to be a couple fighting, and some people were so quick to jump in and help the woman when the man got angry. Others didn't intervene, but disgust was plain in their eyes. Then they switched, and the woman was the agitator, getting angry at the man. And people laughed. She hit him, and people laughed. She was brutal, and some even cheered. When talking to these people that had happened to pass by, the people that had seen the first scenario felt as though they had to do something. Some considered calling the police. When then the Youtube team made contact with the people that had witnessed the second scene, where the woman was aggressive, the comments were commonly "He probably deserved it", "He'd probably done something wrong", "Good for her!" and so on.

Let me tell you something about experiments like these. Like the one that Youtube channel had done, and like the one I had done. They will never, EVER be statistically accurate. You won't ever get a clear picture of reality by performing these things, you can only hope that you do. And I think it is very important that I tell you this, that any experiment of this nature, no matter if I'd gone in a Leia slave bikini, or as Celty. No matter if it had been about seeing how people react to violence against women/men, or seeing someone dying (Yes, I've seen a video about someone pretending to get shot by another person, to see how people react. I do not condone that form of experiment). Here's the thing: It COMPLETELY depends on who you encounter.

I could've gone this whole weekend without a single negative experience. The only thing I can say for certain, is that I couldn't have gone this whole weekend without a single positive experience, because the cosplay community (in general) is wonderful. But in those videos, the experiment with the couple could've happened with misogynistic people passing by, and the result of the experiment would've been the reverse. It all depends on who you run into during the experiment, and that makes any experiment vague and risky. An assessment can't ever be completely real, because you won't see every side of life every moment of every day. In the video about the man pretending to be shot by his friend, it had a vicious ending. One of the people they tricked were a policeman, and the prankster pretending to shoot got shot for real! (He survived)

Thing is, I could've gotten shot. Stabbed. Heck, raped, but it's a bit improbable, considering that the truth would've likely had me beaten to an inch of my life instead, or even "freed". I could go my whole life dressed as a woman and never run into a mugger, murderer or rapist, or I can run into one on the first day! Experiments of any sort come with risks. This was a risk I was willing to take. I knew the odds were in my favor, and I played them. And aside from Saturday evening, I was more or less a winner. And even that I can't qualify as a complete loss, because that experience has changed my life. It was a bad experience, but it gave me a perspective that now that I have it, I wouldn't ever want to part with. Saturday evening caused me to evolve!

THE END (of part seven) IS NIGH!

My comrades in the battle against aliens! I could always count on them to save my ass!
Especially Darth Vader tended to gravitate towards me. I think he has a thing for the Celty. MEOW!

I'm running a bit long on this topic, so I'm going to wrap it up: No matter how much people tell me that life as a woman isn't pleasant, I don't have it in me to say anything else than that I enjoyed this weekend. Inside and outside the convention. People were generally kind, and people were protective of me. There were those that weren't, but they were such a small part of the weekend that at the end of the day, they didn't bother me. I wish they didn't exist, and I wish women didn't have to endure them, but I made it past them relatively unscathed. What hurt me the most, aside from a fear of not making it home, was women. And even in that case, for every cruel woman, there were so many wonderful ones!

I know some of you want me to tell everyone reading that life as a woman was scary and  wants me to make it as crystal clear as possible that life as a woman isn't safe, but honestly ... If you have read this far and not gotten that from my text, then you haven't read my text! If you think I'm okay with objectification, then you haven't read my text. If you think I'm telling women to "walk it off", then you haven't read my text! If you've come this far, if you've come to the end of part seven and still think that I don't get why women are afraid, why women are defensive, why women are reserved, then what have you been doing this whole review? You haven't read it.

What you need to get however, is that while I didn't like feeling unsafe, I did like feeling beautiful. I liked being appreciated by the people I passed, no matter if it was because I cosplayed Celty, or because I was sexually appealing. I liked it when people stared at my ass, because they don't do that EVER. I get why it gets tiring for women, why its exhausting to be reduced to your body through much of your life, but I've never had that feeling. And that says something about the society. I've barely had any beauty ideals shoved in my face, I've never been told that I should try and keep a good figure, and I've never had someone look at me and think "Oh, I want that one tonight." It doesn't happen to me. And horrible as it is that it happens to women all the time, the fact that it doesn't happen to me but did now, felt good. TO ME! It's not that I wish for people to objectify me. It's merely that I liked it when I was noticed. Because if you go long enough without feeling appreciated, without feeling like you're noticed, if you go long enough feeling like the world doesn't like the look of you ... then even attention for the wrong reasons, might feel good! Every being in the world has this breaking point, when even bad attention makes you go "At least I get some attention."

And I'm going to put it out there: I was drop dead gorgeous! I was told so. I felt like it. I aspired for it. I know it was a body that wasn't truly mine, and that compliments were based on a false impression, but if I could have, I would've taken myself home every night! Despite all the sorrow, the pain and despite the twisted way that some expressed their interest in me, I felt wanted. I loved myself! I was made to feel loved in a way that none of my male cosplays has ever made me feel.

And I'm not going to apologize for that. I'm not going to accept that someone tells me that what I'm feeling is wrong, just because my body happened to be supporting an unhealthy beauty ideal. Guess what: It's my body. All I did was add a bit of "fat" on my chest and rump. I understand that in this body, I only get to experience a fraction of what the world thinks of womankind, but a fraction is still better than nothing!

Comic Con Gamex 2015 is past, and I loved it. I loved myself. I loved the guests. I loved the con! Tune in tomorrow for the LAST part of the review. I am honestly running out of things to say, and have repeated myself more than once throughout these parts, but that's because there's SO FREAKING MUCH TO PROCESS! Tomorrow however, will be the end. I might do some filler entries later, such as how I created my body, and things like that, but the official review will be over in roughly one day! I might make an entry at some point about the convention itself as well, pros and cons, and the people in it.