While in Japan last week, I got an invitation to attend Tokyo Comic Con. When my friends found out, they asked if I’d go in cosplay. First, I was on vacation and, not having attended a Comic Con before, never thought to have a costume handy. Secondly, the original design of the outfit I was inclined to wear was more than 91 kilograms of urethane, bamboo and cotton and required an oxygen tube because it was so hot inside. That would be the Godzilla suit that Toho Co. ordered up for the first of 33 movies starring the king of all monsters. (It was also sprayed in concrete for a striated scaly look.) Eventually, the get-up became lighter, though still not featherweight: The actors playing Godzilla were always terrified of falling face-forward in the giant pond they stomped through for ocean scenes, as the costume could fill up with water and potentially drown them. I said I’d go to the convention in civilian clothing but fantasize about being … well, having a secret identity.
In any case, you don’t travel to Comic Con in costume in Japan. You need to purchase a special ticket that gives you access to gender-specific changing rooms where you can transform into the superhero or fabulous entity of your fantasies. As long as you don’t expose certain parts of your anatomy, wear underwear (even under a swimsuit) and can’t weaponize your props, you’re fine. The same general rules operate in San Diego, the site of the biggest Comic Con in the U.S. But in California, you can travel to the gathering while dressed as your near-omnipotent alter ego: Just don’t show off by making a flying entrance.
There were certainly enough people in cosplay at the enormous Makuhari Messe convention center in Chiba City, which is an hour by train from Tokyo Station in the center of Japan’s capital. Among them: lots of Deadpools as well as young women (and some men) in variations of French maid costumes; a Santa Vader; a very tall Din Grogu (colloquially known as Baby Yoda); a huge number of characters inspired by anime and manga that I’d never heard of; and a bizarre WrestleMania-like production of weirdly dressed grapplers in obviously choreographed fights.
There was no dearth of costumes — or commerce. The original comic-book conventions were focused on fans, an opportunity for them to invite and meet the artists and writers behind the imaginary universes that brought them joy — who created the super-beings that helped us escape the drag of reality. That’s changed in the six decades after the first gatherings were organized. Since then, comic cons have spread all over the world — and in the process, attracted the media companies and toy manufacturers that want to turn their fervent audiences into customers.
Ideas for movies (if not special previews) get circulated and tried out before the actual films are released. Marketers gauge the interest in, say, limited-edition toys to see how they grab the fans. Actors show up to promote their latest projects — and to make a lot of money signing autographs for and being photographed with devotees. A star willing to put up with a day or two of meet-and-greets can make as much as $300 per autograph and $300 more per photo. A celebrity could gross $600,000 with a thousand people in the queue. (Last week’s events had tens of thousands of attendees.) Among those present at Tokyo Comic Con were Jason Momoa (“Aquaman”), Benedict Cumberbatch (“Doctor Strange”), Jude Law (promoting the latest “Star Wars” iteration, “Skeleton Crew”), Christopher Lloyd (“Back to the Future”) and Mads Mikkelsen (“Hannibal”). There were specific lines and schedules for major and minor stars.
I attended as a guest of C.B. Cebulski, the editor-in-chief of Marvel Comics (which, like the Star Wars franchise, is owned by Walt Disney Co). He had his own booth with a line of fans and artists seeking his enthusiastic feedback on their portfolios. (As a Disney employee, he doesn’t collect appearance fees.) An even longer row formed for the neighboring booth, occupied by the Marvel artist Peach Momoko. At New York Comic Con in 2022 and this year, fisticuffs broke out in the queues waiting to buy limited-edition covers she’d drawn. (Retailers could flip the signed $60 artifact for $300 immediately.) She’s stopped attending the Manhattan event because of the resale rapaciousness. The Japanese-born artist had been more popular in the U.S. than her home country, but the stateside squabbling seems to have increased local interest in her work. The line waiting for her stretched and grew over several hours.
Comic books and the artists who illustrate and write them have always been central to the event. And that hasn’t changed. What’s energized the global market is the popularity of manga-style publications and their offshoots — a market that may be worth more than $90 billion a year worldwide by 2033. I’ve had conversations with 20-something Brits who have a smattering of Japanese because they are fans of manga series like “One Piece,” perhaps the most successful of the genre. I’d never heard of it until my young friends told me about it. There are more than half-a-billion copies out there of Eiichiro Oda’s tale of an epic quest. Every time he goes on hiatus, fans worry he may never finish telling the tale.
I’m just an oldster who’s found his rabbit hole — dug by Godzilla — and is filling it with monster merch. There was a Godzilla store at Tokyo Comic Con and I shopped for the three items allowed per purchaser (a T-shirt, a key chain and a small plastic model of one of Godzilla’s enemies, Biollante, a sort of more malevolent version of Audrey II from “Little Shop of Horrors”). I looked longingly at special editions of my favorite monsters that were too big to be packed into my luggage. Then, it was the train back to reality and the Tokyo that was Godzilla’s playground only in cinematic imagination.
The profit instinct helps perpetuate the trade and craft of the comic book — even if shareholder interests often impose worn formulas instead of creativity. So comic cons can’t really remove themselves from the grubbiness of the real world. But they can find redemption, in part, in the costumes and the secret lives we live in them.
Howard Chua-Eoan is a columnist for Bloomberg Opinion covering culture and business. He previously served as Bloomberg Opinion’s international editor and is a former news director at Time magazine.
