You Should Let Your Kid Cosplay — and You Should Try It, Too

Elizabeth Nichols
Elizabeth Nichols

It can be hard when your kids don't turn out just like you, but it's even harder to watch them struggle. This is especially true if your kid doesn't fit preconceived and prepackaged molds that the Disney industrial complex serves up.

I have one of those kids — a talented, clever, beautiful daughter who looked askance at every baby doll she was ever given. She didn't like princesses. She had no interest in Barbie dolls. She and mud were old and dear friends.

I remember clearly when we took her to Disney World for the first time. She saved all her small 7-year-old pocket money to buy all the Kim Possible things — she loved Kim Possible: the kung fu; the way she protected her best friend, Ron; the way she saved herself.

When we arrived in Florida, there were scads of Belle and Cinderella merchandise, whole stores full of tiaras and pink and fluffy dresses, but not a single Kim Possible souvenir. I was always princess-y myself, but I hurt for the lesson that my daughter learned at Disney: that girls should just want pink.

I believe my daughter has a right to explore and build her own identity, and I needed to not just let her do that but also encourage that exploration. As she grew up, I let her quit dance class (a thing I had loved, but she hated), listened to what she was interested in, and let her choose her own clothes and sometimes wear the same thing over and over again. Later, when her middle school art teacher inspired her to embrace steampunk as an artistic and fashion choice, I did everything I could to encourage her.

We were on our own and money was tight, but steampunk was perfect for the modest budget. We sourced faded fabrics, old jewelry, and household goods from thrift shops and became connoisseurs of all the secondhand shops in town. It was fun. It was healthy. It let her build exactly the look and identity she wanted. In fact, it looked so fun that I made stuff, too. We learned to solder. I taught her to sew. And when we were ready, we went, the two of us, to a regional steampunk festival.

Elizabeth Nichols

We both played new identities. My daughter, a big fan of Doctor Who, decided that she was "The Artist-A Steampunk Timelord." I did some family research into my own pirate family and decided that I was a purveyor of difficult-to-find items, in fact, a Steampunk Smuggler.

I didn't know what to expect when I took her to that convention. What we found was acceptance, celebration of creativity, encouragement, and support. We both made friends and found a community.

My daughter won an award in the cosplay contest, "Judge's Choice" — a tangible and heretofore unknown piece of validation for her individuality. When we left, she sat next to me in the car and said: "I wish I could live at the convention." Cosplay changed my daughter's life. And it changed mine, too.

Elizabeth Nichols

I got five precious years of fun with my daughter, working on budgets, figuring out pleats, and going with her to events. She leaves in the Fall to go study costume design and construction at a prestigious conservatory, her future bright with the promise of getting to do what she loves for a career.

All of this happened because I let her figure out what it meant to be herself. I didn't (and still don't) understand a lot of the media that she likes, but I will never dismiss an idea again because it's not what I would have done.

I go to a lot of conventions where people compliment me on my support of her and other young people wistfully wish their parents would see that cosplay isn't just "weird." But I don't think it's just about cosplay. I believe that the lesson might be that we should all encourage and support our children as they find their own path — even, and especially if, it's different from our own.

You should let your kid cosplay or play sports or write poetry or make movies or build things in the backyard. You should let them be them.