By Kristina Minna Ilse v. Vetter Kast Oglesby
Aug. 4, 2024 – What is worth?
Truly, what is the measurement of “worth” and what is that…worth, exactly? We may never answer such a question, but we may still derive a point from the journey ahead. On this rainy weekend, my friend and I ventured to the Savannah Convention Center, located off of the totally-not-terrifying Talmadge Bridge, next to the Westin that is under immense amount of construction cutting through once gorgeous marshland. A golf-course sitting pristinely where literal, natural floodgates should be.
I digress.
As the parking lot presented itself, but a clear way through did not, we were aided by the extremely understanding staff of either the Westin or its multiple construction sites, to help us on the this of the quest. They didn’t laugh at our expense too hard, but I wouldn’t fault them for doing so.
Our mission: Savannah Comic Con.
Our expectation? Well, zero. I wasn’t even aware there was a convention this weekend,
let alone one centered around comics. An industry I am, at least, locally plugged-in to at this
point—not a digression, but a pin.
So, pin that.
My friend, however, accomplice for the afternoon and willing participant in this edition of drag-your-friend-to-work-with-you, has never been to a convention.
And so, our story begins…
With the honest-to-God largest Pikachu inflatable I have ever seen. Emily Gilmore would have been proud of that partition.
As the cosplayers filtered in with various anime characters and beloved Gir from Invader Zim, my friend’s eyes got wide with crafting ideas.
“You know, I have always wanted to get a sewing machine…” she remarks as we sail through the first vendor aisles. A preliminary scouting mission was up first, a walkabout. We had to get the lay of the land, of course.
Upon entering, the flow appeared standard, but with a healthy distance between your exhibitors, vendors, and artist’s alley. Vendors were immediately accessible, with us barely surviving the attempt on our lives by the ghoulish folks of Wicked South, promoting their Haunted Forest experience for the fall. They now have their own venue/playground in Pembroke. Play at your peril, little ghosts.
Cutting a line through the middle, I struck adjacent gold by spotting alpaca wool from 20 yards, festooning adorable barnyard themed, classic stuffed animals. Different from your more modern Squishmallow and plushie styles, from American Andes Gifts.
The exhibitors lined the left wall, featuring voice actors and actors from titles such as Invader Zim, Power Rangers, and Sonic the Hedgehog. Echoes of character lines can be heard as patrons, one after one, video the action.
Towards the back right corner is artist’s alley. And while yes, there are “samurai swords” on Vendor Isle, hard-won discoveries are made in Artist’s Alley. This is where one meets creators and their creations, where people are at their peak of “personhood” as they delve into the business of making and selling. Not one or the other, but both. Those without marketing teams, nor production managers. It’s just you, a lot of hats, and worthy suffering.
Unpin
“That’s a miserable spot.” My friend remarks at the Planet Blerd table, a delightful display of themed tees, specially designed for Black nerds—Blerds! It’s in the name, y’all. A table that would have done much better towards the front of the convention. Or, at the very least, not where families are seeking sensory refuge from the demanding overhead lights, nor where a prom-themed break-down is happening.
Make no mistake, my friend and I had to take multiple trips around this floor with breaks installed. I would honestly love to take the time to call into question why we are putting the likeliest population of sensory sensitive, and seeking, individuals in a room full of stimulation at alarming rates of variation, and overhead lighting that weighs on your nerves like a bug-zapper.
Why take lovely things and place them in differing forms of warehouses, objectively ugly places? Certainly, this is a personal preference, still, a worthy question.
To get to the heart of the disappointment, it is in the clear indications of a lack of plan for flow. Granted this could be due to the convention having fewer vendors, artists, and exhibitors because of a last-minute change in scheduling. One that alleges the “con” had to be moved to August from its original May dates because of an overbooking on the side of the Savannah Convention Center.
When asked if artist’s received ample time to mediate travel plans and other logistics, we were met with a resounding, but simple, “no.” Furthermore, artists were not given any recourse or refund should they not have the ability to reschedule. They were told to simply come next year.
In short, the convention looked and felt empty.
Sure, I was happy to take my friend to her first convention with airier aisles because of the aforementioned sensory issues, but I had little way of explaining to her that this wasn’t and shouldn’t be her only experience. The organization of who went where was plain enough, but the logic and care that goes into curating and planning who goes where, and why, was nowhere to be found. Each table or booth should bolster one another and do when push comes to shove. The shove, however, shouldn’t be coming from convention organizers shirking, what I would view, as their responsibility.
The creators are doing enough already, the vendors are busy, the actors are tired. That is not their hat to wear.
So, to the vendors, artists, and exhibitors, was it worth it?
Did we, the patrons, have fun? Absolutely!
It is difficult to mess up the whimsy of meeting newly published authors, like Lucille Yates. Or chatting about the nuances and functions of horror with Marcus H. Roberts. Or discussing the finer points of a pen on grabbier papers with Calvin Mudge. Or squealing over a stack of pancakes that looks like a crustacean with Indy Dudley. There was much joy to be found, as it was made for us.
There is caution to be taken, however, when advantage is too evidently grasped. When there is much variety, but the variety presented is not purposeful. If we are at a “comic-con,” where is the connecting theme from the professional wrestler to the alpaca-wool tufted pig stuffy I purchased? How does the line from an indie comics maker connect to Polly the parrot at the front, whom you can hold and pet for 10$?
None of these things are objectively bad choices. They are, in fact, wonderful. They are simply thrown together in a haphazard omelet that does more of a disservice to them, than to anyone else. The patrons will meander how they do, and the organizers’ jobs are done at this point.
It’s those on the ground, having already done the labor of the wares, the packing, the traveling, etc. who have to pick up the torch to make best of the situation at hand. But we’re used to it by now—aren’t we?
“How did you support your creators/artists?” is the question that lives in my little brain, leftover from a different lifetime of production management and logistical, theatrical nightmares of dancing bodies. Wielding spectacle carefully as we consider our audience.
I wonder how that question, in reference to the ephemeral Savannah Comic Con, will be answered by its creators.
For us, luckily, it was still a win.
“Should I get into cosplay?” asks my friend, finally.
“I think it’s definitely worth the try.” I replied.
Kristina Minna Ilse v. Vetter Kast Oglesby is a Savannah-based writer and journalist. She is also a dancer of 20 years. It is her favorite thing in the world, other than moss. She also publishes a blog, kast/press, which features a body-horror series ‘Scales’, that is reflective of a post-apocalyptic, pandemic event event that causes an extinction en masse. Find it at minnailse.substack.com.
Her previous Savannah Agenda columns include:
Something says something and it always means the same thing
ARTS Southeast explodes neon and fire on Bull
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