Cosplay Quotes

Oh...I remember you...You're that weird cat-eared cosplay-kid! You called me a cospl... How'd you get all the way up to the third-floor window... Because I'm a cat.

You're that weird cat-eared cosplay-kid!

I just cosplay being an adult.

Rumor holds that Sabine trapped him to use as a sex slave, tormenting him until he agreed to wed her. Then he made a slave of her.” She blinked at him. “Like those are bad things?” At his look of astonishment, she said, “They enjoyed tons of bondage, some master/sub stuff, a real-live dungeon with shackles, role and cosplay. Spankings and repeated orgasm denial. You know, typical BDSM. But don’t worry, they were doing it before it became cool.

Then you check for paraphernalia, always bearing in mind that the line between cosplay, magic practice, and niche sex play can get pretty blurry.

I saw him today too. Twice. He was at my school. Tall shirtless dude cosplaying a decomposing demon Minotaur.

She’s texting every ten minutes, trying to convince her about joining a cosplay contest tomorrow evening. Kusha replies ‘NO,’ silencing her for a day.

But all I had to show for my efforts was an impressive familiarity with obscure Sailor Moon trivia and an inexplicable desire to cosplay as Tuxedo Mask (which I may or may not have acted upon in the solitude and privacy of my own home).

I try to go out of my way to connect with each person as much as I possibly can despite the long lines an stifling crowds and people in cosplay with fakes weapons who accidentally poke people in the eyes with rubber broadswords. Because that single moment you get with someone you admire is so important, I never want anyone to walk away feeling mortified like I generally do when meeting someone I fan over.

There are garments in all of our wardrobes we don't wear because we don't dare. We bought the jumpsuit for when we were feeling brave and it turns out we never are. A friend of mine had a party and asked us to wear that thing we already own that we never dare wear and it was the most wonderful night. One woman wore her bridal gown. Others wore more cleavage than clothes. Some wore glam rock shoes and velvet capes. Others, tight jeans and crop tops. Some, cosplay cos times. We were all given permission to say yes to our most daring selves. The one we leave hanging up at home. You don't have to be queer to leave the best part of yourself in the closet. Most of us are doing it all the time,

Our best analyst thinks it's not a tactical design. Something for mall ninjas.... Young men who dress to feel they'll be mistaken for having special capability. A species of cosplay, really. Endemic. Lots of boys are playing soldier now. The men who run the world aren't, and neither are the boys most effectively bent on running it next. Or the ones who're actually having to be soldiers, of course. But many of the rest have gone gear-queer, to one extent or another.

In pursuing a ‘way,’ Japanese typically move beyond an interest in craftsmanship to a kind of sacred search for the ultimate.

He looked like someone cosplaying Eric Estrada except, yeah, way cuter.

Because you look like Thor and Loki had a hot slashfic kid who cosplays a goth Viking.

Caution: Accusing cosplayers of kinky motivations will often yield scorn. Avoid doing so, unless you are dressed as Link.

​When the world makes you a Villain, go buy a cloak and cosplay it for every ounce of joy you can get.

But don’t come around here with your Good Samaritan cosplay bullshit.

Cosplay. Why you just said the magic word!

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go out and greet those wonderful creatures and say a few nice words in a language invented by Tolkein. I've practiced, but I sound like Chewbacca making a New Year's speech.

She ignores my hilarious joke and continues surveying my room, her fingers playing with the chunky turquoise necklace that sits above her abomination of a coral-colored sweater. She was probably going for “Capable Mom Back in the Workforce!” but the effect is more “Middle-Aged Little Mermaid Cosplayer.

Every bad person is a little good. And every good person is a little bad.

Halloween is the only time people can become what they want to be without getting fired.

These women do not stop to ponder the consequences of their claims to be playing with the boys. They do not consider the full male experience, but cosplay the particular parts the system wants them to play. She works hard for the corporation. She has meaningless sex. She acts tough. She isn't afraid to fight. She then wonders why women are depressed more, committing suicide more often, and why one in four are on mental medication. Playing at just a few parts of the male role drives women to medication, drinking, and despair. It is womans ignorance of masculinity that they would ever dare to claim she was performing a father's role. No man would claim to do a mother's role, for he knows he could never be a mother. A dog may jump around and act like a cat, but it is still a dog.

Uh, now let me tell you about what's new. We found another set of drawings, always nice, AND A FOXY HEAD! Which we think could be authentic! Then again, it might just be another crappy cosplay. And we found a Desk fan, very old school, metal though, so watch the fingers! Uh, heh! Uhm, right now the place is basically just, you know, FLASHING LIGHTS and SPOOKY PROPS. I honestly thought we'd have more by now, uh so if we don't have anything really cool by next week, we may have to suit you up in a Freddy suit, and make you walk around saying: "BOOO!" Hehe. Uh, but you know like I said, were trying to track down, a good lead right now. Uh, some guy who helped design one of the buildings, said there was like, an extra room that got boarded up..? Or something like that.  So! Were gonna take a peak, and see what we can find. Uh, for now just get comfortable with the new

Pop culture. Nobody does bullshit better than us. Right? China took over manufacturing. And the Middle East has us on fossil fuels. That's just geography and politics. We're a nation of whacko immigrants. Scavengers and con men. We crossed the ocean on faith, stole some land and stone-cold made up a whole country out of nothing but balls and bullshit. Superhero comics got invented by crazy genius Jews who showed up and revamped the refugee experience into a Man of Steel sent from Krypton with a secret identity.

He’d uncovered one of the early subcult melds, the first internet generation to carve their identity from a global menu of counterculture. Style-wise, they borrowed saggy hip-hop gear from West Coast rappers, cartoonish Gyaru makeup from the Japanese cosplay scene, and angular Emo hairstyles from the Washington, DC, post-hard-core crowd. Their attitudes crossed anything-goes California bisexuality with edgy Brit-punk sneer, a combination that led to a completely novel form of rebellion: wet-kissing strangers on the street.

Comme beaucoup de gens élevés trop strictement par leurs parents, Henri de Longueville avait acquis avec l'argent et la reconnaissance sociale la vanité d'être vulgaire. Il la goûtait comme une friandise, comme un plaisir défendu qu'il ne se refusait jamais, un désagrément qu'il imposait aux autres avec délectation.

Phoenix." Tezuka's unfinished masterpiece. "Phoenix" is the Christ of manga's ode to change... Resurrection... Since I am such a noted manga scholar, you might think my life has always been a roaring success... But the truth is that I'm forever attempting to be reborn out of the flames of my own misery and painfully obvious worthlessness.

One TV show I’m not a fan of is this show called Football. This show has been going on for fifty-four seasons, and honestly, I don’t see the appeal. Episodes are repetitive, the writing is confusing, the cinematography is flat, there are too many characters to keep track of, and I can’t relate to any of their struggles. Also, for some reason, they all want to hold this oddly shaped ball. I must have missed the episode where they explained why it’s so important. Football episodes always have a huge live studio audience at the tapings. The audience is so big that a lot of times they can be seen in the shots—which I wouldn’t mind if the audience wasn’t screaming every time the show started to get interesting. Whenever Football airs the season finale, I get invited to viewing parties and people cosplay as their favorite character. I always go because of the free food, but I’m never caught up in the show, so it’s hard for me to get invested. Oh well, at least the commercials are entertaining.

The price of privilege is the moral duty to act when one sees another person treated unfairly. And the least that a person in the dominant caste can do is not make the pain any worse. If each of us could truly see and connect with the humanity of the person in front of us, search for that key that opens the door to whatever we may have in common, whether cosplay or Star Trek, or the loss of a parent, it could begin to affect how we see the world and others in it. Perhaps change the way we hire or even vote. Each time a person reaches across caste and makes a connection, it helps to break the back of caste. Multiplied by millions in a given day, it becomes the flap of a butterfly wing that shifts the air and builds to a hurricane across an ocean. With our current ruptures, it is not enough to not be racist or sexist. Our times call for being pro-African American, pro-woman, pro-Latino, pro-Asian, pro-Indigenous, pro-humanity in all its manifestations. In our era, it is not enough to be tolerant.

Perdu and Cuneo gaped at creatures that seemed to have sprung from Middle Earth or Winterfell. Such is the power of books.

Samy was Samantha. She was wearing a white linen dress. She also had on hobbit feet, huge and extremely hairy ones.

These women do not stop to ponder the consequences of their claims to be playing with the boys. They do not consider the full male experience, but cosplay the particular parts the system wants them to play. She works hard for the corporation. She has meaningless sex. She acts tough. She isn't afraid to fight. She then wonders why women are depressed more, committing suicide more often, and why one in four are on mental medication.

If I died in a freak accident while hurrying through Shibuya's notorious "scramble" intersection, where thousands of pedestrians crossed from all directions at once when the WALK light shifted to green, I hoped whoever performed my funeral service would know I died satisfied. Shibuya felt like being in the center of the vertical world, with tall buildings flashing advertisements, neon lights, and level after level of stores and restaurants visible through glass windows. So many people, so hurried, so much to look at and experience. Fashionista women wearing skinny pants with stiletto pumps riding bikes down crowded sidewalks. Harajuku girls with pink hair and crazy outfits. Loud izakaya bars where men's conversations and laughter spilled onto the street, and women walking by wearing kimonos with white socks tucked into flip-flops. Young people strutting around dressed in kosupure ("cosplay," Nik translated) outfits from their favorite anime, like it was Halloween every day here. TOO MUCH FUN. I didn't want to die, but if I did, I would tell the souls I met in the afterlife: Don't feel bad about my premature end. I saw it all in my short time down in the upworld of Tokyo.

Flynne’s expression as she took it all in. “Cosplay zone,” said Lev, “Eighteen sixty-seven. We’d be fined for the helicopter, if it didn’t have cloaking, or if it made a sound.” Netherton tapped the requisite quadrant of palate, returning to Ash’s feed, to find them stationary over morning traffic, already so thick as to be almost unmoving. Cabs, carts, drays, all drawn by horses. Lev’s father and grandfather owned actual horses, apparently. Were said to sometimes ride them, though certainly never in Cheapside. His mother had shown him the shops here as a child. Silver-plated tableware, perfumes, fringed shawls, implements for ingesting tobacco, fat watches cased in silver or gold, men’s hats. He’d been amazed at how copiously the horses shat in the street, their droppings swept up by darting children, younger than he was, who he’d understood were no more real than the horses, but who seemed as real,

Although a toned body was important in the 1980s, the nation was again distracted by even more ridiculous hair and clothing. I was at my thinnest at this point in time. Also, I’d gained four inches in bangs height. And yet, I squandered my small, perky ass on oversized khaki Bermuda shorts, loafers with argyle socks that I pulled up to my knees, and crewneck wool sweaters with tie-on lace collars. Comedian Karen Kilgariff, of My Favorite Murder, described the 1980s aptly as a time when young girls dressed like they were doing middle-aged secretary cosplay. Barbara had become my style icon.

In a consumerist culture, people rebel by buying a different brand, and instead of staging a real rebellion, which requires secret planning and stealthy strikes, American pseudo-radicals are constantly fingering themselves as soon as they hit the sidewalk. It's a fashion thing. In this illusionistic and narcissistic society, it's imperative that you look a certain way if you want to be slotted into one of the socially acceptable subgroups. It's all cosplay, all the time, for even the nerd look has been commodified and imbued with irony.

I think back to the parties Aimee and I planned, and how all those tuxedos and ball gowns weren't really that much different, costumewise, than some of these getups. Not as elaborate or out there, to be sure, but not so different. After all, is an hour at Bobbi Brown for the perfect party makeup that much of a stretch from an hour putting on a Klingon forehead or Spock ears? Is searching for the perfect dress, shoes, bag, wrap, jewelry so much different from the perfect jumpsuit, ray gun, ammo belt, and communicator? And unlike most of the regular parties we did, these people are way open to each other and the experience. There don't seem to be gaggles of people standing back to judge the other gaggles. And while a lot of the subsets do seem to flock together, Star Wars over here, Lord of the Rings over there, I haven't overheard one snarky comment about someone's costume. None of the women here, in all of their variety of shapes and sizes, seem to be doing anything other than squeeing at each other and praising how gorgeous they are. And everyone seems to just own themselves. I've been at hundreds of events looking at a sea of black dresses because everyone thinks it is slimming. But today I've seen a riot of color and skin. Including a 350-pound raven-haired vixen in a chain-mail corset, with cleavage you could park a hovercraft in, surrounded by a coterie of clearly smitten men. I wanted to high-five her.

Do we want to dress as townies, or we want our heavy loadout like we’re cosplaying Fallout 4?

Gotham City made criminals via its own special recipe—one part felony, one part cosplay—

Yeah, that was how they rolled in Gotham City, the world’s biggest cult, where everyone was brainwashed to worship Batman and hate anybody he hated. Anyone who didn’t was declared criminal or crazy and ended up in Iron Heights or Arkham Asylum while Batman flitted around town, cosplaying and ego-tripping.

Disguise a sword?" she asked. "Like cosplay?" "I'm not saying tie ribbons to it and pretend we're in a parade, but you said it could change shape. Perhaps it could turn into something smaller? Pocket-size maybe? I don't know, like a pen or something.

Mabel was well over a foot shorter than Jay. At the bakery Christmas party, she'd glanced with loathing at the limbo pole, walked straight underneath it, and headed for the bar. She still managed to look down her nose at him now. "Valuable life lesson. If you feel comfortable shoveling handfuls of stolen sweets into your pockets, I might feel comfortable shoveling you headfirst into a pipe." Jay raised his brows at Sylvie. "Have we considered moving Mabel's workstation so she's slightly farther away from the paying customers? Perhaps about"---he made a pinching motion with his finger and thumb--- "two post codes to the left?" "Have we considered getting a haircut, so we look slightly less like an aging rockstar?" Mabel asked conversationally. "It's swell of you to take over potions class while Sylvie's back on telly, Axl Rose, but you don't have to go full wizard cosplay.

For such outcasts you nerds always be shittin’ on each other.

. One of the very few positive memories I had of school was my tiny group of friends. We’d sit in the hall before class and exchange notebooks full of fanfiction and sketchbooks full of fanart. Like so many kids who thought they’d stay friends forever, we drifted apart after graduation. Those geeky days behind most of them, yet I was stuck in the same mindset.

See? Verti gets it... Sometimes being a fan means demanding the work be of a certain quality level.

I actually believe games are important. The whole world thinks the only true, real reward is getting paid. But games know the only real reward is just feeling good. Enjoying yourself. Play is for serious.

I used to get t-shirts solely based on what was printed on the shirt. If I liked the Secret of Mana game, I bought a Secret of Mana t-shirt. Then one day my mom said: "Think about the fit. The fit. The fit is key." And my whole life changed.

We find happiness in a kaleidoscope of stories: in books, in comics, in dance, in podcasts, in film and TV shows and video games. We find happiness in cosplaying as our favorite characters, and going to meet-and-greets with our favorite celebrities, and Dimension Door-ing onto the back of an Ancient Black Dragon, and finger-gunning Magic Missiles with our murder-hobo friends in a weekly session of Dungeons and Dragons. We all deserve to be happy, and love what we love, and be unironically enthusiastic about it. There is a magic in fandom that there rarely is anywhere else—where you can raise a TV show from the dead, and un-fridge a favorite character, and write fanfic that becomes canon. It is the kind of magic that brings our far corners of the world together.

Were the future leaders of the United States who had won coveted tickets to the highest echelons of the neoliberal meritocracy — the ones who were supposed to take over the newspapers, high political offices, and corporations — really demonstrating in the quads not about the military-industrial complex, wealth inequality, or America's endless foreign wars, but cosplay?

We'd been trying so hard to look like our heroes, we'd kinda forgotten what a hero really is. Capes, masks, powers — sure, that's great and all, but in the end ... it's just window dressing. Like Emile says: clothes don't make the man!

He imagined a reality show host selling Los Angeles to a live audience: “Are you a surfer dude hitting the waves? You’ll fit right in. How about a hipster starting a gluten-free cookie brand or a new church? Of course. And is there a place for a young family raising small children? You bet. How about a retired couple wanting to play bingo all day? Indeed. High-powered executives? Yes! Lawyers, doctors, agents, and managers? Best place to thrive. Gym buffs, starlets, chefs, yoga teachers, students, writers, healers, misfits, trainers, nurses? Right this way, please. Are you into cosplay, improv, porn, Roller Derby, voyeurism, cemetery movie screenings, food truck drag racing, AA, relapse, rehab, open mic, plastic surgery, wine tastings, biker meetups, karaoke, clubbing, S and M, or escape rooms? Come on over!” Every race, religion, nationality, gender, sexual orientation, and food preference was well represented within Los Angeles County, and this is what Oscar loved most about his city;

Freedom that is gained at another person’s expense isn’t freedom; it is just diverted oppression. A lot of people who say they want freedom really just want to cosplay as oppressors by excluding and harming the people they believe are beneath them. We don’t get free by lording our power over others. Freedom is a collective endeavor that requires us to imagine a different world than the one we presently inhabit. As we imagine freedom, it is critical that we imagine freedom for all people.

They revoked that after you made a Hello Kitty gender-bend cosplay costume.

And there are also some trust-fund kids cosplaying poverty. I am coining the term blanketforters,

Jesus Christ, an umbrella, katana? Really?” Nathan growls at Blaine. “You brought some nunchucks too while you’re out here trying to cosplay as Jackie Chan? No wonder Milo left you.” “Yet you know about the nunchucks,” Blaine muses. “Who do you think taught him?

Nakano Shoten

I love anime, but anime makes it so hard... It's like a boy I knew. "I love you, so why do you have to be so dumb?" Hahaha.

If each of us could truly see and connect with the humanity of the person in front of us, search for that key that opens the door to whatever we may have in common, whether cosplay or Star Trek or the loss of a parent, it could begin to affect how we see the world and others in it, perhaps change the way we hire or even vote. Each time a person reaches across caste and makes a connection, it helps to break the back of caste. Multiplied by millions in a given day, it becomes the flap of a butterfly wing that shifts the air and builds to a hurricane across an ocean.

Bec messaged me earlier in the week to ‘suggest’ I borrow Annie’s bubblegum-coloured Scanlan Theodore dress, but because I’m not a size six and because wearing pink makes me look like I’m cosplaying Jigglypuff,

Women do cosplay, of course, and thank god for that, but they don’t go to the local coffee shop dressed as cheerleaders, fuck god for that.

In seconds an 'up' elevator came rushing toward them. The doors opened, revealing a mostly-empty interior. “Sometimes,” he said, “you have to go up to go down.” Liv followed him in, marveling at the scene below them. She could see the full scope of Dragon Con from her bird's eye vantage, the floor a living mass of bodies. Tiny toy-sized people in cosplay moved in bright splotches of color ten stories down. And it wasn't just one section. The atrium level was equally packed, the hallways leading to ballrooms around the hotel teaming with people. With an unsettling rush, the elevator sprang upward, the figures shrinking into specks. Liv's stomach contracted and she pulled back from the glass. They were incredibly high.

Xander stood at the end of the bed, hands on hips, the jacket she'd helped him sew thrown open, a gold-threaded waistcoat glimmering underneath. He was the Regency hero today, but she didn't feel like being saved.

She stared, wide eyed as glass-walled elevators shot up fifty-two floors like pods in a launch tube. Everything - from the glaringly bright carpet swirling with psychedelic lines; to the hotel's open ceiling ringed by storey after storey of balconies, the distant roof so high it made her head spin; to the people decked out in cosplay - was torn from a science fiction novel. It seemed Liv had spent the last eighteen years in search of her people, and in one sudden explosion of fate, they'd all been brought together in this place in time. Her eyes filled with tears as a sudden awareness filled her. They were all nerds.

I'm very cute, you know. And I'm not sure you've heard, but I have five thousand pounds a year. I've taken a place in Boulder for the season. Miss Dashwood and her sister will vouch for my parentage.

Um," I point at his cape and gadgets. "You know you'll stand out, right?" He frowns at me. "You're none better," he says. I look down at my very medieval looking white gown and the two swords I carry. At least Yami is hidden as a dragon necklace. "You're right. I won't blend in either." He freezes. "Right, well, I'll just say it's Halloween." "But it's not." He raises an eyebrow.  "What do you mean?" "You can't just say it's Halloween. It has to be the actual day." "Really? Your human customs are so strange." He turns to the sink to wash his hands. I sigh. "Okay, we can say we're part of a fantasy game reenactment. Cosplay. That should give us a good cover." "Cosplay?" he says, holding the word in his mouth like a foreign thing he's afraid to taste. "Yeah, it's when humans dress up like characters from their favorite… " Ace's eyes are vacant and he looks bored. I sigh again. "Nevermind. Just let me do the talking if anyone questions our choice of clothing." He washes his hands, then gestures at the door. "After you." I lead, entering a place I once called a second home. Everything is familiar, everything makes me feel welcome. Jesus eyeing the naked sculptures. The Neon signs. The baby bottles filled with milk for customers' coffee. "Oh, Ari, sweetie. I didn't see you come in." Sheri runs up to me, wrapping me in a hug. "It's been so long. How have you been? And who's this dashing young man?" Ace raises his cape in front of his eyes. "It's Halloween." "No… no…" I shake my head and pull his cape down. "He's a friend. I'm just showing him the sights.

I know all their costumes by heart, and one day I'll be making-" "Costumes?! That's what you're into, their outfits? Oh God... you're not one of those cosplay chicks, are you?

Here is the truth about being a nerd. You don't have to be an expert in something, you just have to be passionate. There is no test and no application. Only a love of a thing that is the best.

she makes a sound with her throat like she’s annoyed or going to throw up and then changes it over to a 1990s rock oldies channel.

Nerdy things sell out fast. Being a nerd is no longer a rare or outsider thing; only being your particular kind of nerd is. Being a nerd is mainstream with hard-core nerd edges.

There’s no entrance exam. If you say you’re a geek, you are a geek.

How come it’s so hard to come to someone’s rescue? How come it’s so hard to come to your own rescue?

Well, on the bright side, if he did start to fall apart, he could do some convincing cosplays on top of being able to start calling people ‘smooth skin’.

They look like they’re cosplaying—dressing up like a character from a movie, anime, book, video game, etc.—but I like it. I’m getting serious Ouran High School Host Club vibes again. “If Church says he has an idea, it’s a good one.