Tiffany, 23, NYC.
Jumper - Nasty Gal // Heels - United Nude
Photo By: Osha Waiters
David Walker takes us back to a glimpse of his experiences at San Diego Comic Con 2014. Pretty good read.
So, there was this not-at-SDCC superhero costume party.
My original plan was to make the most half-assed civilian-clothes Cyclops costume ever: plaid pants if I could find ‘em on short notice, khaki slacks otherwise; button-down shirt; maybe a tie; one of my embarrassingly numerous pairs of red sunglasses.
I don’t generally dress up as fictional characters with whom I identify; the discrepancies bug me too much. I dress up as ones whose outfits I like, or who look and/or dress like me. But this was easy. And the plainclothes version—not trying to copy a specific look from the comics—meant discrepancies weren’t as big a deal.
The built-in gag, of course, was that I would then stand in the corner and look vaguely uncomfortable, which is pretty much my M.O. at parties anyway.
And then I was pants-hunting on Tuesday, and I found this blue polo shirt, and I thought, oh, wait, I could do that one Cyclops #2 outfit. Hell, I already basically have that haircut. And look like a teenage boy.
I shot off a text to my friend Benja: “I realize this is a completely insane question, but is there a chance you could help me make a Cyclops visor between now and Friday?”
He could. Did.
Friday night, I put the whole thing together, and I took some photos, and it was so damn easy. That awkward-teenager body language. Hands in pockets; shoulders up, hunched a little; always on guard. It helps that my face is shaped pretty similarly to the way Dauterman draws Scott’s, but the expressions in the photos are all mine.
Here’s the thing: Dressing up as this awkward motherfucker was basically license to—for the first time I can remember—act like myself at a party. To just kinda run with the body language and facial expressions—or lack of expressions—I’m usually trying desperately to tamp down. Not to worry about what to do with my face when someone else was talking.
The visor made eye contact a nonissue.
On one hand: yes, it’s absolutely a costume. On the other hand: details aside, this is how I look when you aren’t looking. This is how I stand. This is what I do with my hands, my face, the angle of my head. Take away the visor, and this is a lot closer to me: what most people see only if I’m tired or upset enough to drop the act.
My favorite costumes often involve masks: the Question, the Wanderer, Dapper Astronaut. I like the freedom of relative anonymity; more, I like the social buffer, the luxury of getting to pay attention to things without having to worry about eye contact or what to do with my face. It’s the freedom of sunglasses, magnified exponentially.
Movement—well, it’s not like I move like myself most of the time anyway. Adapting to walk and stand like someone else—Montoya’s swagger, the Wanderers’ glide, Dapper Astronaut’s disheveled slump—wasn’t a big deal.
But Cyclops—at least, this version—stands like me. In theory, moves like me. That’s what sells the costume, more than the outfit, more even than the visor: all the things my mom tells me not to do in photos.
There’s an image I work very hard to sell: shoulders down, head up, face forward. Confident, crisp, detached, a stylish sort of disheveled. I dress for it. I practice facial expressions in the mirror. I mirror other people’s faces. In photos, in conversation, I do Spockface a lot—one eyebrow raised, one end of my mouth quirked subtly in a lopsided not-quite-smile—because it’s one I know I can pull off with relative consistency, because it fits the brand.
It’s not a lie, exactly—more, curation. It’s the same thing I do on social media, in my writing, as I move from context to context, sphere to sphere. It’s so habitual that I forget how much work it takes.
Until—for a night—I stop.
I have to say this is completely legit - someone tried to steal her handbag and she simply went “Fuck this- *suplex*”
someone teach me this pweeze-ooc
Ok Ladies, here’s the info on this move.
We are blessed with a low center of gravity. This means that when we get ahold of someone and tip over backward like that, it’s easy peasy for us to do. Especially on a guy. Think of it like a fulcum and lever: they’re the lever, we’re the fulcrum, and because their center of gravity is up in their chest, instead of in their pelvis, when we get down low and lean back, whupsy there they tip right over.
Now, here’s the real deal on that particular move. Check out how this gif end, with the guy’s head on the floor like that? How his torso seems straight up and down, his head and neck on the floor, all his body weight and the momentum of having been tossed over her shoulder?
Yeah, he’s pretty messed up from that. In the really real world, if you do that move correctly, toss your whole body into it, seriously oomph it up and give that mugger a throw, you can snap his neck.
All that said, here’s how you do it!
This is something you do fast, ladies. Move quickly and with assurance, and don’t worry about whether you’re strong enough to do it or not: you are. This is about physics, not muscle.
Get low, bend your knees and hips. Our strength is largly concentrated in our lower bodies, and when we put our knees and thighs into a move, we bring some of the largest muscles in the human body to bear. You’d be surprised what you can move with your legs.
When she got low on him, her right arm was around his waist, her shoulder roughly at or under his ass, her left arm wrapped around his left leg. Feet shoulder width apart for a nice stable base, big deep breath in, and lift just a bit while falling backwards. It doesn’t take much strength but it will really mess with the dude’s day. Landing on your head will at the very very least knock you silly for a minute.
Interestingly, we can use these same basic principles to ruin a guy’s day if he’s the one to grab us! Imagine, if you will, mugger dude runs up behind you and bear hugs you in preparation for dragging you into the alley. Scary, right? Yep.
If he lifts you too fast, and you find your feet off the ground, kick him in the shins, scrape your shoes down his legs, aim for the knees and his feet. Toss your head back and head butt him. Bite him. Squirm. Do what it takes to get your feet back on the ground.
Feet on the ground, grab his arms and hold on to them. Don’t let him get away, because this move, ladies, will put him down and out, and if he moves away he may go for a distance weapon, or start using his fists. Hold onto his arms and keep him in close.
Again, feet shoulder width apart. Use your booty and hips now, like you’re trying to hit his not-so-manly bits with your ass, get your hips back, bend your knees and flex your hips. If he’s shortish, you should at this point have picked him up and be balancing him on your back. If he’s tall, you’re now in position to put a crimp in his style in a big way.
Tuck your head to your chest and roll forward, just like you did when you were a kid. Flip yourself forward and let gravity do the rest. You will have your head tucked down, aiming to land on the upper back of one shoulder; he won’t. This means he’ll land on his face, with the full force of his own body weight behind it as well as any momentum you’ve built up. You may very well land on top of him too.
From here, get up, run like hell towards a light source while yelling “help, fire, call 911 (or whatever emergency services number exists in your country)”
Remember, ladies, with just a little understanding of comparative anatomy and physics, you too can put a man on the ground and seriously mess up his day. But then, that’s what he was planning to do to you, so fair’s fair.
No offense to Sam…but, this is the Captain America and Nomad that I wouldn’t mind seeing every month.
HELLO MAILMAN, THIS IS DOG. I AM HERE TO ASSIST MY HUMAN IN FETCHING THE MAIL. WOULD YOU BE SO KIND AND INSERT ALL ENVELOPES INTO MY MOUTH? THANK YOU, SIR. HAVE A LOVELY DAY. LOOK, HUMAN! I HAS MAIL!
I’m pretty sure I’ve reblogged this before and certain I should reblog it againHowgoodinthestacksgets mail
this is now my favorite photoset in the entire world.
i really like looking at google image searches for “firemen rescuing cats” or something because you get super cute pictures like
AND THEN THERE’S THIS ONE
"THAT’S RIGHT TWAS I that set the house ablaze!!!”
Lady Han Solo and Slave Prince Leia Photo shoot
Cosplayers: C&C Cosplay
Photographer: Zach Picard
I’d like to clear the air.
The past 96 hours have been some of the most stressful, anxious, and rewarding of my life.
Wednesday evening, following my first read of Rick Remender’s Captain America #22, I posted a series of entries to my blog reiterating my distaste for his work, and my renewed (and long-held) belief that he should no longer be writing it.
In my haste and anger, I asked other people who shared my opinion to tweet Marvel Comics, Rick Remender, and Captain America editor Tom Brevoort with their concerns, using the hashtag #FireRickRemender.
And I’m sorry.
I understand that the hashtag, and the arguments held under its banner, could have been (and were) seen as personal attacks. And for that, I apologize. I was coming from a place of upset, discomfort, disgust, and outrage, and I acted solely from that place.
I am genuinely sorry for any personal affront my actions may have caused.
What I am not sorry for is everything that came afterward.