When I was in my late teens and early 20s, I was totally into Cosplay. I couldn’t afford to do it right, but I did my best. I even marched with local groups in a couple of parades.
When I was in my 30s, I was over it. I had no interest in cosplay. I left fandom behind.
Now, at 45? I’m over being over it. I found a local vendor of Jedi Robes. I could probably, with my wife’s help, try to figure out how to make them for myself, but frankly I think that would end with my wife killing me by bashing my brains out with a sewing machine. If she agrees, I plan on getting this vendor to make them for me, and joining the Rebel Legion to revel in my cosplay and do Good Deeds at the same time.
That’s the thing about growing older–things you used to absolutely avoid because they were embarrassing, or shameful, become less so the older you get. At a certain point you realize that other people can’t make you feel bad for liking something. Only you can do that, and you lose interest in it quickly.
I seem to have finally reached that point.
I grew up on singers like Neil Diamond, Anne Murray, Crystal Gale, Loretta Lynn, Patsy Cline. But in the early 80s I fell in love with the New Wave, and I stopped listening to the old stuff. My musical tastes became wrapped almost entirely in Depeche Mode, Duran Duran, and all the rest of that era’s signature acts.
For years, I didn’t listen to the music of my youth, because someone might make fun of me. But you know what? Who gives a shit? Anybody who wants to mock me for liking something can fuck right off. I don’t need that level of crap; I get plenty at work. So I listen to those acts from my childhood, and I listen to Britney Spears if I feel like it, or Disney tunes, or showtunes, or whatever the hell I want.
I don’t like sushi. I pretended to, once upon a time, to fit in. Screw that.
I hate horror movies. Won’t watch ’em. Don’t care.
I am a sci-fi geek. I am a cosplayer. “Forever in Blue Jeans” is one of my favorite songs. Go ahead, make fun of me.
I don’t care anymore.