Good lord the artist alleys

I’m too grown for this shit

And by “this shit” I mean getting stuff I don’t want. I’m grown and sexy. I have a garbage disposal installation on the books (I’d do it myself but the situation is cooked), my bills are on autopay, I got stocked shelves of my favorite books, zines, and DVDs, and I’ve both tossed and boxed away (and lost) tons of nerdy trinkets over the years. I simply don’t have the time, energy, or space for useless clutter. I see shiny things I want and if it ain’t food or improves my life in a meaningful way FUCK IT.

So I avoid keychains and buy rugs. I avoid pins and figurines and buy water bottles and can openers. It doesn’t mean I never get those trinkets, it just means I avoid them. I have, somehow, ended up in the customer category of “adult af” when it comes to my geek squad. I’m the guy skipping the cheapest thing on the menu because my stomach can’t handle it anymore. I’m the bitch buying that artistic knit anime rug that costs more than anything else at the con. I go to my 9-5 wearing the made-with-real-gold sword earrings because damn they looked good and will last a long time. I’m not rich. I’m just grown.

I’m buying the full color hardcover set. I’m buying the coins to purchase webcomic chapters (these are def a scam by the way) instead of pirating. I’m supporting the art because I can and because I couldn’t when I was younger. I’m not “healing my inner child” or whatever, I’m healing me. Young me could only afford the keychains and cheap shirts and that’s fine. I was a kid after all. I did what I could to support the arts and every dollar counts. Now that I’m the person on the higher end, I feel like I’ve successfully become part of the cycle. We are all part of The Cycle.

The Cycle

The most terrifying part of becoming part of a cycle isn’t the hyper awareness of time and aging (although that sucks), it’s becoming uncomfortable with yourself and how you’re changing. And, again, I don’t just mean developing lactose intolerance and starting menopause or losing your kneecaps, I’m talking about seeing the world rapidly shift before your eyes and wondering how the Hell did I end up this way? Are you becoming your parents? Are you feeling out of touch with technology? Are you cursing the next generation? Are you suspicious of the world?

Are you realizing who you’re becoming? Are you going to yell at the clouds when you get that new cane, old man? Are you going to tell the kids to get off your lawn?

Is any of that even bad?

Maybe the old man was yelling at the clouds because he found a healthy outlet for frustration, and found it didn’t matter if neighbors thought him weird.

Maybe the person telling kids to get off their lawn is a gardener who knows the sprouts will die if those brats stomp on it at this time of year.

Maybe we should be learning exciting new shit and not fearing it. Isn’t it cool to have been born, existed in your unique decade, and be alive to see what the future is bringing? So what if you don’t know how to use the Google Datapixeltheifscrappercensorship Goggles V. 2045, who fucking cares? No one expects you to, old man. Act your age and stop giving a fuck. Act your age and retire and start a cool community book club. Act your age and have some cool fucking stories to share with the world and have a little damn wisdom already.

Anyway, artist alleying while Black

Now that I’ve very poorly explained my state of mind, I’m going to bitch about something.

Being Black is fucking great. It is. Black people love to sit on both sides of the fence. “AHHH MAN I LOVE MY PEOPLE WE’RE SO FRIENDLY AND CHILL AND EXPRESSIVE” and also “AAAHH DAMN RACISM REALLY SUCKS MAN! AND SOMETIMES IT BE YOUR OWN!” Both are valid. Both are true! Nothing I’m going to say in this blog is going to new to most people. You’re probably terminally online to even be reading this (no shade). However, as someone who is grown and sexy and doesn’t buy useless trinkets, it makes attending an artist alley even rougher.

What the fuck I look like going to my Blackass room and having 50 posters of pale people (it’s Link) on my walls? It’s cringe. It’s weird. I’m too self-aware to surround myself with it. I know too much about the world now to do it. When I was young and deep into anime, I had no problem with it. Were my parents concerned? Well, yeah, they were concerned about everything I was doing. But they were especially concerned as Black parents about why their kid was surrounded by (what they thought was) white media. This wasn’t them being super pro-Black, it was their experience of existing while Black in the United States of America. There are countless horror stories of Black kids in my generation growing up with self-hate. It’s one of the most successful propaganda campaigns of all time whose impact are felt to this day, to this hour. Its impacts are so profound that slavery still exists, its impacts so widespread that I’m making this blog post in 2025 talking about it.

Someone wrote the N-word on a bus stop near here. That sucked. But really it sucks to suck for them. Imagine being so pathetic.

But you know what really sucks?

Being grown and sexy and ready to spend tons of money to support at the inclusive, supportive artist alley but feeling like I have to make “sacrifices” by buying the brown witch pin because, damn, I just couldn’t find anyone else darker than a tan. The brown witch pin is cute! I will wear it proudly! But maybe I ain’t want a fucking pin. And I ain’t want a keychain either. Maybe I want the expensive brown witch tapestry. Maybe I want the brown witch mousepad.

None exist. I am forced to stan the brown witch pin.

I am forced to be grateful.

A Black friend of mine saw Sinners in theaters and wasn’t blown away. I was lowkey offended. But you know what else I was? In awe. I was in awe that she did not feel the need to stan something just because it hit all our critera for being Noteworthy (big buget, great actors, not a slave movie, actually good cinema). And although she’s super fucking wrong and should in fact stan Sinners, the fact she felt there was a choice was incredible in itself.

So this is what I mean about ‘this sucks.’ Society is not there yet because many of us, admitted or not, still feel guilt and obligation about supporting Black-owned businesses or those who make us feel seen at all. We’re still the backbone of Black and brown artists because our paler compatriots feel like they have a choice. There’s no difference for them between getting the brown witch or the green witch. They can just pick the cuter witch. And maybe the brown witch is the cuter witch. But damn, I still wanted to look around.

Thanks to all the artists who make the brown witch pin though. I will be there if you ever come out with a brown witch tapestry. And I’ll tell my friends about it too.