#1 ·
I was looking through some old photos on my hard drive the other day—stuff from back when I first started attending local fan expos and smaller regional conventions—and it really hit me how much the entire "vibe" of these gatherings has shifted. I remember when these events felt like secret societies. You’d walk into a convention center and it felt like finding a hidden clubhouse. Everyone there shared a very specific, almost esoteric passion. You could spend hours in a corner just debating the nuance of a single obscure panel or trading rare prints with people who actually understood why a certain character's redesign was controversial. It was intimate, a little messy, and felt incredibly authentic.
Lately, though, I can't shake the feeling that the "event" has become a "product." It’s hard not to notice the transition from community-driven gatherings to massive, high-octane spectacles designed more for social media engagement and brand visibility than for the actual fans in the room. There’s a certain polished, corporate sheen that seems to be coating everything now. Don't get me wrong, I love seeing the big budget reveals and the high-end production values—seeing a trailer for the first time in a room full of screaming fans is a rush that never truly goes away—but I worry we're losing the soul of the hobby in the process.
When a convention reaches a certain level of sheer scale, it stops being about the people and starts being about the logistics of managing a crowd. You spend half your time navigating security checkpoints, fighting through seas of people just to get a glimpse of a booth, or realizing that the "exclusive" items you waited six hours for are essentially just marketing tools to drive hype. It feels less like a gathering of enthusiasts and more like a high-stakes trade show where the attendees are almost secondary to the massive media machines rolling through the aisles.
I find myself wondering if we’re witnessing a permanent evolution or just a temporary phase of hyper-growth. Can a convention maintain its identity as a sanctuary for nerds and geeks once it becomes a global media juggernaut? There’s this tension between wanting these things to grow—because more visibility means more respect for the medium and more money for better creators—and wanting to protect that small, precious feeling of being part of something niche and special.
I’ve also noticed a weird shift in the "social" aspect. It used to be that you met people through shared interests. Now, it feels like a lot of people attend primarily to document their presence there. The "I was there" culture is real, and while it’s fun to see the cosplay and the beautiful setups, it can feel a bit performative. It’s like the experience is being curated for an audience of millions online, rather than being lived by the thousands of people physically standing in the hall.
I’m curious to hear from the veterans here. Do you feel like the massive scale of modern conventions has enriched the experience for you, or do you find yourself nostalgic for the days when these things felt more like a local meetup and less like a global media circus? Have we traded depth for breadth?
Lately, though, I can't shake the feeling that the "event" has become a "product." It’s hard not to notice the transition from community-driven gatherings to massive, high-octane spectacles designed more for social media engagement and brand visibility than for the actual fans in the room. There’s a certain polished, corporate sheen that seems to be coating everything now. Don't get me wrong, I love seeing the big budget reveals and the high-end production values—seeing a trailer for the first time in a room full of screaming fans is a rush that never truly goes away—but I worry we're losing the soul of the hobby in the process.
When a convention reaches a certain level of sheer scale, it stops being about the people and starts being about the logistics of managing a crowd. You spend half your time navigating security checkpoints, fighting through seas of people just to get a glimpse of a booth, or realizing that the "exclusive" items you waited six hours for are essentially just marketing tools to drive hype. It feels less like a gathering of enthusiasts and more like a high-stakes trade show where the attendees are almost secondary to the massive media machines rolling through the aisles.
I find myself wondering if we’re witnessing a permanent evolution or just a temporary phase of hyper-growth. Can a convention maintain its identity as a sanctuary for nerds and geeks once it becomes a global media juggernaut? There’s this tension between wanting these things to grow—because more visibility means more respect for the medium and more money for better creators—and wanting to protect that small, precious feeling of being part of something niche and special.
I’ve also noticed a weird shift in the "social" aspect. It used to be that you met people through shared interests. Now, it feels like a lot of people attend primarily to document their presence there. The "I was there" culture is real, and while it’s fun to see the cosplay and the beautiful setups, it can feel a bit performative. It’s like the experience is being curated for an audience of millions online, rather than being lived by the thousands of people physically standing in the hall.
I’m curious to hear from the veterans here. Do you feel like the massive scale of modern conventions has enriched the experience for you, or do you find yourself nostalgic for the days when these things felt more like a local meetup and less like a global media circus? Have we traded depth for breadth?