Climbing up the grassy hillock towards a sushi bar that faces another sushi bar across the street is a young adult sporting fox ears and a bushy tail. Beyond him, waiting to cross the street, is a man dressed as Cloud from Final Fantasy VII, complete with unnaturally yellow spiked hair and the impractically large sword and the ornate uniform. Beyond him, the peripatetic masses. Welcome to Anime North.
Anime North is an annual, three-day, non-profit anime convention, Canada’s biggest with nearly 15,000 attendees, taking place a gunshot away from Lester B. Pearson International Airport between the Toronto Congress Center, the Doubletree Hotel across the street, and the Renaissance Hotel just over the bridge. Despite the name, the convention is a polyamorous embrace of general geek culture: video games, manga, and obviously Japanese animation. The illustrious King Frankenstein and I are attending the second day of the event, Saturday May 24th, and while this is my first encounter with an anime convention KF has attempted to psychologically prep me, insisting that it would be legitimately disappointing, stressing the crushing despair of anime fandom, groaning when I attempt a defence, relating to me the Tiers of Anime Fans, enumerating that I’m “the Downloader1, the second tier. Below you is the Casual Fan, people with fond memories of a series like Dragonball Z, and above you is the Preteen who’s really into Dragonball Z like any other Saturday morning cartoon.” The last level, he explains, is the Relentless Japanophile, to whom if something is not Japanese it is not worth their time, and this will be the common stature of the Anime North population.
To the virgin convention attendee, the first dive into the cosplaying masses is a vertiginous one. If you’re emotionally distant and not especially scholarly on this stuff2, the people seem to disintegrate into a maelstrom of fluorescent colours and cartoon cosmetics. I came with pretensions of playing Guess the Reference, immediately spotting one apt and three poor reproductions of Link3, a few sad-looking girls dressed as Princess Zelda, an in-shape Sheik, the recent red-on-black Team Rocket costume, two fat plush Pikachus, a mind-boggling approximation of Psyduck, and an onslaught of sickles and swords. Nevertheless, about 90% of the costumes go directly over my head, and I’m left staring bewildered at the crowds. Someone yells “YOU JUST LOST THE GAME” and frustrated people yell back. I’m feeling self-conscious about wearing a plaid shirt purchased at Black Market with a Kill Rock Stars handbag slung over my shoulder, like these minor fashion items set me off from the crowd by default when, in all likelihood, no one is watching.
In search of our press tags, we are directed across Dixon Road towards the Doubletree Hotel. Crystal Castles’ “Crimewave” remix booms out of concert speakers that will otherwise pump chirpy j-pop all day. Some of these costumes are just gobsmack-worthy, and some of these people genuinely look too cool to be here4.
We’ve been here for maybe fifteen minutes.
