A weekend as a girl (part two)

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Paint me like one of your French girls.

A WEEKEND AS A GIRL (Part two)

I'm not going to lie. Despite the things that I went through this weekend, I had the time of my life! During part one, I told you that I won't pervert this review by pretending that this is a simple matter to write about and summarize, and I'm going to stay true to that. Processing this weekend has likely been one of the most mentally taxing exercises I've done, and if you know me you know that it takes a lot to tax me mentally.

But what do I mean by that? When I say that I'm not going to pervert this review? The thing is, I went into this experiment with certain expectations, with prejudices towards convention life as a woman. I was  ready to go to war over this, and present a result from a black and white perspective. I was ready to tell you that going to a convention as a girl is worse than going as a boy, and I was ready to do this before day one even started. But what I expected should not in any way influence what I experienced, so while I'm going to acknowledge the mentality I had going into this,  I'm not going to be a slave to it.

Having a suspicion what my weekend would be like ... day one started!

WHY DID I  DO IT?

There are some things I want to address. Why did I do this experiment? I've gone through the basics, but that only gives clarity to the most shallow reason. Thing is, I could've read about things like this online. I could've talked to girls about the lives, I could've interviewed them. There are many angles I could've gone at this question about the life as a girl at a convention from, but I chose to dress up as one. The reason is very simple: Because no amount of books, no stories, no paper can tell you what something is REALLY like. You can tell me a million times that you've been groped, but I can't ever truly empathize with it, because I haven't been there. You can be the world leading expert on war, but that doesn't give you the right to tell a shell-shocked soldier to walk it off.

I have been told many a tales about girls negative experiences at conventions, and it's never felt right for me to provide common words of comfort. Saying things like "I'm so sorry", or "I can only imagine" aren't things that easily slide off my tongue, because they ring hollow to me. Am I really sorry, or is it nothing more than a word of comfort? And can I actually imagine what it's like? If I can't empathize, how genuine is my sympathy? I've talked about this with friends at times, that we humans have a tendency to provide automatic replies and words of comfort. We don't like seeing friends and family in pain, and we will do anything in our power to take the pain away. We will even give empty words of comfort. How many of you have said "It's going to be okay" while believing that it won't be? Haven't you ever said "I feel your pain", but you don't actually do so?

There you have it. Why I did this. Now onto the weekend!

That ball of fur is an alien, isn't he?

EXPECTATIONS vs REALITY

Men are jerks. I'm going to drop the jerk bomb right away, because it's been stuck in my hatch for way too long. Now that the bomb is falling towards the ground, let's ask ourselves if it is real! By no means. No more than women are jerks. But that's what I expected going into all of this. Now, does that mean that the bomb isn't dangerous? No. It's still going to shatter on impact, and jerk shrapnel will hit some men passing by a perceived attractive girl. In the same way that some women can be jerks when the opportunity presents itself. Simply put, we're all individuals, and act individually. No large group is responsible for the action of a minority, meaning that you can't blame the male gender for the action of a man, no more than you can blame humanity for an act of terrorism.

When I got into this, when I constructed the cosplay, chose the parts ... when I was  turning myself into a woman, I did so expecting that I would have to kick some ass at times, that I would have to physically repel the occasional idiot, but I was very rarely brought to that point. Only twice did I physically interact with the purpose of getting rid of someone being where they shouldn't be. That's two times in three days, roughly thirty hours of being among people. It's not what I expected. Here's where reality comes into play, though. In my full year of frequent cosplaying as Deadpool, I can only think of a handful of times where I've been inappropriately touched. To say that I've got a hundred hours in a Deadpool costume is a MASSIVE understatement, but a hundred hours is what it would take for five noteworthy inappropriate grabs to have happened against Celty. And that's taking in consideration all the factors that I brought up in the first part. Remember those? So  ...

Nah, he's human. Celty's a scaredy-cat, but not an idiot. 

Men aren't jerks. Jerks are jerks. During this convention, I managed to surround myself with some of the most amazing people I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. I have however also seen humanity at its lowest. Not all are as sweet and as cuddly as The Stig or Master Chiewbacca. 

I expected jerks, and I got them. And I found something out about myself in the process. This is going to cause a bit of a tremor, I think, but ... I didn't hate it. I struggled with this realization for a long while, I wasn't comfortable with this truth, I didn't want to be comfortable with this truth, but if there's one thing that truth is, it's ... well, it's that it's true.

So, what am I on about? Jerks manifested because they liked what they saw. A jerk isn't a jerk during every living, breathing moment of their lives. What we qualify as someone being a jerk, is the action they take, not the life they lead. They found Celty to be attractive, perhaps even arousing, and more than a few of the people I've come across checked me out when I wasn't looking. How do I know? Because I was looking. And my friend was looking. Remember me mentioning the peripheral of my helmet? I could literally have my helmet face forward, while my head was turned to the left or right. I saw. The times I was idling by a table, I wasn't really looking at my whiteboard all the time. Pray tell, why was my helmet always crooked? Why did my friends have correct it all the time? They didn't ask, so I'll tell them and you right now. Because I didn't realize I didn't get it completely straight after having turned my head inside it.  

Do you want the harsh reality slammed in your face? I have never felt more beautiful. I have never felt more appreciated. I have never felt more visible. There were times that I blushed inside my helmet, and not from how freaking hot it could get at times. I have walked as a Stormtrooper as the only cosplayer in crowds of hundreds, I have been Deadpool on a stage in front of cameras and been interviewed for TV as the same, and being Darth Vader during the opening night of Guardians of the Galaxy was one of the most celebrated cosplay moments of my life, and I have NEVER felt like this. And this isn't just a sexual thing, it's not just me feeling sexy, and this certainly doesn't cloud my vision for the rest of this post, but it is relevant. Why is that? I'll tell you.

For all the horrible things that happens to girls, something I'm not denying happens, society loves the woman. I'm putting it out there. Sometimes it sucks at showing it, and there are always those that simply doesn't know what it means to truly love something, but you, women, are loved. Why am I telling you this? Because men aren't loved. Not like this, not in the way I was loved this weekend. Women are beautiful, while men are handsome. Men aren't cute. Men aren't pretty. We  can pretend that men are as appreciated physically as women are, but it just isn't so. Men aren't women. Now, I am aware of what I wrote in part one, that I only represent a part of womankind in this cosplay, and that I constructed this costume to pull at sexuality, but this is a review of my experience, so you'll just have to chew through me going on a bit about how I felt, because I will be brutally honest throughout it all. I respect the experiment too much not to speak my mind. 

I'm not saying he's checking out my ass, but ... he's checking out my ass, isn't he? 

Have I gone off the deep end? Have I fallen in love with my female self? Have I completely given in and believe that life is better as a woman? No! But I did love it. There's contrast though, that needs to be considered. At the moment of writing, I can't think of a single time in my life that I've been told that I've got a beautiful body. After this weekend, I can't count the amount of times I've been told this! Granted, this body is artificial, but surely you see my point: I have been told more times this weekend that I've got a beautiful body, than I've been told my whole life. And while I am a modest person, I am aware that I am not the worst looking person, nor am I horribly out of shape.

And it's not just men that's told me. And it's not just with a sexual underlining. Men and women have come up to me, simply to say that I've got a great body. I understand that this can get tiring, especially considering that no one saw my face all throughout Comic Con, and I was repeatedly called beautiful despite this. I'm not blind to the reality of the situation, but you need to understand that it's never happened to me before. No one has taken time away from their route to walk up to me just to compliment my appearance when I've done a male cosplay ... or ever for that matter.

But I digress, however important I think it is that I get that said. Want to know the one thing that bugged the crap out of me, that turned me from feeling like a beautiful woman, to feeling like a piece of meat?

Photo by Tom Karlsson: http://barrikaden.se/

Fun fact: I remember when this picture was taken.

I looked straight into the camera! Crooked helmet? Yup!

"Hello, sorry, is it  alright if I take some pictures?"

*Nod*

"Can you put the sign away?"

*Shrug*

*Puts the sign away*

"Thank you."

*Has picture taken*

"I have no idea who you are supposed to be, but you look great."

Could I be overreacting? Perhaps. I'm now going to use a line that has been used against me a hundred times in talks about sexism and such things, and thanks to this weekend, I can appreciate it on a whole new level. You. Weren't. There. The same sentences can be said in a number of ways, and eyes speak volumes. Half way through this weekend, I could spot any time someone wanted to appreciate the Celty costume, and when they wanted to appreciate the female body. And any time I was asked to put the sign away, which happened a lot, alarms went off in my head. Sometimes it was innocent, but sometimes it wasn't. During one of these 'no whiteboard' pictures, I made my first physical interaction to repel a wandering hand, which landed on my rump instead of around my waist. He quickly adjusted it and we took the picture, and he and his friend merrily wandered off. I choose to believe that it was an accident, , but it might not have been an accident and it is worth mentioning. The second time  was later the same day, both times Saturday, and I stepped to stand beside him after not being too comfortable with how he placed his arms around me from how he stood behind me. At both times, pictures were taken, and I'd love to see them! Sadly, I don't think I ever will.

MAN vs WOMAN

Did you know that men and women aren't equals at a convention? You might have noticed, if you go to enough of them. Were you at NärCon Winter 2015? I was. I went as a male version of Korra, from The Legend of Korra animated TV show. I was of course not the only Korra, but I sure felt alone at times. All the love to the Korra girls that were there, I know many of you in real life, and you are AMAZING! But what I couldn't help but notice, was all the times I wasn't noticed. I even remember times when, even though present, I wasn't asked to be in pictures when they gathered Avatar characters nearby for a photo. My point however isn't that I wanted attention (I really don't care about it), but that attention wasn't given me. There is a perception filter around men, and this isn't something I'm saying to build pity for the man. It's simply how things are.

The same happened at Comic Con, but in reverse. I was in the company of male cosplayers here and there (though sadly no one from the same show as me), sometimes people I knew, sometimes randoms. Point is, male cosplayers were asked to step aside, so they wouldn't get in the shot when someone asked me for a picture. You'd think that the person wouldn't want someone else in the same shot as a character from a show the person enjoys, but it was often revealed that they didn't even know where I was from.

Am I being unfair? Because I've had the same thing happen me as a Stormtrooper or as Deadpool, a photographer asking people to step out of the shot. No, I honestly don't think that I'm being unfair. There are times when you don't want someone else in the shot, I know this too well, because I like taking pictures as well. But want to know what picture I had the most positive memory of? The one where Master Chiewbacca photobombed my photos with The Stig. Because it made the picture genuine. It made it feel real. Would I have wanted a picture with just The Stig? Yes. And I took the time for that! I now have both variations in my collection. I'm not in such a hurry that I won't take the time to stop for more than one picture. 

And that's the punch to the gut. Nor was many that took pictures of me. They weren't in any hurry. They stopped and looked at the picture, they strolled off at a casual rate. It may seem as though I'm nitpicking, but after having been photographed SO OFTEN as a Stormtrooper or Deadpool, I know what it's supposed to feel like to have had your picture taken. To have been in a picture, or to not have been in one. And people have never cared as much about others not being in the same shot as me, as they did during this Comic Con. And I'm talking almost exclusively of male photographers here. The truth is, there weren't all that many females that took pictures of me. Aside from mothers whose children went crazy any time they saw me, not a lot of women stopped to take a picture. And often when they took pictures, the camera was directed at my sign. I remember one woman asking me to hold the sign up, so she could get it and the helmet in a clear picture. But I need to be fair here as much as anywhere ... at the end of the third day, a man came up to me and took a picture solely of my sign.

I said it before, and I stand by it. Men aren't jerks. Jerks are jerks. Thing is, women touched me in ways they never have before as well. It's easy to forget to read into the way women behave around you, when you walk into a convention with an anti-male mindset. And girls aren't always nice! One girl air groped my rump during a picture, for one. It's the closest to a grope from a stranger I've gotten all weekend. Furthermore, looks and comments by women hurt more than looks and comments by men did. When I idled by tables, stood around, or simply walked, facing hungry eyes from men was one thing ... But facing looks of scorn from women, that's a league of its own. Few of you reading this are strangers to the look. Wrinkled nose, narrowed brows, sharp eyes or something as plain as the shaking of a head or a scoff. 

In talking about the way women behave, I've built the foundation for my next point, and one of the most interesting revelations all weekend. Answer me this. What do I mean by:

INHERITED RIGHT

Thank you Mattias for asking me to do some sexy poses!

These pictures are gold!

Some women looked like they wanted to kick my ass, but then there were those that went in the complete opposite direction. And I'm talking about strangers here, not friends that had my permission to get frisky at times. These women didn't think to ask for permission before getting immodest with me, they didn't always ask for permission before being intimate with me for a picture. These women threw themselves at me, taking pictures that if it had been a man doing the same, he'd have his ass kicked within moments by bystanders. 

But that's not the only way that the coin can flip, however. There's also the truth we have to face regarding men finding out that I'm not actually a woman. This is where the amateur psychologist in me woke up, because this is where things got really interesting. Suddenly, it was perfectly fine for them to get intimate with me, to grope at me, to behave as though I wasn't a female at all.

This is interesting, because it assumes that I'd be fine with the way they behave even if I wasn't a girl in this instance. I don't know what it triggered in them, finding out I wasn't a girl, but their behavior changed. They talked to me differently, they behaved  differently around me, and they in general weren't as prone to ending up in pictures with me anymore.

There are two things I regret more than anything at this event: One was not pulling my hand away when I moved to high-five The Flash, making a humorous 'too slow' joke. The second was the few times that I showed my face to people, even when it was at the end of the convention. I had no reason to do so, and in so doing, increased the risk of not being able to fool the same person twice. Not all will see me post these things on Facebook, and far from all will read this blog. I'm going to be Celty again, and it sucks that I've blown it with some convention goers, that now knows that I'm not a girl.  

But this adds to the experiment, because the strongest reactions and the most deviating behavior I've experienced, has been any time a person found out my real gender. I am therefore very appreciative that no friends of mine have actually tagged me in pictures of me as Celty, because while I am writing about this, I don't want it to be widely known that it's me being Celty. It's likely that I'm going to be her at Sci-Fi World in December, because I want another shot at this experiment. 

WRAPPING UP PART TWO!

Fun fact: For every half bad scenario, I enjoyed probably three dozen good ones! The truly bad happenings were one in a hundred, and I honestly thin I'm being generous there. The weekend has been overwhelmingly positive! The bad pales in comparison to the towering awesomeness that has been Comic Con Gamex. But do NOT think this is the end of this review. While it seems like I've talked about a lot in this post, I actually haven't addressed nearly everything I want said. I've simply written myself dry, and I need to refuel my head with ideas before I continue. 

Tomorrow I will address among other things how the outside world reacted to my costume, and what I learned from walking around with this costume outside of the convention. I will also talk about the convention in general, and a bit about what it was like not to be a girl, but specifically to be Celty Sturluson.

For now, I bid you farewell, and I ask you to tune back in tomorrow for part three. I hope you enjoyed my writing so far, and like last time, I will wrap it up with a glorious picture of sweetness galore. Say hello to Pinkie Pie! 

Left to right: Pinkie Pie. Celty Sturluson. Sunset Shimmer.

Thank you Mattias for the picture.