When I started writing this blog post, I didn’t really consider that it would be my “coming out” piece. The people who know me in real life – my friends, colleagues, and my closest family – know that I am queer, or long ago guessed as much. But I have never made an explicit statement on the subject. Perhaps, naïvely, I never thought I would need to; my gender, sexuality, and how I present are my business, and mine alone.

However, my opinion on this has changed significantly of late. With hatred against all designated minority groups on the rise, it is important for those LGBTQIA+ folx who can to raise their voices and be heard, so that others who cannot know that they are not alone. That’s the role of a community, after all.

So, here we go; I am queer. I am pansexual. My pronouns are they/them, and though I prefer to present in a masculine style, I’d describe my gender as “pending”. I am still at the beginning of exploring my identity, and whilst I am not yet certain of some things, I know that I am definitely not a woman. And, ultimately, it is cosplay and the UK cosplay community that have helped me find the courage to accept, explore, and begin to express who I am.

If you read the above and interpreted it as “Cosplay made me GAY!” – thank you for visiting, and please close the door behind you on your way out.

Hi, friends, it’s just us now. Pull up a chair and help yourselves to tea and biscuits.

I have written before about how I grew up in the middle of the countryside, two miles from the nearest town, surrounded by fields on three sides and a garden centre on the fourth. My school was half an hour’s drive away, and as my parents worked in the holidays I hardly saw my friends from July to September. Though this didn’t stop me dressing up as my favourite characters and running around the garden pretending to be them.

Despite being bombarded with images of Disney Princesses, I wanted to be Prince Charming. My childhood heroes were Peter Pan, Fireman Sam, Batman, and Captain Scarlet – people who were brave, in charge, and protected people. All men. Another important influence were the Lead Boys in the pantomimes we’d go to see with our church every Christmas. Played by women, the audience accepted these characters were men, cheered them on and celebrated when they defeated the villain and married the princess. Surely I could do the same?

I got away with it for as long as I could be dismissed as a ‘cute little tomboy’. By the age of seven my mother was concerned enough to tell me I had to stop reading “boy comics” like The Beano, and buy “girl magazines”. Young ladies played with dolls, did not have playfights and climb trees with boys, didn’t “boss” others around. This was backed-up by the usual middle-England churchgoing teachings that wanting anything other than a “normal” family with 2.4 children was Unnatural and Wrong.

In short, I was taught to be ashamed of myself and my ambitions.

Not that any of this was done maliciously – or deliberately – but it was damaging, nonetheless. I did rebel quietly. My dolls formed power couples and ran their kingdom as a benevolent autocracy, and after imitating the Power Rangers once too often my mother caved and let me have karate lessons and a Pink Ranger costume (Pink, mind. Not Red as I’d wanted). I couldn’t risk rocking the boat; I was reliant on my parents’ good will for transport and to keep a roof over my head, and being misdiagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome after a burnout in Sixth Form left me even more dependent on my family. Besides, I liked both men and women; all I had to do was keep my head down, find a boyfriend, never confess to being anything else, and everything would be fine.

I moved away from my childhood home in West Kent to attend university in Bath when I was twenty-four. The Nolan movies had rekindled my love of Batman, and I was delighted to find the city had a comic book shop. It was here I first heard about cosplay. Excited, I started researching online for ideas, hoping to make a version of the Nolan Batman. I was met with far too many pictures of really sophisticated Batman costumes worn by tall, well-muscled cis men. I had the sinking feeling that if I tried, even in the best costume, my physique would betray me and I would be labelled “Batgirl” or a “female Batman”. Saddened, I assumed I’d have to stick to femme costumes. Again. Well, Batgirl had long red hair. I had long red hair. Maybe I should choose Batgirl?

That Hallowe’en I flung together a home-made Batgirl costume to wear to the Student Union party – a black jumpsuit with the bat logo sponged on, a fancy dress Batman belt, some black flat knee-high boots, two cheap capes stitched together, and a “mask” applied with face paint. I was proud of my efforts, until I saw the pictures the next morning. I had been a Textiles and Theatre Studies student. I could do better.

Research began on ways to make a cowl, yet the tutorials on latex casting seemed to produce mixed results. I began to give up on Batgirl – she was cool, but not really me. My long red hair, which at that point I kept because it was “pretty” (Everyone else’s words, not mine.) was so thick it would never convincingly fit under a wig, so I looked for other femme redheads I could play. I seemed to remember Poison Ivy…?

Enter Batwoman a.k.a Kate Kane – a redhead, an ex-soldier, a lesbian, equal to Batman and she was still a hero.

So I set myself the challenge. Bath Carnival was coming up and I’d been told cosplayers were attending. As Batwoman’s cowl was more of a “mask”, I decided to use papier-mâché and paper clay – the latter so I could keep it light and sand down to a really smooth, angular finish. I repurposed the Batgirl suit and boots, repainting the highlights red. I made bracers (more papier-mâché), a belt, and a properly lined cape. In three months the Carnival came round, and I was set to go.

Nervously, I packed my costume and make-up and headed to the comic shop where everyone was meeting. On arrival there were more people than I’d imagined, and I hurried down to the basement loo without speaking to anyone. It took about 10 minutes to suit up in that tiny space. Once done, I opened the door and stepped out in all my finery. Outside, waiting for their turn to change, was my now good friend and TCJ Editor, Holly Rose Swinyard. And the first words they ever said to me?

“I love your cowl!”

I had found my people. Every single one of that little group of cosplayers was friendly and complimentary, ready with answers to my requests for advice on improving my work, and happy to revel in all things Geek.

I now had friends to go to conventions with. Rather than creating new costumes, I focussed on upgrading my Batwoman with the view to achieving a more armoured version. I was thrilled to find all of my new friends were queer or queer allies, and it was a delight to see them play characters outside their assigned genders. It took me a long time to think that I might do the same – I credit seeing the amazing Yel Zamor’s Asterix (IG: @cosmoustache) at LSCC 2014 with giving me the boost to want to try.

It took another couple of years to work up the courage to cut off my hated hair, and since then I’ve been creeping forward by baby steps towards more male characters. First Salazaar Slytherin, then Maladict/a from Sir Terry Pratchett’s Monstrous Regiment. A side-step into the Vintage and Anarcho-dandy scene has led me to my current project; Colonel Olrik from the Franco-Belgian comics series The Adventures of Blake and Mortimer by E.P. Jacobs. Whilst Maladict/a and Slytherin had fancy costumes to hide behind, Olrik has little more than a shirt and trousers, and will be sold on make-up and facial expressions. It will be a test of how comfortable I have become in my own skin. I am both thrilled and terrified at the prospect.

Cosplay is a transformative hobby. Through their own skill and creativity, it is possible for a person to become someone they are not for a few glorious hours of escapism. In my case, it is helping me to become someone I have always been, but have for so long been too afraid to acknowledge. The friends I have made through cosplay I now count amongst my dearest friends, and their support and efforts to make cosplay a safe and welcoming space for all continues to give others like me a chance to let out the breath they have been holding and simply be themselves.

Whilst in my own journey of acceptance, it has led me to a point where, this January, I had the courage to propose to the woman I love.

Reader, I will marry her.