Being a fanboy
I've been thinking about my behavior at Comic-Con towards creative people. I wanted to fanboy. I wanted to tell them how awesome their work was and how much I enjoyed it.
That would totally have been for me, of course, and not for them. I imagine it's gratifying for the small press guys who might not get as much love every minute of the con. I imagine that for most of the people I wanted to fanboy, though, it wouldn't have been anything special. It would be just one more fatbeard telling them they're awesome, when they've heard it so much that it's just meaningless noise to them.
John Cleese has said as much on his podcasts. He doesn't want people to tell him how awesome he is anymore. He wants to go about his business and not have people stop him all the time and want to tell him things, even if it's pure praise.
I don't have any urge to tell people they suck at comics, even when they do. I've bought some small press comics and been angry later that I wasted two or three bucks on a truly shitty piece of work, but I don't want to go confront them about it. I just know not to buy that in the future. I don't have the desire to be the guy who demands an apology for a bad comic from 1997.
I feel incomplete when I don't get to tell someone they're awesome, but most of the time it's just awkward when I do. I will now relate some examples of each.
Bill Sienkiewicz
This year, I happened by Bill Sienkiewicz's booth. I bought a book and a postcard and hoped to use the opportunity to gush. Nope, no deal. He was talking to someone else when the booth assistant handed him the stuff, and he didn't break conversational stride or even glance in my direction when he signed the items and handed them back to the assistant.
I really wanted to gush, too. I wanted to tell him that it was his art in Elektra: Assassin that hooked me into comics. I'd looked through comics before, but Elektra: Assassin is the one that made me see beyond the Superman, Archie, and Disney comics of my youth. (I was 14 at the time it came out, so a prime age for fandom.) It was the first comic that I spent my own money on, and the first one that I collected, protected, and adored. It was Sienkiewicz's striking watercolors that got me into the book, which got me into Frank Miller's writing, and from there it wasn't far to Alan Moore, John Byrne, Grant Morrison, small presses, and so on.
That's what I wanted to say: you made me love comics. I might have gotten into them anyway later, but you, sir, you made me love them right then in the summer when I was 14 and I was dragged to a comic shop and I'd never even heard of Stan Lee. I bought Elektra: Assassin because it was the most amazing comic I'd ever seen, and I still think it's the most visually awesome comic I've ever seen.
Of course, I didn't say any of that. What would it have mattered to him? As touching as that story is to me, he's probably met a thousand fans with their own stories about adoring him, and he's been doing this so long that it probably was more valuable to him to talk to that other guy than it would have been to hear me gush. Saying that stuff would have just been for me.
Douglas Paszkiewicz
I swear, I don't just have a thing for artists whose names end in -kiewicz.
At Comic-Con I made sure to swing by the Arsenic Lullaby booth. I bought a book, a zombie fetus figurine, and a zombie fetus luchador mask. (It's a little small on me, but that's OK, because I wanted to have it more than I wanted to wear it, if that makes sense.)
It went great! I was the only customer at that time, and we got to have an entertaining chat. He was just as funny in person as in his writing, and getting to talk to him for a few uninterrupted minutes was one of the high points of the con for me.
Scott McCloud
I'm also a big fan of Scott McCloud. I borrowed Understanding Comics from a college roommate back in the day, and now I have that as well as Reinventing Comics, Making Comics, and the collected Zot! Scott McCloud is one of the two big draws for me at Comic-Con, to the extent that I'll structure my day around getting to see his panels. (The other is Kevin Smith, but I'm never going to get to fanboy him, so not such an issue.)
It's one thing to pester a comics professional at Comic-Con, but quite another to do it out in the world. One time I was up in Simi Valley watching sexychicken being awesome in something (perhaps Oklahoma, but I don't recall) and I thought I recognized Scott McCloud in the front row. During the first half of the show, I kept glancing and thinking, "Is that him?"
During the intermission, I went up and asked, and indeed it was. I shook his hand, told him I loved his books, and realized I didn't have anything else to say to him. I felt awkward and embarrassed after the initial gush, and I still feel the flush of embarrassment when I think back on it.
What do you think?
I've met a few more gifted people at Comic-Con, but I usually find I don't have anything to say to them. "Uh, hi. You're really good at that thing you do." I buy their thing, tell them they're awesome, and move on.
I'm still conflicted. I want to interact with those people, to bask in their reflected light and be acknowledged for a moment, but I also know that everyone else wants that and more too. It would probably be better for them if I just left them alone. For me, it can be delightful, disappointing, or embarrassing.
I know some people reading this have way more experience meeting famous people than I do. What is your advice? I've often heard that one should treat them just like anyone else. Unfortunately, I'm shy and awkward with strangers, so the way I would treat anyone else is to ignore or avoid them. Is that really the thing I should do here?
That would totally have been for me, of course, and not for them. I imagine it's gratifying for the small press guys who might not get as much love every minute of the con. I imagine that for most of the people I wanted to fanboy, though, it wouldn't have been anything special. It would be just one more fatbeard telling them they're awesome, when they've heard it so much that it's just meaningless noise to them.
John Cleese has said as much on his podcasts. He doesn't want people to tell him how awesome he is anymore. He wants to go about his business and not have people stop him all the time and want to tell him things, even if it's pure praise.
I don't have any urge to tell people they suck at comics, even when they do. I've bought some small press comics and been angry later that I wasted two or three bucks on a truly shitty piece of work, but I don't want to go confront them about it. I just know not to buy that in the future. I don't have the desire to be the guy who demands an apology for a bad comic from 1997.
I feel incomplete when I don't get to tell someone they're awesome, but most of the time it's just awkward when I do. I will now relate some examples of each.
Bill Sienkiewicz
This year, I happened by Bill Sienkiewicz's booth. I bought a book and a postcard and hoped to use the opportunity to gush. Nope, no deal. He was talking to someone else when the booth assistant handed him the stuff, and he didn't break conversational stride or even glance in my direction when he signed the items and handed them back to the assistant.
I really wanted to gush, too. I wanted to tell him that it was his art in Elektra: Assassin that hooked me into comics. I'd looked through comics before, but Elektra: Assassin is the one that made me see beyond the Superman, Archie, and Disney comics of my youth. (I was 14 at the time it came out, so a prime age for fandom.) It was the first comic that I spent my own money on, and the first one that I collected, protected, and adored. It was Sienkiewicz's striking watercolors that got me into the book, which got me into Frank Miller's writing, and from there it wasn't far to Alan Moore, John Byrne, Grant Morrison, small presses, and so on.
That's what I wanted to say: you made me love comics. I might have gotten into them anyway later, but you, sir, you made me love them right then in the summer when I was 14 and I was dragged to a comic shop and I'd never even heard of Stan Lee. I bought Elektra: Assassin because it was the most amazing comic I'd ever seen, and I still think it's the most visually awesome comic I've ever seen.
Of course, I didn't say any of that. What would it have mattered to him? As touching as that story is to me, he's probably met a thousand fans with their own stories about adoring him, and he's been doing this so long that it probably was more valuable to him to talk to that other guy than it would have been to hear me gush. Saying that stuff would have just been for me.
Douglas Paszkiewicz
I swear, I don't just have a thing for artists whose names end in -kiewicz.
At Comic-Con I made sure to swing by the Arsenic Lullaby booth. I bought a book, a zombie fetus figurine, and a zombie fetus luchador mask. (It's a little small on me, but that's OK, because I wanted to have it more than I wanted to wear it, if that makes sense.)
It went great! I was the only customer at that time, and we got to have an entertaining chat. He was just as funny in person as in his writing, and getting to talk to him for a few uninterrupted minutes was one of the high points of the con for me.
Scott McCloud
I'm also a big fan of Scott McCloud. I borrowed Understanding Comics from a college roommate back in the day, and now I have that as well as Reinventing Comics, Making Comics, and the collected Zot! Scott McCloud is one of the two big draws for me at Comic-Con, to the extent that I'll structure my day around getting to see his panels. (The other is Kevin Smith, but I'm never going to get to fanboy him, so not such an issue.)
It's one thing to pester a comics professional at Comic-Con, but quite another to do it out in the world. One time I was up in Simi Valley watching sexychicken being awesome in something (perhaps Oklahoma, but I don't recall) and I thought I recognized Scott McCloud in the front row. During the first half of the show, I kept glancing and thinking, "Is that him?"
During the intermission, I went up and asked, and indeed it was. I shook his hand, told him I loved his books, and realized I didn't have anything else to say to him. I felt awkward and embarrassed after the initial gush, and I still feel the flush of embarrassment when I think back on it.
What do you think?
I've met a few more gifted people at Comic-Con, but I usually find I don't have anything to say to them. "Uh, hi. You're really good at that thing you do." I buy their thing, tell them they're awesome, and move on.
I'm still conflicted. I want to interact with those people, to bask in their reflected light and be acknowledged for a moment, but I also know that everyone else wants that and more too. It would probably be better for them if I just left them alone. For me, it can be delightful, disappointing, or embarrassing.
I know some people reading this have way more experience meeting famous people than I do. What is your advice? I've often heard that one should treat them just like anyone else. Unfortunately, I'm shy and awkward with strangers, so the way I would treat anyone else is to ignore or avoid them. Is that really the thing I should do here?