The Fan Journey of a Lifetime: College, Community, and Kumoricon

As a dedicated fan of cosplay, and as a cosplayer myself, I had never felt fully satisfied by small conventions.

I was always dreaming bigger. I imagined myself sleeping in a large hotel with seven or eight people shoved into two beds and a couch. I magined myself pushing through a dozen panels a day. And I imagined impromptu meetups and convention hall games and trips to the mall to flaunt my cosplay out in public with a posse of equally decked-out cosplayers.

After all, I had grown up watching YouTube videos of cosplayers crammed into vans having the time of their lives ordering at Burger King in character, or forum accounts of playing party games while painted entirely blue. It seemed only right that a larger con meant a larger community, with more people willing to do those sorts of things with me.

But was it really that much more rewarding to participate in a large con? Was the community more accepting, more diverse? Were people more willing to express themselves in the big city, where no one knew their names? I had to know. 

So, in the name of journalism, I decided to find out what was so alluring about the idea of leaving my small college town and driving five hours for Kumoricon in Portland.

Founded in 2003, Kumoricon is one of the largest fan conventions focusing on anime in the Pacific Northwest. The 2025 edition of Kumoricon took over the Oregon Convention Center for three full days over Halloween weekend.

I had to attend and cover it all; the good, the bad, and the completely uncategorizable.

I began my trek on Thursday evening. Conventions typically last from Friday to Sunday, and I had purchased a weekend pass to get the full experience. I went alone, singing songs to myself to pass the time, calling long-distance friends and family, laughing to my downloaded podcasts.

But my anxiety only grew as I approached the city of Portland. My hopes and expectations were so high. What if I was let down? I would be out hundreds of miles from home with no back-up plan. My nerves were through the roof. As I took the final fateful exit of my five-hour drive, I swallowed down my stress and hurried to the convention center to pick up my badge.

The process to receive my badge was surprisingly easy. I had heard horror stories of lines so long that they wrapped around the building. That was not the case at Kumoricon on Day Zero. Lines were stress-free, and there were separate, shorter lines for press and disability registration, with ample room for wheelchairs and walkers.

I made my way back to the AirBNB after exploring the convention center, which was bigger than even I had expected (and after getting lost on the way, through no fault of the building’s, but likely my own cognitive ability to read even the clearest-cut signage). When I arrived, I found my sleeping arrangement was a small and somewhat uncomfortable couch, which I was very genuinely thrilled at.

Finally, the real con experience I had dreamed of! The fridge was empty, full of possibility, and the floors and tables were littered with pins, wig caps, glue, beads, and bags. It was truly cosplayer heaven.

That night, I dreamt of the panels I had signed myself up for and the esteemed guests of honor I was excited to meet; and I dreamt big, as I always had, about the many, many friends I would make.

But the very next day, disaster struck.

I had lost my wallet somewhere on the drive. I thought I knew where I had lost it, but it was an hour and a half out, and there was no guarantee I could retrieve it. I froze my card and re-ordered it instantly, just in case, as I had thought was the correct move when losing your wallet, only to realize that that was a terrible mistake; I would have no access to my money until after the convention, which meant no parking cash, no gas, no funds for merchandise, and no food.

This was devastating. I had dreamed of this weekend for months, maybe years, maybe my entire life – and it was sucked away from me because of a careless mistake. I would have to rely on my new-found friends, or worse, become a financial burden to them, all because I was so wrapped up in my nerves that I hadn’t kept track of what mattered most.

Speaking of what mattered most, I had no way to attend the panels that required an ID. I was stuck on the outskirts of it all. I considered calling it quits and using the last physical cash I had to trek home. It would be no harm done if I left now, but my dreams would be crushed.

But, to my surprise, my new friends were more than willing to help. “I’m not tripping,” one of my roommates said as they ordered us both a Lyft. “Don’t sweat it,” another said while lending me some cash. “We got you,” they both said while helping me down the stairs with my walker. With their genuine support and kind words lifting me up, I decided to pack my things and head south, just in case my wallet really could be found and I could press play again on my adventure.

When I arrived, I was even more shocked to find that my wallet was safe and sound, and that some good samaritan had turned it in to the nearby restaurant where I had lost it. 

The rest of the convention was a breeze. I met many amazing cosplayers, many of which had been waiting all year for this, just like me.

I spoke with a few kind vendors with beautiful wares, including an artist that sold almost exclusively merchandise of cute sea creatures. 

I attended fabulous panels, many of them surrounding drawing or writing, but some completely unexpected and ridiculously fun, like a dating show panel where you compete in cosplay. 

I even won a prize for the Fanfiction Writing Contest for a poem I had submitted. 

In the end, it had nothing to do with how large or small the convention was. It had nothing to do with big meetups, or tiny couches, or the beauty of the struggle. It had to do with people, who were kind enough to lend a hand even when it was inconvenient or unplanned. 

Through attending Kumoricon, I gained a new perspective on community and a broader understanding of human nature. People are good, people are genuine, and people are generous everywhere you go. I was so caught up in the details that make a convention “great” that I forgot to appreciate the cosplay community in every shape, size, and town. 

As another cosplayer from SOU, Erika, noted: “… I can say that it is very welcoming. Most people really just want to talk to you and have a fun time. I’ve met a lot of people who I deeply care about at conventions just because I liked their cosplay, or vice versa. … Every year, I feel like I haven’t been able to do everything I wanted to do, and I think that’s beautiful. [Kumoricon] is just a really fun place to be with others and not feel constantly judged for being a little off putting.”

Until next year, Kumoricon. So long, and thanks for the lesson. 

Header photo courtesy of @mrdangphotos