I write a lot about the unique experience of being a woman in the comics industry, and I have to say, this is the one the most specifically female experiences I can think of. Working at Comic-Con is always a flurry of exhausting activity, but, jeez, I didn’t know exhaustion until I had a tiny entity living inside of my body and using my precious energy.
The bathroom breaks were frequent. My stubborn resolution to continue wearing wedge heels and skinny jeans as long as I could was possibly foolish. The longing in the looks I gave to shots of ouzo at the SLG Publishing company dinner was palpable. Naps were my blessed friends.
But I got through it, just as I’ve gotten through other female-specific inconveniences at Comic-Con: weird guys asking to take my picture, people asking business-related questions to the man I happen to be standing next to instead of me; that jerk who said, “Yeah, a chick would know,” just because I knew the location of the Little, Brown (publisher of the Twilight books) booth. So this? Easy.
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