Race + Fandom: When Defaulting To White Isn’t An Option
By Guest Contributor Kendra James
The Thursday before The Avengers premiered, I put on my Captain America USO Girl costume and headed down to Madame Tussauds in New York’s Times Square. I had very little idea what I was going to be doing there and only went initially because a call for Marvel cosplayers (people who dress up as various characters) had been put out for a photo-op by the museum. They were about to open their Avengers exhibit. Admittedly, I was nervous, as cosplaying without the guarantee of a friendly face in your corner can be nerve-wracking. Fandom doesn’t always have its head screwed on straight when it comes to the touching, ogling, and respect of female cosplayers.
The crowd wasn’t exactly what I was expecting–and I mean that in the best way possible.
Courtesy: Madame Tussauds New York
Though Iv’e long since learned that I’m not as alone in fandom as I once thought, the visual reminder was striking: Brown kids like science fiction and fantasy, too, and not only that: we can appreciate the chance to participate in this form of paracosmic play–a creative participation in fandom through cosplay, writing fanfiction, making fanvideos, otherwise engaging in wordplay and imaginative play–just as much as the next person.
Eight of the cosplayers there, including myself, were PoCs, and so were the overwhelming majority of the kids from the local daycare brought to see us and the exhibit. I’d run into some of the same cosplayers on an individual basis at various events around the city but never all at once, and I had no idea that they all knew each other. A few of them recognized me, but more refreshing was that they recognized and accepted the costume without question.
Cosplaying in and of itself can be stressful enough; I’ve definitely had convention days when I did not feel confident enough for tight spandex. But for non-white fans, the additional pressure felt when not playing a character of the same ethnicity can add an unspoken anxiety to the experience. It often feels like a white cosplayer can not only dress as their favorite characters of color but also do so in the most offensive way without comment. But when a non-white cosplayer colors outside the lines in the same way, there’s a risk of getting an awkward look because–instead of seeing the costume–no matter how perfect it might be, others see the color of your skin and you can see the confusion in their eyes: Why is a black girl dressed as Zatanna?
Worse are the ones who aren’t confused, but then think they’re being inoffensively clever. You know there probably weren’t many Black USO Girls in the 1940s, right?” Or, my personal favorite, “Wonder Woman? I thought you would’ve done Nubia.
It’s an extension of the “default to white” privilege many fans still engage in on a regular basis.
It’s often not enough to describe a character as having “olive skin,” a la Katniss Everdeen. If you want your fandom to accept your non-white character they better have chocolate or mocha skin, almond eyes, or a spicy personality. If fandom isn’t specifically and immediately told that their favorite characters are PoCs, the assumption is whiteness. If fandom is later told that their beloved character is non-white, fandom erupts. The Blaise Zabini incident of 2005, in which JK Rowling revealed that a semi-popular Harry Potter character who had always been considered handsome was Handsome While Being Black, was particularly enlightening.
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