Is Cosplay Better than College?
Are scissors and the glue gun mightier than the note-taking pen?
In the early 1980s, when I lived in Japan, I sometimes observed (and frequently heard the noise made by) gatherings of lads in leather jackets and lasses in poodle skirts. It did not take me long to realize that these enthusiasts for Brylcreem and pony tails, some of whom went so far as to organize drag races, were re-enacting scenes from the film Grease. I failed, however, to predict that these late-night hooleys would evolve into the hobby, enjoyed by hundreds of thousands of people around the world, we now call ‘cosplay’.1
Towards the end of that decade, I designed a ten-month curriculum for the ‘gifted and talented’ program of the US Marine Corps. To borrow a phrase from an especially wise observer, this program served to ‘sheepdip its students in history’. In language less pastoral (and, alas, much more bureaucratic), I wanted students to step into the shoes of leaders who, at various points in the past, designed sophisticated institutional solutions for complex organizational problems.
Looking back at both of these experiences - what might be called the bookends of the first decade of my professional life - I see remarkable similarities. Both the officers studying the structures wrought by Winfield Scott and the cosplay kids of Koza were immersing themselves in the particulars of a time and place other their own. Moreover, as they delved more deeply into the details of their respective ‘significant others’, they honed their powers of observation and empathy, as well as their appreciation of days gone by.
In the decades that followed, the way that I taught moved, albeit in fits and starts, in the direction of cosplay. First, ‘what did Winfield Scott do?’ became ‘if you had been Winfield Scott, what would you have done?’ Then, in the fullness of time, that counterfactual conditional gave way to ‘General Scott, what is your plan?’
There is, of course, more to cosplay than role-play. The people who dressed up as Danny, Sandy, Rizzo, and Kenickie put a lot of work into their costumes. Indeed, in those days, when the internet was but a twinkle in Al Gore’s eyes, the kids who re-enacted scenes from Grease had to do a lot of research, not merely into the appearance of their costumes, but also into the techniques of making them.
These characteristics of cosplay can also be found in its kissing cousin from Clio’s Country. Historical re-enactors spend a great deal of time, trouble, and treasure to ensure that the clothing they wear, as well as the gear they carry, bears the closest possible resemblance to the real things that used to be. Some even go as far - shout out to Townsends - as to research, cook, and eat dishes enjoyed in the time and place they are ‘interpreting’.
While schoolish historians dismiss work done by living history hobbyists with the meanest words in their active vocabularies, those who, for the love of learning, replicate the clothing, tools, and food of days gone by, wear ‘amateur’ and ‘antiquarian’ as badges of honor. Chances are, moreover, that, in the course of strutting their stuff at a re-enactment, battlefield park, or Renaissance Faire, they will foster greater interest in the serious and sustained study of the past than the lectures of the professor who spent a decade writing The Critical Construction of Constructive Critical Theory in Weimar Posemuckel, 1927-1928.
In much the same way, the cosplayer who devotes the first fruits of her leisure hours to her impersonation of a character from an anime program will, I suspect, learn as much, if not more about the nuts and bolts of contemporary Japanese culture, than the student enrolled in a college class on the subject.
Consider, if you will, the case of a class offered, in the very recent past, by Sarah Lawrence College.2 (In sharp contrast to the aforementioned dissertation, which is a product of my jaded imagination, the example that follows is as real as a tuition bill.)
While no longer the most expensive undergraduate institution in the United States, Sarah Lawrence currently charges a little more than $11,000 for a 5-credit class. In the fall of 2022, a student could earn those credits by obtaining a passing grade in Introduction to Japanese Anime, a class that gave her an opportunity to ‘discuss anime as an intermedial consumer art form deeply connected to other media, such as manga (comic books), toys, video games, literature, music, traditional art, and live-action film.’3
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‘Cosplay’ results from a merger of the words ‘costume’ and ‘play’.
At this point, I feel obliged to revive a very old joke. ‘How many Sarah Lawrence Students does it take to change a light bulb?’ ‘I don’t know, but I’m sure that they all got academic credit for doing it.’
For a collection of comparable course descriptions, visit ‘College Classes on Anime/Manga: Fall 2022 Update’ on the website Anime and Manga Studies.
One trip to any comic, anime or SciFi convention will demonstrate the amazing range and craftsmanship of cosplay, particularly at ComicCon in San Diego.
Towards the end of that decade, I designed a ten-month curriculum for the ‘gifted and talented’ program of the US Marine Corps.
Okay, I can't resist.... Are gifted and talented Marines those that don't eat the crayons and know the difference between a boat and a ship?