Cosplay is the artform of the people. With our own hands, we create movie-quality costumes that show off our creativity, passion and love of convention centers. However, not all cosplay is created equal. It is a meritocracy. One must earn the title of cosplayer.
So I ask you, as Halloween descends upon us and hordes of children dressed in Party City costumes approach my door: why should I reward shitty cosplay with free candy?
Think about it.
Why does little Timmy deserve a Snickers for putting on a Captain America onesie any jackass with a credit card could purchase? Don’t insult my intelligence by claiming you are an Avenger, I can still see your sneakers under the fake feet you insolent child. I’ll have you know that I have three Captain America cosplays. Three. Can your dumbass even count that high yet? Maybe your kindergarten teacher should stop with the numbers and start teaching how to correctly mold EVA foam. Oh, what’s that? Your plastic shield doubles as a trick or treat bag?
Son, you look like a goddamn amateur. Let’s see who else is out here.
Oh look at this Rapunzels without any hair. How dare you show up to my doorstep expecting my hard earned treats when you can’t even work up the gumption to put on a fucking wig. Sure, I give you props for trying cosplay at four months old, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna go easy on you. One time my son dressed up as Darth Vader but had the wrong color lightsaber and I didn’t speak to him for two weeks. Why should baby Samantha here get a pass? Take some pride in your work and stop crying, it is beneath you.
The point is: cosplay is not fun, it’s work. I don’t neglect my family for eight hours a day making sure my Master Chief armor has the exact same blemishes as the character so my 49 Instagram followers comment about how much fun I am having. I do it so they revel in my masterwork, much like Thor did as he beheld the mythical ax Storm Breaker created by Eitri. Which, by the way, is my next project as soon as my wife follows through on her threat to divorce me.
So, excuse me if I get a little heated when Halloween rolls around and yet another little bullshiter masquerading as Harry Potter in non-canon glasses strolls up with his hands out demanding sweets. If you yelled at your kids for having a poor work ethic I wouldn’t have to.