A weekend as a girl (Part four)

Have you missed part one? Click here!

Have you missed part two? Click here!

Have you missed part three? Click here!

I am running out of pictures of my cosplay! HELP! (also ... alien! RUN!)

A WEEKEND AS A GIRL (Part four)

A CRUCIAL INTERJECTION! 

(Yay, a filler episode)

Despite all the love, it feels like my experiment is losing support by the second, so I chose to deviate from my intended introduction of part four completely, and instead address something that seems  to be a massive concern for a lot of people. When I started this review, and upon posting this blog to a potent Facebook group called Sweden Cosplay, I stressed the fact that I'm writing it one piece at the time, and that one shouldn't think you have the whole story before I'm finished. 

I am hurting. Because it doesn't feel like people respected this very important part in my presentation of the blog, and in so doing, didn't show my project the respect that I think it deserves. You don't start reading a book, but just because one character says something you don't like, you assume that the rest of the book is going to be written according to that character's flawed point of view. You NEED to see each entry into this review as a piece of a larger picture, a currently incomplete picture, because in not doing so, you're not only hurting my ability to tell you about the weekend, but also your ability to properly listen. You don't look at an incomplete creation of Mona Lisa and go "It's ugly, she doesn't have a nose."

Do you know the formula of almost every joke ever? "La ta di! La di da? TA DA!"  It's the delivery of the punchline. A book has its climax, a joke has its punchline, and a review has its ending. You're only half way through, and some of you  have already made up your mind about where I'm going with this. Judging by the things I've read some of you say, and from what some of you have sent me in private messages on Facebook, one thing has become clear to me: You aren't giving me a fighting chance. You chop my head off before I have a chance to say my final word. 

A precious friend of mine and her friend in combination wrote something that inspired me to shuffle my cards a bit, and present something I intended to save for the end right right now instead. I honestly believed that everyone would give my blog at least until the end, but it was foolish of me to assume that I'd be able to keep the attention of everyone all the way until the big climax, 

WHY DID I NAME MY REVIEW "A WEEKEND AS A GIRL"?

I was originally going to be a lot more silly as Celty.

But Celty isn't silly. She's a dork, but not silly.

Because that's what it was. A WEEKEND as a girl. The friend of my friend wrote something that touched me, and instead of paraphrasing, I'm going to copy it: "But I worry that saying things like 'I was objectified, and I didn't hate it' will do more harm than good." This is not the first person to remark on exactly that line, and I'm going to be brutally honest with you (Because why stop now?): I chose those words on purpose. What was this weekend? A second of the hour that is my life. It was gone in a heartbeat, and I have no delusions that a weekend is sufficient to get a fair idea of what life is truly like for a woman.

I'm not going to put any more focus into what others have said about my blog, and instead get right into what I intended for this topic to address: The choice of review name, and the grand scheme of things.

Did I have a blast this weekend? Yes, I did. Did I like the way a lot of people looked at me? Yes. The thing is though, it was  but a fraction of my lifetime. I loved it because it was fresh, because it was new. It hasn't happened to me before, and it carried me on wings. But what is just one weekend? It's nothing. Or, that is what I'm supposed to say. But I can't stomach leaving it at that, because it honestly wasn't JUST a weekend. This weekend meant the world to me, and nothing is going to change that. But why did it mean so much? Because people looked at me? No. Because I get to put things in perspective. Did you pay attention to what I wrote in part three? Do you remember how those girls made me feel? Consider this: I was only a girl for a weekend. And I'm not actually even a girl. I had the time of my life, and I felt breathtakingly sexy for once in my life. And they ruined it for me with a few words, or just a look.

I don't think a lot of people can appreciate just how hard a blow this is to everything I've said. To all my praise, to all my 'more harm than good' truths. Do you realize how powerful something has to be, to push someone having the time of their life to wanting to go home? WITH A LOOK! It didn't take me more than minutes to feel like a beautiful woman after having put on the costume, to get engulfed in the life I had chosen for a weekend, and it was shattered that easily.

Now let's take it into perspective: Multiply this weekend with ... oh I don't know ... a lifetime? I honestly wish I was writing this last, because there were things I wanted to address before it, but same as with cosplaying and rather being an entertainer than true to character, I'm going to bring comfort at the cost of synergy. So here it is: I told you a while back that we get used to all the good things in life. That we take them for granted. You don't remember the person holding a door open for you, and you don't remember the one that chased after your cork that you accidentally kicked when it dropped to the ground. The same is true with beauty, and the rush of being considered beautiful.

When you spend a life as someone, you won't get high as easily on a simple compliment, and you'll see the darkness far more clearly. In writing this blog, I've been accused of being short sighted, and it pains me that some don't think I've thought further ahead than what the weekend made me feel. I have thought about A LOT of things. It's something I do, something my close friends are painfully aware of. I spend an unhealthy amount of time thinking. This is why I thought I was perfect for this experiment, and why I still think I'm perfect for it. I have the mental fortitude not to speak for a whole weekend, and when someone else might get distracted by a sweet compliment, I break it down to its base elements.

I liked the attention, but I don't get it every day! I don't ever get it! In the weeks nearing the convention, I did a lot to my appearance. On the convention, I even had a friend pluck at my eyebrows. A friend put makeup on me, just in case I removed the helmet. I thought I looked like a totally different person, but when I showed some of my friends, I actually had to ask them what they thought. Now this isn't in any way criticism against my friends, but it does highlight a part of life: What does a guy have to do to in order for someone to tell him he's beautiful? You aren't expected to give a guy a compliment for his appearance, it's not part of the human routine.

Want to know what IS part of the routine? Worship of the female body. The "ideal" female body. How deranged isn't that, if you think about it? The contrast makes me a sad Celty. What's worse, is that if I had been 20 kilos heavier, the amount of pictures taken of me would've drastically reduced. Reality is a stinker, and wow does it smell! Don't see this weekend as me having had the time of my life. See it as evidence of just how much that is wrong with our world right now.

But don't ever forget the silver lining: I love you. Now you might not know me, and I in turn might not know you, and therefore might think that my words hold no meaning, but they do. You have the power to choose that they don't mean anything, and you wield that power so often! I do it all the time. I often forget the beauty of our world, in light of the horrors. The beauty standard of women is a horrible thing, and it's important to fight until our dying breaths to rid ourselves of the intensive bullying that we're frequently exposed to in society, men and women alike ... but also ... put some thought into what you're doing during this fight.

Some people have already made me hesitate to ever go as Celty again, and why? Because I'm being made to feel like I'm ruining the campaign against sexism, simply because I put some breasts in and add a bit of hip. That body you saw at the convention, it's still primarily me! In your fight against sexism, be careful. Win the war, but not at the expense of other women. Remember that look of death I mentioned that I got from some? Remember that there are women that would've looked like I did, without adding anything. Women, don't target your own! Those girls didn't know I was a man, and they gave me a look that made me feel like I set women back twenty years, for simply imagining a female version of my male self.

This picture felt like a good idea at the time, but ...

Celty isn't a hater. And she wouldn't do this!

She doesn't hate.

PAINFUL TRUTH vs CAREFUL CODDLING

A bit earlier in this entry, I said that I chose the words on purpose: "I was objectified, and I didn't hate it." That brings us to the next topic:

It was meant to cause reactions. I wanted you to think about what I said. I ask a lot of questions in these entries, often shortly followed by answering them, but I still write something as a question. Why? Because suspense is an art. It's a craft. And when I'm splitting a review into this many pieces, I need to raise questions, I need to be entertaining, and I need to trigger a stagger from time to time. I need you to come back, and not because of loyalty to me, but because you might be curious about the end. If I don't rattle the cage of controversy, there's nothing differing this review from what someone else might have done. 

Thing is, I could sugarcoat everything. I could hold back. I could tell you that I did hate being objectified, but what would that do to the discussion? To my review? It would make it a partial truth, and what desire would you have to trust a partial truth? I took a HUGE risk writing that, but I wrote it anyway, because it's the truth. You want to know the insight of a man inside a woman's body for a weekend? You get it. You don't read a review named "A weekend as a girl" without getting the thoughts that came with that weekend. You don't open this blog up, expecting me to say "Day 1: I was a girl. I didn't like it." and then wrap it up with yet another talk about how black and white the discussion is. You know the types: "Men are pigs.", "How can she dress like that? Doesn't she get how much hard work we put into this struggle?", "Look at that stick. Why not add some meat to those bones?" 

I know this is going to upset people. I know it's going to be painful for some to read. I know this blog will give me enemies within the cosplay community. I knew this, and I wrote it anyway! I even posted it in the Facebook group, knowing what sort of comments I would get. I knew some wouldn't agree with me, and I knew some would start writing harsh things without even waiting for it to end. I knew people would ignore "Take in consideration that the review isn't finished yet.", I knew they wouldn't be able to keep themselves from posting angry posts, about things I had decided long ago that I would address. Before the weekend even started. And despite this, it took me until the fourth part to deviate from my intended structure of the story at all, but it's now done. 

Do you have any idea how difficult it is to take a good selfie as Celty?

Have you seen the size of that helmet? 

Why  am I telling you all of this? Because I want to offer you the same perspective that the costume offered me. I want you to know the truth. I could make you like me, I could tell you what most would expect  this review to say, but that wouldn't be fair. I much rather give you perspective, than make you like me. I didn't do this experiment to be liked, and the fact that I've received as much love as I have, actually surprised me. I thought the moment I revealed that I was actually male, that people would get upset. That they would feel deceived. Tricked. I thought that people would get angry, and disappointed, and I STILL posted this! My point is that I could've handled this whole topic in a hundred different ways, most of which would've spared some people pain that my review has  inflicted, but would that really be nice?

Am I kind for telling you what you want to hear? Am I supposed to keep the truth in, just to make sure I don't step on your toes? Can you honestly say that me not telling you that I didn't mind being objectified, would've made this review better? What good would have come out of me lying to you about that? How disrespectful wouldn't I have been towards this whole experiment, if I ignored one of the biggest discoveries this experiment unveiled? And how much damage wouldn't I have done to my perspective, and to myself, if I chose to ignore this feeling? In realizing this sensation, I grew as a person. I realized something about myself, and about the world. I realized the cleft that exists between a male going to a convention, and a female. We're two extremes, so far apart from each other that we might as well be from different plants. I feel so unappreciated as a man, that objectification felt good! And women feel so exposed by the eyes of society, that they feel like their every step has an impact on the way someone sees them.   

A SCARY STORY

I wrote in my previous entry that I considered writing about what I experienced outside of the convention as well, and I intend to. But I want to devote much of an entry for that purpose, so I'm just going to share one story with you for now. And that was on my way home at the end of the second day, Saturday. To avoid any confusion, I'm outright telling you that I didn't change at the convention. None of the days. I traveled to, and from the convention in costume. Helmet on. I figured, why restrict the experiment to the convention?

Some of you worry that I didn't realize the severity of life as a woman, and you couldn't be more wrong. Me and two friends stepped onto the train that would take me a good distance on my way home (I'd have to make one more switch), and of course heads turned. It wasn't a surprise, they did so all the time, but there was an atmosphere to these heads that didn't feel quite right. A group of men, perhaps six of them rode the train together, and had enjoyed more than one beer that night. My friends sat down, and I remained standing. I was waved over by these men that had noticed me, and didn't have the gut to ignore them. I moved over, and they started talking to me. I of course stayed true to character and didn't speak. They took a couple of pictures, laughed, and spoke in a foreign language during all of this. And they weren't ashamed of where their eyes wandered.

The intensity faded as they sat down again after the photographs, and I retreated to where my friends sat. Still stood, because I knew that once I sat down, I wouldn't want to get up again. I was so tired. Anyway, the stop one of my friends was waiting for came up, and he stepped off. As he did this,  one of these men walked up to me, put his arm around me, and spoke. Try as I might, I can not remember what he said, but I have rarely been more scared in my life. Any time I try to think of what he said, I blank out. I can't remember a single word. And it wasn't even malicious. I remember him inviting me to go with him and his friends, but not much beyond that. The way he said it, the way they had looked at me ... there was no way I would have rode that train to the end. Because I'd have to part ways with my second friend at one point, and would've been alone. One single thought kept bombarding my head: What if these men step off on the same station as me? What if these men aren't good men? 

As the doors were about to close, I slipped out of his presence and exited the train. My friend gladly welcomed the company, and I joined him for his long walk, sadly deserting my other friend on the train. I checked on him when I got home, and he'd gotten home without a hitch. That evening however, was one of few nights in my life, that I genuinely worried I might not have gotten home.

END OF PART FOUR!

I am going to end part four with this story, because not every story should end with a positive spin.  Tune back in tomorrow, and I will get into much of what I promised I would discuss during the end of part three.Thank you for reading! 

A weekend as a girl (Part three)

Have you missed part one? Click here!

Have you missed part two? Click here!

A WEEKEND AS A GIRL (Part three)

OPENING RANT

I've decided that every entry deserves something of a foreword, to address things that have popped up inside my head between the time that I'm writing this, and my previous entry. And what's the surprise topic to star in the entry for today?

BOY vs GIRL

Hush you, this is my blog. I can repeat myself all I want! No but really, there's something I forgot to address last night, or that I didn't go into in enough detail that I want to get back to at least briefly (Let's see how loosely I use the term briefly this time).

I mentioned yesterday that I've never felt more visible in a cosplay, than I did as Celty Sturluson, and I don't think I gave that statement as much attention as it deserved. I touched on the crowds I have moved with my cosplays in the past, because a Stormtrooper splits a crowd as open as Moses did the Red Sea. And here's my meaning:

There's an important difference between inspiring awe, and inspiring adoration. The former is something my Stormtrooper does. I often refer to it as my woah-factor cosplay, because it's heard, it's seen, it's big and it's known. You have no choice but to notice it, and when you do, you can't help but appreciate how extravagant it is.

The latter, inspiring adoration, was something Celty did. As glorious as the helmet is, what a lot of people saw, was the body. A lot of people that I passed got reeled in thanks to the helmet, but the helmet wasn't where eyes lingered. Unlike with the Stormtrooper, where you have no choice but to behold it in all its glory, here the eyes could've remained on the helmet, or gone elsewhere, because there was nothing extravagant about my body. Yet eyes remained. Why? Because even without armor, without props, without decoration, patterns or anything, there was something to look at.

I was seen. I was visible.

For about a year and a half, I have hopped into a cosplay any time an excuse touched my world. Unofficial Star Wars day? Let's make a weekend out of it! The premiere of Star Wars: Rebels? Let's make a weekend of it! A geek market? It's a good day to Deadpool! What a beautiful Friday ... let's cosplay! Picnics, conventions, fairs, holidays, annual things, birthday parties. My point is that I cosplay A LOT, among a lot of people, but I have NEVER been seen like this. But what's the purpose of telling you this? Because I already told you that I don't get noticed as much as a boy, right?

Here's why: It is easy to forget how beautiful you are, when what people see is whatever outfit you put on your body. When what costume you wear is what makes you noteworthy, it will only take so long before you start losing a part of yourself. Here's a realization that came to full fruition this weekend for me: The grander the costume a man wears, the more likely you are to turn your attention to him. The less a woman wear, will have a similar effect. But what twists the arm is this: The former is also true for women. Extravagance sells, no matter who is wearing it, but men can't hold a candle to women when it comes to cosplay putting emphasize on the body.

We ran into this Daredevil cosplayer towards the end of the final day.

When we asked if we could have a picture with him, he told us that no one had asked him all day.

His joy was tangible, it was explosive! And I can't describe in words how eerily sad it made me. Sure his laughing and smiling was contagious, but think about that ... No one had asked for his picture. The Daredevil Netflix show was a big hit! People love it! And they crowd to take pictures of me without having the slightest idea what character I am. Think about that.

Yes, I am aware that there's an important detail to address, and that is a person's build. But here's the thing: Women are not worse off in that department than men, as much as it hurts to shoot that duck down. If you are a man, and you aren't buff, your shirtless cosplay won't blow many people away. Your target audience will of course appreciate you, whatever fandom your cosplay belongs to, but even that is not even enough at times. I know I wasn't as appreciated as some when I did Korra. And weight? Men have as much problem with that as women. I'm not saying that men are as loudly expected as women to be slim, but that's a societal issue, and I won't go too deeply into that. But take a look at the internet. Weighty cosplayers are being equally ridiculed, no matter what gender.

I'm not saying this as an attempt to make it seem as though men have it worse off in the community than women, but there is an issue here that I never see addressed. And it's unhealthy. It's harmful. How I can say that, is simple: I was objectified, and I didn't hate it. No one has ever tried to grope me before, unless it was part of a joke of something.  Any time I've been touched inappropriately before during cosplay, was as Deadpool, and that's because some people perceive Deadpool as the sort of character that you get away with doing such things to.

This is going to be an awful thing to say, it pains me to write it, but ... I haven't ever felt as valued at a convention, as this one time I didn't go as myself. When I was Deadpool, there was me underneath. Same with Darth Vader, Stormtrooper, any of my costumes. This is the one time I've chosen to be someone else, that I've made an effort not to be Thomas the male, and people loved this woman. And it felt great. When people whistled behind me, I smiled. When people blew kisses at me, I blushed. When men and women growled, I had to choke down  giggles. I know it was my body, my fake body they reacted to, but I felt beautiful. And a  little bit jealous of myself.

Understand that I don't cosplay for the attention, but also understand that you can only ever take so many dismissals before you start feeling like you should not even bother showing up next time. We don't do it for the pictures, most of us, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt when people don't want pictures taken with us. Especially when they crowd around someone else near you, whose costume is on equal level to yours. Not having your picture taken is one thing, but watching others get a ton of attention for no other reason than their gender, that can knock the wind out of you. I bring Korra up now and then, but that's not the only time I've seen it, or even experienced it myself. Female Deadpools in my presence have had a similar effect when I cosplay him. And it's not just to me this is happening. Ever since I started paying attention to it, which was after Comic Con last year when the birth of the idea for this experiment took place, I have paid attention.

But enough about that. I just had a lot to get off my chest, and now it's out there. Onto the topic of the day.

I can't describe in words how amazing my friends are.

THE CON versus CELTY

I have never had more fun at a convention, and that's partially because of what I've addressed so far in this blog. For once, I felt beautiful, and it carried me on wings through the whole weekend. Even the bad stuff blurred almost immediately in wake of all the good stuff that kept on happening.

I have given the world a lot of crap in this entry, but I don't want you to think that it's how I see the world. I'm merely telling you what I'm thinking, and you can make what you want out of it. And here's this evening's dosage of reality: If you can't appreciate all the good, because of the little that's bad, then you're part of the problem. 

Because society today is the way that it is, there's one text I never wrote on my whiteboard, that I wanted to show the world and which was honestly the reason I went with a whiteboard in the first place. Because I wanted it plastered in every face that walked the convention floors, I wanted all to see the one line made me fall in love with Celty Sturluson. Early into Durarara, there's a scene where a young girl is about to kill herself. She steps off a tall building because she can find no light in her life, but just as she's about to hit the ground, Celty stops her fall using magic and gently lowers her the last bit to the ground. When the girl asks Celty why she saved her, Celty (having no voice) wrote the reason on her phone and showed the girl. The line went, and I want all of you to take this line to heart ...

"THE WORLD ISN'T AS CRUEL AS YOU MAKE IT OUT TO BE"

Durarara!! Episode 02. 

There is a lot to love about Celty, but this moment was what cemented my love for the character. Because to my mind, it's one of the most important things ever said. I get teary eyes even writing about it, because it's SO IMPORTANT that the deeper meaning behind the words can even save lives. 

I want to repeat what I said a couple of paragraphs ago: I have never had more fun at a convention. This is not saying that it wasn't a nightmare at times. At a couple of occasions, I just wanted to go into a corner and hide, because one negative experience or another. The sexism wasn't the worst, the objectification, the relentless flirting wasn't ever that great a problem for me. It bothered me of course, but I never lost sight of who I was, because whatever these people that treated me badly saw, it wasn't me. They saw a woman, something I've been told was convincingly delivered. And  try as I might, I can't be offended that these people found this woman beautiful. I just don't have it in me, because it would be too cruel towards myself. If I allow myself to be offended when people for the first time in my life REVERE my body, I would be doing myself a disservice, no matter what the purpose of this experiment was. Some that I talked to before going into this, warned me that I will be treated like a piece of meat. I was prepared for this, and was ready to write an angry blog about it, but as it happened, I honestly teared up at times. With joy!

So what was it I mentioned before, about wanting to go into a corner and hide? I'll be honest, I understated the sensation. I wanted to cry. I wanted to go home. For all the fun I had during the weekend, it only took a few times before I started wondering what I was doing. But I persevered. And what were these things, that made me want to go home? That made  me want to do something as extreme as disappearing from the convention to cry in some dark corner where no one could find me?  Women. Not all women. Far from all women. Those few, the ones whose words, whose eyes made me feel like garbage. And the worst part is that they probably didn't think too much about it. They were offhanded remarks or reactions, expressing a momentary thought through expression or words, questioning the dignity of someone being ready to put themselves into an outfit like mine. Note this, because it's really important: The ones that hurt me the most, were women! Men at their worst made me angry. Women at their worst made me sad. One triggers fight, another triggers flight.  I don't have to tell you which predator I rather go up against. 

But I have digressed. Why did I not use that line by Celty, when it meant so much to me? If it was what made me truly love this character, why didn't I flaunt her wisdom? Because taken out of context, it's a negative statement. It doesn't celebrate life, it doesn't credit all the good people in the world. It would be perceived as criticism towards the person reading it, accusing that person of having a pessimistic world view. Only a small fraction of the people attending the convention would've appreciated it. So I went with the anti-alien propaganda instead, and I couldn't be happier with that choice.

Credit to Theodor for managing to catch Superman

while he was exposed to truthonite. Ignore the Celty.

http://theodorkphotography.com/

I'm not there as Celty just because I love Celty. I'm there as Celty, because I love the world just as much as she does. She's not truly afraid of aliens, she doesn't fear for her own life, because she's immortal. She literally let a doctor more or less filet her for science, in exchange for a roof over her head and a life in the modern world. If aliens actually invaded, she'd probably be the last one standing in the war. She's not afraid for her sake ... she's afraid for your sake. Staying in character isn't fun, if others don't have fun with you. Everyone can appreciate a bit of poking fun at Science Fiction, no matter if you know about Celty or not. 

Any time I put a costume on, I always consider myself an entertainer first, and the character second. I much rather sacrifice a part of my character, than the enjoyment of those around me. I have sacrificed a lot when I cosplay Deadpool, but that's only partially because of the people around me. You need to be comfortable with the things you do, and some of the things Deadpool does, just aren't me. Celty is a great deal closer to me as a person than Deadpool is, and  even when I avoided her sage words on my whiteboard, I managed to play her at her fullest. A bit dorky, a bit paranoid and very loving. 

So, back to where I started this piece of the entry: If you can't appreciate all the good, because of the little that's bad, then you're part of the problem. It's so easy to forget the hundreds of positive things, because of the handful negative things. And it's easy to lose perspective, just because you  don't appreciate something. Do you hate me for loving the attention my female body gave me, even the times when it wasn't necessarily good attention? Does that make me enjoying it wrong? Or does it simply mean that in the same way that people are different levels of jerk, they can also be different levels of sensitive? You aren't wrong for being upset when someone make dog noises when you walk past them, but I'm no less right just because I don't get upset. I like feeling beautiful. Should I stop, because some don't agree that I should feel like that? Of course not. And this event was a blast! I've never felt more sad at a convention than I did at some points during this one, but that I'm still able to say that I had the time of my life, that says something! 

The quote from Celty that I emphasized on before can easily be put to use to describe this event, because the truth is this: The world will always have jerks. Racists can disappear from our parliament, sexism in the work industry can be utterly annihilated, and conventions can enforce zero tolerance on indecent behavior,  and we will still get people barking at us as we walk past. We will still have that woman giving you the most disapproving look you've received your whole life. Jerks will persevere. Jerks will endure, they will bolster their defenses and sexist pigs will remain sexist pigs, but a little bit smarter further down the road. 

The nimble black swan and the black refrigerator!

Bless you, swanlicious Caroline!

When the day is past, and you've ended up in a hundred different cameras, when children leave the convention with a smile on their faces, when your hug with that one wonderful person still warms that someone, and when you and your friends have had a ton of fun with the Superman anti-alien display, does that jerk that grabbed your ass actually matter? If he does, then I'm sorry ... he's not the only problem. You can't honestly mean that your friends, your precious memories from this day aren't worth more than the action of a jerk that's probably already forgotten about you, can you? 

Here's the thing. You aren't asked to forget about him, but you have the power to choose how much of the event he ruins for you. If you've been wronged, and a smiling child around the corner that giggles and cheers at you  doesn't bring you out of your funk, then you have some serious introspection ahead of you. It might sound harsh, but you need to understand that even at your darkest moment, you have the power to shine brightly upon another person's day! The jerk will forget about you, but losing a wrestling contest with a child that adores you will have created a long lasting memory for that child! I was at the brink of tears when I high-fived a little boy, and went smiling from that encounter. You need to push on!

Does the things we have to endure suck?  Yes. Would the world be a better place without them? Yes. But remember that without evil, we wouldn't have good. There wouldn't be light, if there wasn't darkness. Things would simply be. You can't appreciate the good, if you don't have anything bad that pales in comparison.  When you've had a bad day, you treasure a good day all the more. It's a small comfort when you've been wronged, but we need to warp the way we  see the world. It isn't as cruel as we  make it out to be. Are men jerks? Yes. Are men heroes? Yes! Does strangers not hold the door for you? When you drop your pen, isn't someone there almost immediately to help you get it? When you are about to trip, isn't there someone there to take hold of you almost instinctively? We are surrounded by the good things people do for us all the time, but because they happen so frequently, we 're blind to them. We don't remember the stranger that helped you find the cork to your pen, we don't remember that someone you've never seen before, and won't ever see again, that helped straighten your helmet when it was crooked. What we do remember, is that one guy that put his hand on your ass. Does what he think mean so much to you? 

At the end of the day, we need jerks in our lives. They bring with them the opportunity for small people to become great. It's a crooked way of looking at things, but I've had a crooked weekend. Jerks won't ever go away, so we need to stop making our worlds revolve around them! Instead make use of them, wield them as a tool, as a weapon, and swing with all your might. Remember h ow they made you feel, and vow to be the contrast! That man is still out there, so you need to balance the scale. Be good, be kind, be amazing! 

I'm sort of ranting right now, but I've wanted a chance to say this for the longest time, and now that I have a blog, I'm freaking saying it! Now can you see my point? I have suffered this weekend. My body is still hurting from all the walking, and some of the things I've heard and seen likely won't ever leave my mind, but despite the pain, I'm still ready to call this weekend amazing. 

EDIT: I have been told that this entry makes it seem as though I'm telling women to "walk it off". It's not what I'm saying! Women are far from always treated right, and it's a serious problem. That however doesn't mean that I can't try to find a bright side to it all, that I can't try to make a positive spin on things.  Jerks won't stop being jerks, you can't escape them, but  you do have the power to make the life of another person better. Don't let the bad rule your life, difficult as it may sound. There is always some light to be  find, we just need to look! Truly look, and not just hope to find it around the corner. You have to make an effort, and while simply being indeed shouldn't have to be an effort, reality isn't fair, and you need to be strong! I believe in you, and I love you!

 

 

Don't tell Celty that the gorgeous lady she's posing with is an alien.

Thank you Anna with entourage for the photo.

CONCLUDING PART THREE!

I have smiled, I have cried, and I have written about it. And I'm not done! What in the world is there left to write, you ask? For one, I've not talked about my experiences away from the convention floor yet! I said that this was an experiment that was meant to take the temperature of life at a convention as a woman, but honestly, why stop there, when I've got tons of experiences from outside the convention as well, in the same costume? Tomorrow will address that. 

What else? I've not talked all that much about the convention itself, but because of how unimportant that is to the experiment, I'm only going to tickle the topic. I'm also going to review my costume. Every piece of it. I'm going to talk about what people thought of me, and it. I'm going to share how I made it, and my figure. I'm going to look into compliments I received (Note compliments, NOT complaint), and how they differ from when I'm some other character, why that might be, and the subtle sexism nuances that you might not be aware of. I'm going to talk about what sort of expectations my friends had, when I told them about this experiment, and I might even answer the big question tomorrow: Why do I keep bragging about my friends? Tune in then! 

A weekend as a girl (part two)

Have you missed part one? Click here!
Want to skip to part three? Click here!

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.