Being a superhero is the greatest feeling in the world. Although only a costume, marching through Boston with a cape flapping in the wind makes me feel stronger than Superman himself. The stares from “normies” are expected; they just don’t appreciate the months of agonizing sewing, and the efforts of transforming into a cultural icon. However, once at the convention, everything changes. People worship accurate and well made costumes and everyone’s accepted for who they are and what they love. Being at Boston Comic Con is an exhilarating experience where I am able to be my full geeky self, and thrive in the environment of fellow fans.

First day of summer vacation: I bring to life the character by recreating the costume on paper. Once broken down, I hunt. I prowl thrift shops searching for anything to rip apart and reconstruct. I pounce on deals, praying my costume will do the character justice.

Mid-July: With less than a month left, every hour counts. I have gone through countless movies and sleepless nights attached to the sewing machine. My hands become working devices, my mind focused on one goal: to finish.

3:00 A.M.: Having finally finished, down to the minuscule details, I indulge in well deserved rest, with the excitement brewing even in my sleep.

4:30 A.M.: It all begins when, somehow, my tireless eyes pop open at the alarm, and I get that “Christmas morning” feeling; it’s time. After layering foundation, contouring my face, and mixing eye shadows, I add winged liner and fake lashes. Looking into the mirror to double check two hours worth of work, I feel as animated as the cartoon itself. The costume takes five minutes to assemble, which, compared to the makeup, is nothing. The challenging bit is making sure every part, shoes to mask, is flawless. To prevent costume malfunctions, I always pack extra safety pins.

7:30 A.M.: I meet my friends at the commuter rail, and everyone stares. It’s not every day you see teenagers in goofy costumes. But, as we come into the city and closer to the Con, more characters board. Soon the seats are filled with colorful attire. It’s always reassuring to know my friends and I are not alone.

9:00 A.M.: We follow the masses to the Seaport World Trade Center in Boston. At arrival, I feel relief, until I spot the length of the line: a typical wait time of five hours, unless you pre-ordered your tickets. I always do.

Con survival 101: Always be prepared. Always be patient. Always pack deodorant.

I remember strutting into my first Con, the quantity of people overwhelmed me as well as an uncontrollable burst of bubbly nerves. That excitement still floods over me when I enter any convention, especially Boston Comic Con. Having gone through so much to get there, and then finally seeing it all come together feels unbelievable. It’s a place where I can celebrate my love for shows and comics and express my creativity with hundreds of others. As I said before, one of the worst parts of the convention are the lines because of the people, but one of the best parts of Comic Con are the lines, because of the people I meet and the friends I make.

Strangers at the convention will stop me for a picture, or to talk about my costume. There is never a dull or unappreciated moment when I am there. The atmosphere emanates passion, joy, and unlimited possibilities.My place expresses who I am through what I love. There is no environment in which I would rather be, than in my home city, surrounded by all the friends I have yet to meet, at Boston Comic Con.