Cosplay Saved my Life: The Video Blog

Body dysmorphia is something I have always struggled with. It was destroying my life... until I started cosplaying. I decided to share my story with this raw, personal video blog. Please watch and subscribe to my channel! And share your own stories with me in the comments - I'd love to hear from you.

Did you really think that would work? OR: That time I punched a dude in the dick at a bar

I'm the sort of girl who can feel comfortable in any social situation. Clubs, anime conventions, uncomfortable parties with no music and socially awkward people... I go out of my way to put myself in many different life scenarios, because I am a "tourist". I like observing other human beings, and I like existing in moments that could be good fodder for stories in the future.

In many ways, this makes me an atypical geek girl. While I mostly stick to my conventions and cosplayer parties, I still stray outside of the norm and go to clubs and bars and after parties. I'm just as comfortable in a tight dress and high heels at a club as I am in spandex and boots at a convention. Thus, this "chameleon" like quality I possess has given me many different life experiences... and they're not all necessarily entertaining.

Due to constantly putting myself "out there", I've dealt with my fair share of sexual harassment, rape culture, and misogynist behavior. As an intense advocate of feminism, I have zero qualms of calling people out on their ickiness. I've yelled at guys who try to neg me at bars - I educate dudes who send me weird messages on dating websites about how what they're doing is completely unacceptable. But a few days ago I experienced something completely new.

This past weekend was Pride in Seattle, an amazing citywide celebration of LGBT rights. It was especially insane after the amazing collapse of DoMA, and people were out in droves. Trails of glitter lined the streets, everyone was holding hands, and the entire thing was all kinds of magical and positive. Naturally, I was out on the town with one of my closest friends, soaking up the atmosphere and having a great time.

Late on Saturday night I stumbled into my favorite Seattle bar - the Unicorn - only to discover an epic dance party was going on downstairs. As a great lover of shaking what my mama gave me, I dove in immediately. A tall man with dreadlocks yelled "you're sexy!" and I grinned at him, dancing in his general direction. He began to dance behind me - and while I am not the "grinding" type, I let him put his hands upon my waist and wiggle behind me. This I was okay with.

Suddenly, his hands were no longer on my waist and they were roving up my thighs, pushing my dress up. I grabbed his hands and threw them off of me, and he apologized in my ear. "You're just so sexy!" he said, and I rolled my eyes and yelled "don't touch me!". Foolishly, I believed that was the end of it. My best friend was dancing in front of me, facing me, so I felt safe within the crowd because she could see what this guy was doing.

He started to dance again, hands back on my hips. Safe. Then, again: he grabbed my hand and pulled it behind me, placing it upon his penis. He was fully erect and practically bursting out of his pants, and I yanked my hand away and screamed "WHAT THE FUCK". Before I could think to react, he pushed my hair off of my neck and said "Just for a second, just for a second!" and grabbed my hand again, shoving it into his cock for a second time.

I punched him. I punched that motherfucker in the dick so hard that it was like I was a heroine in a martial arts movie. And then I streaked through the crowd, adrenaline pumping through me as I heard him yell "you BITCH!"

I should have grabbed the bouncer, but to be honest I didn't even really know what he looked like, and I felt that the justice of punching that douche in the cock was better than him getting kicked out of the bar. It took me awhile to process - I used to be a nightclub photographer so I understand how brazen intoxicated men can act. I've had my butt grabbed, my boobs grabbed, horribly lewd comments shouted in my ear. But I've NEVER had a guy force my hand onto his erect cock. And that is seriously fucked up behavior.

I've been relaying this story to my friends and followers, and most of them laugh and high five me. But while I am proud of the way I reacted, the more I think about it, the more disturbed I am. I understand we live in a world rife with rape culture, but at times I live in a happy little liberal bubble where I believe we're making progress. But this man obviously found it not only okay, but totally a viable option to sexually harass me on the dance floor, surrounded by hundreds of people.

What is wrong with individuals that makes this a flirting "technique"? Do women actually allow guys to get away with this shit? I'm so incensed and enraged that I'm not sure what to do. Except punch more dicks. Many more dicks.

Cosplay is not a Permission Slip: A Rant

It was a gorgeous sunny day in San Diego. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and spandex clad superheroes paraded down the streets. A Dark Phoenix stumbled along, squinting in the brightness, fishing in her purse for the swag sunglasses she has received from Google the day before. Finding them, she shoved them onto her face and groaned, adjusting her skin tight costume.

That Dark Phoenix was me, and I was hungover on the last day of San Diego Comic Con, 2012. But, with perseverance pulled from the well springs of my intense geekery, I stumbled into the convention center and immediately prepared to pose as people approached me, cameras held out. I fiercely popped my hip, put on my best Dark Phoenix "smolder", and put up with many a hover hand as man after man did a thumbs up next to me as their friend snapped a picture.

I've been cosplaying for many years now, but it's only been over the last couple of years (coinciding with my acceptance of self as a sexual being - not feeling awkward in my skin anymore, essentially) that I have stopped wearing floor length robe cosplays and moved onto superheroines with costumes that are like a second skin. These were always the characters I wanted to cosplay, but as a socially awkward geek my entire life it took a lot of maturing in order to become comfortable enough with myself to embody these pinnacles of badass femininity. Characters that I had grown up with - characters that taught me to not take shit from anyone.

The first time I donned spandex, I cosplayed Knockout from the Female Furies. I will admit - I was not entirely comfortable as this character. She wears a leotard with a thong, but she is a complete badass who makes Superboy's knees weak and can punch the lights out of anyone. I say I wasn't comfortable - well, I wasn't comfortable until I donned the costume. The IDEA of wearing a thonged leotard was disconcerting - but as soon as I slipped into that costume and the paint of my face mask dried, I transformed. I became the embodiment of raw feminine power. I WAS this character, this intensely kick ass woman who had life by the balls. So what if I was wearing a thong? Knockout has a GREAT ass from all the butt kicking she does! YEAH!

I pranced out of that hotel room and into the convention hall (San Diego Comic Con 2011) feeling entirely empowered. "THIS is what cosplay is about!" I thought as I high stepped my way across the ugly carpet. As I clenched my fists and furrowed my brows for hoards of photographers. As I searched for a Superboy to kiss.

But then it began happening. A rogue camera flash from behind, a skeevy looking dude slinking off to the side, trying not to make eye contact with me. At first I was oblivious. But my "bag bitch", my dear friend Chris, started getting the sort of look that a mother bear would get if someone was messing with her cubs. He straightened to his full height and began to stand behind me, glowering at unknown forces behind my back. I continued to pose until my legs shook, aware of a growing issue - but I was uncertain what it was.

Finally, in a break of flashing bulbs, Chris informed me that all SORTS of guys had been snapping photos of my ass. While I had been posing for the wall of photographers in front of me, apparently I had also been posing for the ones behind me. He had positioned himself in the line of fire - and he had had men wildly gesturing for him to move. He actually had to put his hand over one man's lens who wouldn't take "no" for an answer.

Okay, look: I know I have a nice ass (thanks mom!). It's round and plump and I can shake it like Nicki Minaj if I want to. I went into the convention knowing I was displaying it for every mouth breather in the world to get an eyeful of. It's not my FAULT that the character that I love so much and wanted to portray was drawn as wearing a thong - that is not a decision I had a hand in.

But the fact that not one, not two, but DOZENS of men thought it was okay to covertly snap photographs of my ass? That does not sit well with me. That does not resonate well with me. That makes me uncomfortable. If a man approached me and said: "You have a nice posterior. Allow me to photograph it.", you know what I'd do? I'd pop my booty with a smile. But what gives people the right to line up behind me and snap photographs of my butt, unaware to me? To me, this is the sort of creepy that upskirt reddit forums tread upon.

After the convention, photographs of my butt started popping up on forums and weird aside tumblrs. "I'd slap that ass so hard", one anonymous man said.
"But that's my butt!" I thought, feeling violated and strange.

This year, standing in the entrance of the convention center as Dark Phoenix, destroyer of planets, I felt the familiar intense excitement of cosplaying a strong female character. Surely no one would be on ass snap missions for me in this costume, right? It has full coverage. And it was DARK PHOENIX. She'd fuck you right up with some telekenetic energy.

I excused myself from a group of photographers and began making my way into the dealer's hall, hoping to run into some friends I still hadn't seen on this last day of the convention. A man stopped me - he was fat, nervous, sweating profusely. He asked me if he could have a photo with him, and naturally I agreed. I am happy to let men pose with their childhood crush or personal fictional character hero.

He handed his camera off to his equally awkward friend, who fumbled with it for a moment as I doggedly held my stance - toe up, hip popped, hands clenching imaginary balls of pure crackling energy. The camera wasn't working, so it was handed back to the man at my side so he could fix it. As he pressed buttons randomly, the previous photographs popped up - and to my disdain, there was a photograph of my ass as I had been walking ahead of these two men.

I didn't say anything. I didn't do anything. A shot of adrenaline hit me like a freight train, but instead I stood there for a moment until the photograph was taken, the air thick with awkwardness. He thanked me, trembling, and ran off as quickly as his pudgy legs would allow.

I kept the costume on, refusing to let that one man ruin my day, but the feeling of empowerment was gone. I felt deflated and drained. I felt sad, and confused, and angry, and a whole mixture of nonsense emotions that didn't belong in a girl who was in her equivalent of Disneyland. I felt objectified.

It took me awhile to get angry. For someone who has been outspoken about the misogyny I have encountered in the geek subculture, this just seemed to go along with everything else I've always had to deal with. But then I started thinking about it more - why on earth WASN'T I angry? Why was I just shrugging this off as a "convention thing"?

Would I be okay with guys taking photos of my butt and then posting the photos online for other creepers to fap to if it had happened to me while I was waiting for the bus? At my day job? Waiting in line for a movie?

Several people have tried to make this argument to me: If you didn't want people photographing your butt, you shouldn't wear the costumes that you wear.

FUCK. THAT. That's like telling women not to wear short skirts if she doesn't want to be raped. These characters are drawn in very little clothing due to art direction and wanting to make sales - and I love them and want to portray them despite what they are drawn wearing. I don't want to be burka Wonder Woman - I want to be Wonder Woman in all her sexy hot pants glory.

We as a geek community have some of the most rampant sexism and misogyny I have ever seen. Women in cosplay are treated as pieces of meat, on display to satisfy a man's fantasy of that character. We are without personality or interests, and there's no way people will believe that we actually know ANYTHING about the character we're dressed up as (especially if we are hot). I don't know the reasons for this - I have theories, but that's for another time entirely. But the behavior I have witnessed over the years is abysmal. And it's not okay.

I know this argument is redundant - these are things that have been said a million times - these are things even I have said before! But if by writing about my negative experiences makes at least ONE person change their behavior, makes ONE person become aware of these issues, then I have done my job.

My Other Me: A Rant about Otherkin and other Subcultures

Yesterday, Gawker posted a very interesting article about Otherkins and people who believe they are Transethnic. As someone who is intensely curious about the seedy underbellies of everything on the internet, these were not terms I was unfamiliar with, but it was still a very fascinating read. I'm a regular consumer of Tumblr.txt, a twitter feed that aggregates some of the more ridiculous tumblr posts in regards to these strange communities.

If you're unfamiliar with the terms I am using in this blog entry, I would suggest checking out this handy little dictionary here before reading any further.

Ready? Ok!

I go through intense knowledge seeking phases. I enjoy reading and learning about weird things. Human beings fascinate and perplex me on equal levels, and I like to try and get into head spaces completely foreign to my own generally happy outlook. One week it's serial killers, the next week it's furries, and this week it's otherkin and all of the instense subcultures that come along with it. If you didn't click on the handy dandy little link above, otherkin is basically when someone feels uncomfortable in their human form - kind of how transgendered people feel odd in the body of the sex they do not identify with. However, instead of thinking they are someone else, they generally think they are something else: that is, they believe they are an animal or another humanoid esque species. Wolves or faeries. Cats or vampires. Along with this comes a whole slew of other words that even I don't know the meanings of - things meaning wolf trapped in a human body; words meaning they can't feel sexual attraction unless they are emotionally invested in a person, things like that.

Basically, it's a whole bunch of batshit insane weaboo craziness, and I love it.

Never one to sit back and not form opinions of my own on something, I started reading. And reading, And then I did some more reading. I delved into the darkest recesses of livejournal and tumblr. I read with no judgement. I quirked my eyebrows and tilted my head and scribbled notes. And then I talked to the two people I constantly talk about everything to, and I unloaded my brain. I organized my thoughts. And that, dear readers, is why I am writing this article.

Before I begin, I need people to know this: I am not intolerant to anyone. If you genuinely, truly, 100% believe you are Sephiroth trapped in the body of a teenage girl... well, that's a little weird, but more power to you if you can make it work for you. What I don't like are people who use these things for attention and prey on weak, insecure fans for their own means (this community is rife with money laundering and batshit con artists who think they are vampire slayers, but that's a rant for a different time).

When I first heard about otherkins, I scoffed. I rolled my eyes. I thought, "gosh, these people are such lame attention whores with no amount of social functionality". But then I remembered Mint. And I was humbled.

A crude drawing I did of Mint, my teenage alter ego.

Mint was my alter ego from the time I was about 12 to 16. To give you a little background: I was homeschooled from Kindergarten to my Freshman year of highschool. I lived in the wilds of Alaska and my only friends were religiously sheltered homeschool girls who were blinking wide eyed in the light of day. I spent the majority of my time online, dodging pedophiles in Pokemon chat rooms and fucking around on Palace (an avatar chat client). I spent the rest of my time devouring Fantasy novels (I probably read one per day), reading comic books, playing my Nintendo, and watching outlandish amounts of anime (any VHS I could get my filthy paws on, at the used book store or at Blockbuster. Keep in mind this was before anime was particularly mainstream, so getting ahold of it was very difficult, especially for a 12 year old awkward otaku fangirl.)

I was achingly lonely. I did not have the peer interaction most young women of my age had, so my best friends were fictional characters. My best online friend Megan (who I met on Neopets) and I spent hours a day roleplaying our Dragonball Z universe over MSN (we eventually even wrote a fanfiction based off of these intensely in depth roleplays, where I eventually fell in love with and was engaged to Trunks). I remember acute bouts of awkward teenage insecurity about my sexuality because I felt intense feelings for a fictional character in a Dragonriders of Pern roleplay I was involved in that was played by a woman. I thought that if I could feel love and attraction to a fictional male character she was playing, maybe I was attracted to aspects of this woman?

Roleplay was my way to escape. I roleplayed Harry Potter, X-men, Dragonriders of Pern, Gundam Wing, Dragonball Z. I frequented the Yahoo Chat Room roleplaying rooms (I even had my own tavern called the Burning Phoenix Tavern and Inn, which was owned by my ice mage elf named Asta). And from all of this roleplaying Mint was born... and for awhile, Mint was my best friend.

Mint was everything I wasn't. She was beautiful, lithe, slender, talented, and interesting. People were drawn to her. And Mint was an elf (when I was a young teenager I was so fixated with elves that I wanted cosmetic surgery later in life to peak my ears). She was hyper, silly, and whenever I acted like Mint in chat rooms people seemed to like me more. She was an extension of my personality, but by playing her and blaming odd thoughts and notions on her, I was more free to be myself than I ever had been before.

When I finally attended highschool for the first time, I was still very much Mint. I wore elf ears to school a lot (a lot of the incessant bullying I went through was because of this), I channeled her bubbly personality and style of dress (elegant and dark). But as I aged, Mint started to fall away: because I started to become her. All of the personality traits I emulated with Mint I began to adopt... and I truly believe I have this character to thank for my success and the fact that people seem to experience magnetism towards me. Yes, I spent many more awkward years learning how to NOT be strange and socially unacceptable (don't worry, the strangeness never went away), but Mint definitely contributed to me growing up and having the strength to become the woman I wanted to be.

When you're a teenager, you feel like it's you against the world. No one understands you. If you have a rough relationship with your parents, it's even worse. If you live in a small town, it destroys you because you can't find anyone else like you. All you want is to feel unique, interesting, wanted. You want to be someone else, because you have no idea how to be you yet... and that, I believe, is where otherkin comes from.

However, the damaging part of this is the community. I luckily never really experienced anyone else who thought they were also elves, or I may very well still be just as weird and out of sorts now at 23. Communities like otherkin are full of people who don't feel like they quite BELONG, but thanks to the internet they have found hundreds of people who form an alliance of similar thinking. People who stumble into otherkin may not even know they have a wolf trapped inside of their body until they begin to read similar accounts from other angsty teenagers. "That sounds like me!" they think, and they finally find a group of people who accept them. They feel wanted and okay. They fall deeper and deeper, and there are people who turn otherkin against everyone else. It's everything an insecure, damaged person could want: validation, feeling special, being someone you aren't, and an excuse to act any way you want because you have hit a new plane of spiritual awareness.

But perhaps these otherkin begin growing up. They begin thinking: "Well, I'm a grown up now. I don't feel so out of sorts in my own skin. Maybe I like being a human and not a wolf." They voice these thoughts to the community that has helped them through so much. And the community backlashes against them. "It's what they want you to think. You're still a beautiful and unique snowflake. You're being brainwashed by them. Don't leave us. YOU'RE STILL ONE OF US."

And thus, instead of fulfilling the role of aiding someone in growing up in the way it did for me, it enables them to continue to be a child. It enables them to be around damaging people, many of whom have actual mental illnesses and prey upon those weaker than them. Why would these communities want to help others grow up and come into their own? It means they are alone again. It means they -  who cannot let go of their delusions -  are forced to become self aware, to take responsibility for themselves. And for some people this is just way too much to handle.

I think a healthy dose of make believe can help anyone. I think you should never let your imagination die. Hell - I still put on elf ears every other Sunday and go beat up other big kids with fake swords - and I doubt I will ever stop playing dress up and emulating characters I love. But when it comes down to it, I can differentiate reality from pretend. And the fact that huge communities of people CANNOT or REFUSE to accept the difference is scary, because people trapped in a world of delusion can be incredibly damaging to themselves, others, and society. (I am referring to this story about the "Final Fantasy 7" house, and this story about "Sarah")

There's my rant for the week. If you would like to join the discussion, please comment below. I would love to hear from anyone and everyone on this topic.

A Rant: Fashion Identity Crisis

The truth is: I'm Batman

Recently I have been having what can best be described as a "style identity crisis". I have felt very uncertain and awkward in almost every coordinate I put together; unsure if I am truly expressing myself or some style I am trying to emulate. I would say that I am very susceptible to outside fashion suggestion: if I spend a lot of time looking at Harajuku street style, I want to dress like that; if I watch bad reality TV shows I want to wear tight bandage dresses and chunky bracelets; if I peruse lookbook I'm all about Peter Pan collars and printed leggings.

I find it strange that I am having this struggle with my closet lately. First of all, I own a LOT of clothes: I rent a two bedroom apartment just so I could turn one of the bedrooms into a closet. Most of it is vintage, stuff that I have scooped up at the Good Will outlet... the only thing I ever really splurge on is shoes. My closet represents every style, but a constant for me has definitely always been PINK and BLACK, the two colors I find myself consistently gravitating towards.

But the reason I find it strange is that I am at a point in my life where I am actually super certain about who I am and what I want from life. I'm more secure, self aware, and motivated than I have ever been before - so why this crisis identity with my clothing?

In a brief comment conversation with the effortlessly chic Orchid Grey, I feel like I may have worked a few things out (but it doesn't make it any EASIER for me!)

I possess duality in my personality, which is best explained by my past and upbringing. I was born and raised in a tiny, tiny town in Alaska called Soldotna, which had no more than 6,000 people. I lived at the end of a gravel dirt road, overlooking the swamp with the Kenai river and the mountains in the distance. I spent my childhood fishing, four wheeling, riding horses, respecting nature, and running amok barefoot. On top of that I was homeschooled, thus I thrust myself madly into the world of the whimsical: fantasy books, anime, comic books.

So as I matured those interests remained. My interest in fashion was ignited by Japanese Street Fashion magazines I downloaded on my 26k connection from livejournal, and I emulated that fashion all through highschool: I was either "Fruits" style or Visual Kei, depending on my mood. As I grew, I became interested in arts and culture and city living. My parents moved me to Idaho when I was a teenager, but I still experienced the agricultural world. I was an anomaly in my highly conservative and religious town with my ever changing hair and bizarre style. This was before websites like Lookbook.nu existed, and I mostly just dressed how I FELT LIKE IT... and in that teenage bliss I didn't really care what people thought about me.

Then I discovered indie music and my love of all things vintage. This resulted in floral dresses, long maxis, floppy hats. I wanted to look like I was walking out of Woodstock every day, but at times I still yearned for my crazy anime style.

Finally, when I was just shy of 21, I made the big move to Seattle - to a real city. The dreary days and the distant attitude of people isolated me, so I started wearing more and more black again. I definitely have an interest in all things "goth", and do not balk at dark lipsticks and delicate lace collars. I would say that this "goth" fashion has been a central theme to my style for my entire life - I remember smearing black lipstick all over my face at 13 in a desperate attempt to emulate Malice Mizer.

But here is the problem: Now all of those styles are jumbled up inside of me. Earthy/"mori" girl, nu-goth, Japanese street style/inspired by anime. I yearn for gentle florals and ripped up black tights simultaneously. I crave studs while wishing for rocking shoes.

And I just have no idea which direction I want to go towards.

I am certainly a fashion chameleon, but running a fashion blog or seeing the same people every day for some reason makes me feel the need to pigeon hole myself into a particular trend or style. For some reason it feels awkward or strange to dress all light and summery and airy one day while showing up rough and tumble punk rock the next.

The other struggle I am constantly facing is this: I am a curvy woman. I used to ABHOR my curves, but as I age I am starting to realize that no matter what I do they are not going away, and I can either whine about it and be miserable forever or learn how to work with it. However, this long journey to accepting my body doesn't mean that I have become careless: I know that some things don't look good at me. For example: my hips are incredibly wide, and if I wear leggings with just a t-shirt, it is exceptionally unflattering. Or the fact that despite my height of 5'10", I have quite short legs and thus wearing ankle length flat boots look ridiculously bad on me. And this PISSES ME OFF. I cannot EXPRESS to you my intense jealousy for lithe, lovely women who can wear whatever they want and look incredible in it. It adds an entirely new layer to my dressing in that I have to dress for wide hips and thick thighs (seriously - I'm built exactly like Nicki Minaj). It's ANNOYING that I can't just wear what I feel like, but that I also have to be thinking "well, will this flatter my stupidly curvacious body?"

Has anyone else ever experienced a fashion identity crisis like this? How on earth do I get over feeling like everything I wear is not me, but only a part of me?

The Power of a Good Scream

Yesterday my BFF Angeline and I visited the EMP/SciFi museum here in Seattle. I've been through it before, but not since the Icons of Science Fiction exhibit has been put in (there's a DALEK!!!). Unfortunately we were there on super secret business so I didn't get a chance to take any photos, but we did pause for a moment to step into the "Scream Booth", an awesome little section of the Horror exhibit.

Basically, it's a soundproof little booth that you can go to sit in. It describes how a "good scream" is essential to an iconic horror film, and then it assigns you one of two responses - fight or flight (Angeline and I initially got fight, but we decided we wanted flight). On the count of three, you SCREAM YOUR HEAD OFF (as it snaps 4 pictures in quick succession).

And hot DAMN it feels good.

Angeline and I in the Scream Booth at the SciFi museum

It got me to thinking (in my typical existentialist manner): screams feel so awesome, so liberating, but it's very socially taboo to just let out a good scream unless you have a good reason (ie being attacked). I oftentimes hear the expression "I JUST WANT TO SCREAM!!", and I'm sure we can all relate to that feeling - the welling up of emotion (be in frustration, sadness, etc) that makes us want to tap into that instinctual side of ourselves and just release an incredibly guttural long yell.

Well, excuse my french, but fuck society's constraints. Feel the need to scream? Then scream. Go to the nearest overpass and scream off of it into traffic. Drive out to the wilderness and scream until you're hoarse. Scream into a pillow. Connect to the animalistic, ancient part of you that just craves release. I promise, it's incredibly cathartic.

Geeks can be Pretty, too: A rant on entitlement and bullying.

Hi. Hello. Hey.
My name is Molly McIsaac. I take showers every day. I own enough makeup to open my own Sephora. I wake up hours before work to coordinate a cute outfit, do my hair, and make my eye makeup just so. I wear high heels almost every day, oftentimes boosting my already staggering height of 5'10" to a ridiculous level. I try to work out every day (though I have a weakness for cookies). I wear dresses pretty much constantly (sometimes they are really tight and show off my voluptuous ass - GASP!). And do you know what? I am a huge geek.

Earlier today, Anon left this comment on one of my blog posts:

Now, I have been around the internet block, so to say. I've been writing articles for comic book and video game websites coming up on five years now (and getting paid to do it for three). I get a LOT of hate for my opinions, and for that reason I have developed a fairly thick skin. Very few things set me off, because I know that's what the faceless masses want (after all, who doesn't like to sit back and witness some internet drama?) But this comment really hit home for me. It really struck a chord in me. So I ranted about it on twitter, and now I'm ranting about it on here, because I have some things that I need to say. 

There has been a LOT of talk and controversy around the internet lately about geek entitlement. Accusing attractive women of "pandering" . Geeks acting like they're some sort of little exclusive club where they judge other geeks and have a "holier than thou" attitude. Personally, I feel the topic has been talked about to death, but yet here I am.

Back to the comment. Are you SERIOUS? The wording ITSELF oozes cliquishness and exclusivity. "As a geek girl..." somehow implying that DESPITE THE FACT I RUN A BLOG CALLED THE GEEKY PEACOCK, THAT I SPEAK ON PANELS AT CONVENTIONS, THAT I AM A RESPECTED PUNDIT IN THE GEEK COMMUNITY - That I am NOT A GEEK? Okay. And then... "clearly know nothing about our style." Our style. OUR style. I'm sorry, but since when has geek had a dress code? Because I like to wear high heels and lipstick, I must not be a geek? Because I don't wear ill fitting jeans and baggy Doctor Who t-shirts, keep my hair parted down the middle with a low ponytail, I am NOT A GEEK?

There is so much bitterness in this community. And you know what? I get it. I really do. Being a geek is not some great epiphany I have come to in adulthood, once I had learned to dress myself and boys gave me second glances. I struggled through it as an adolescent just like you poor souls did. I was into video games and comic books beginning in elementary school. I was homeschooled and sheltered in Alaska, with most of my social interaction taking place solely on Javascript Pokemon Chat rooms and Everquest (on my dial up connection!). Once my family moved us to Idaho in my awkward early teen years, they thrust me into public school for the first time - And I was mercilessly picked on.

At times, when I describe my bullying to others, I trivialize it. "Oh, I totally brought it upon myself. After all, I wore elf ears and LARPed on the Football field." But it wasn't okay, and while I may have brought it upon myself, there is no excuse for this behavior. I was chubby and awkward. I dressed weird. I went home crying almost every day because the other kids were downright CRUEL to me. There was a game called "how fast can we make Molly cry?", where the "popular" kids would do just that: pick at me until I cried. I was miserable. I came home every day sobbing. One girl told me I should kill myself, and you know what? I almost did. I wrote suicide letters. I didn't feel like I deserved to exist.

But then I realized something: I didn't want those people to win. I wanted to thrive in life. I wanted to prove to them that the pain they had put me through did nothing but succeed in making me a better and stronger person. I woke up one day with a renewed vigor for life, and thus my transformation from chubby awkward geek girl to long, lithe, pretty, motivated geek girl began. I have not changed. I am still the girl who LARPs on the Football field (no, I really do). But now the kids who used to bully me in highschool are sending me apology messages on Facebook, because I am no longer a victim. I took the wrong doings that were used against me and I turned them in my favor.

So, that being said: A lot of people responding to me on twitter said I am oftentimes greeted with hostility because since I am an attractive woman I remind victimized geeks of the bullying they went through. I AM LIVING PROOF THAT THIS IS A COP OUT. Judging and attacking your fellow geeks for not loving shared interests the way you think they should be loved makes you just as bad as the kids who gave you wedgies in highschool. You are becoming what you despise - is that really what you want?

This isn't just about fashion. This is about an entire mindset that this community seems to have. Now that "geek is chic" and further perpetuated by the media, people who consider themselves "real" geeks are lashing out, trying to keep their little community special and exclusive. Yeah, we suffered for our passions for a long time, but now that they are becoming mainstream, shouldn't we be happy rather than pissed off? It means there is a broader range of people who we can talk to - it means we can make lucrative careers from the things we love instead of doing it in our spare time. It means good TV shows are less likely to get canceled. It means amazing comic books are being made into equally as epic movies. It means more merchandise for us to decorate our apartments with. It means new and unique views. It means you can help others love what you love - and you should be SO HAPPY that your children are not going to be bullied in the same way you were for loving comic books.

So here's my suggestion: stop being a victim. Rise to the occasion. Stop acting childish and immature and looking at other people as OTHER PEOPLE rather than threats to your SUPER SECRET CLUB OMGZ.

I'm going to continue dressing well, and I'm going to continue being a geek. Fashion and attractiveness does not equal a bad person. Bathing irregularly and wearing your favorite holey Flash t-shirt from 12th grade doesn't immediately brand you as a geek - it immediately brands you as a slob who doesn't take care of themselves. You can DRESS WELL, LOOK NICE, BATHE EVERY DAY, COMB YOUR HAIR, and STILL BE A GEEK. There is no "look", no "guidelines" for loving what we love. We are an eclectic group of interesting, intelligent human beings - so why are we acting like children whose club house is being invaded by pretty girls (ewww cooties)?

I have a lot more to say, but I don't want this to become directionless. Please stop and think next time you're about to knee jerk judge a fellow human - and that goes for ANYONE, not just geeks that don't measure up to your personal, twisted standards.