Yesterday was unusually warm for this time of year, but also rainy. So I decided to wear a dress — one of my more flattering dresses, if I do say so. But since it was wet outside and late in the year (id est fall fashion time), I threw on my favorite sparkly hat and my knee-high black boots. The males in our geek posse informed me that they are indeed “naughty” boots, and that I happened to look pretty hot. Moving on.
I headed out to my local comic shop to pick up a couple of trades for my daughter. She is a fan of The Runaways series, and she has been bugging me to get her more. I grabbed the two I thought she didn’t have, but when I got home – it turned out I got the wrong ones. So back I went to the comic shop to swap them out.
I made it there about 20 minutes before closing time. From my parking spot, I could clearly see a group of four guys inside holding court, and one of them had made an epic purchase. Like, a whole box of stuff.
Anyway, I got out of the car and walked in with the usual chiming bell thingie that announces someone’s presence. The owner knows me and gestured toward the shelf with the Marvel trades. The other guys turned around to see who had come in, and the glancing turned into prolonged gawking. Oh, and conversation ceased until I disappeared behind the shelves of trades.
I quickly found what I came for then continued to browse for a bit. Ogling the trade paperbacks of Rucka’s entire run on Wonder Woman in much the same way that I was ogled when I came through the door, wishing they were in hardcover while mentally calculating how much I had in my checking account inevitably telling myself, “Not today V.”
As I approached the check-out counter, I overheard one of the guys tell his friend that he wasn’t excited about going home to Compton for the holidays because, as a comics geek, he doesn’t fit in. He said he was even ridiculed sometimes. But he ended on a positive note, saying that he wouldn’t give up his comics for anything, and that it made him appreciate his fellow geeks in town even more. I turned around and gave him a big smile, swapped out my trade, and left.
I’m not writing this because I was offended by them staring at me. I’m used to it. It was just another day in the life of a geek girl who doesn’t look like the stock patron of a comic book shop. But therein lies my point. I do look like a stock patron of a comic book shop simply because I am. And so does that kid from Compton because he is, too. That’s the spirit that informs this blog: No matter what you look like, where you’re from, male or female: it’s all about the love of comics. Naughty boots, not required.