When I was growing up, Halloween was always one of my favorite holidays. Aside from the monster-themed movies—and, of course, the seemingly endless supply of free candy—my favorite part of Halloween was the costumes. There was something so appealing about searching for the perfect disguise at the local costume shop, looking at silly accessories, such as neon-colored wigs, and trying on ridiculous costume jewelry to find that best look.

Some of my fondest Halloween memories include wearing polyester and spandex, participating in the elementary school Halloween parade as a witch or a vampire queen, trick-or-treating with my mom and brother, and participating in the lucrative candy-trading market with my sister at the end of the night—a sure sign of a successful Halloween.

As I grew older, however, it became more awkward to go trick-or-treating. The majority of kids on the street were now younger than me, and I eventually started to feel weird, even uncomfortable, about asking for handouts from strangers (or business store owners, which was the safer option in an urban neighborhood). But that’s not to say that I had to hang up my cape for good, as I would soon find other opportunities to dress up.

I first discovered cosplay while attending New York Comic-Con, which is held at the Javits Center. I experienced panels moderated by adored celebrities discussing my favorite shows and movies, early access to cool swag, and of course, costume play, otherwise known as cosplay. What could be better?

Although I didn’t cosplay the first time I went to Comic-Con, I was still astounded by the skill and dedication fans had for dressing up as their favorite characters. I was blown away by what people could do with fabric, face paint, and glitter. Inside the Javits Center, ordinary humans transformed into titans, demons, princesses, and superheroes. I oohed and aahed at the costumes I saw, and I delighted in recognizing the famous and obscure characters brought to life in front of me.

Even more, every single cosplayer invited me to say hi, ask questions, and take unlimited pictures. The experience truly complemented the geeky goodness of the Comic-Con event, which I shared with other people who love pop culture as much as I do.

When the event ended and I left the venue, I had made my decision: I was going to try my own hand at cosplay.

Online shopping was out of the question for me because the costumes were too expensive for what appeared to be poorly constructed items made out of cheap materials. Costume shops presented similar problems. In addition to gendered marketing that made the majority of costumes hyper-sexualized, I found that they usually wouldn’t carry enough sizes that would fit my body comfortably.

However, a solution to my problems arose with help from various tailors to whom friends and family introduced me. I would first show them a picture of the character I wanted to cosplay as, asking if it was possible for them to make, and if they said yes, I would search for the materials with which they could construct their magic. Searching through the Fashion District of Manhattan to find the perfect fabric or rhinestone soon became an annual ritual as the joy of finding the right shade of clothing felt like a successful treasure hunt.

The first character I ever cosplayed as was Korra from The Legend of Korra. I had previously connected to the character on a deeply emotional level because her feelings of fear, anger, aggression, and vulnerability were accessible in a way that I often tried to suppress in my day-to-day life. Furthermore, having a character whose body was both muscular and curvaceous made me feel better about my own body, a confirmation that beauty and power can take many shapes.

The first day I cosplayed, I went to see a panel held by the creators of The Legend of Korra, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. There, I saw so many other people dressed as characters from the show, including the character I was cosplaying as. I felt excited that day, not only to see the real-life creators who brought one of my favorite shows to life but also to meet other people who shared the same passion for the show that I did. Having people compliment my costume and being able to pose for pictures with other cosplayers enlightened me to one of the essential values of cosplaying: finding community.

In my costume at NYCC, I wasn’t trying to hide any part of myself or tone down my geeky nature. I could simply be me—free in a way that other people responded to with positivity and shared enthusiasm for fiction.

Cosplay brings out a new level of confidence in me, something that I find empowering. On most days, I put my makeup on to hide the “flaws” on my face before pulling on clothes to obscure the natural curves of my body to avoid harassment on the street. Dressing in this sense means “hiding,” as though there’s something about my body to be embarrassed or ashamed of.

In cosplay, on the other hand, we actively draw attention to ourselves, encourage people to ask who we’re dressed up as, and allow them to take pictures with us. The more outrageous and elaborate the costume, the better. Cosplayers—extroverts or introverts on normal days—are battle-hardened warriors at the craft. We invite people to look closely at us, we pose with excited fans, and we stage mock battles with others who are feeling the joy of cosplaying as their favorite fictional warriors.

Cosplaying also provides a sense of mutuality we feel to the characters we portray, easing the divide between fiction and reality. Though we can’t jump into the fictional worlds featured in books or anime or films, we can at least look like the characters within them and vicariously imagine ourselves as them. Many people often dress to look like the people they admire, whether they’re famous singers or actors in real life, so how is it any different to dress up as characters who inspire us by embodying drama, romance, and magic?

By donning a new identity, a costume-wearer gets to leave their normal identity behind in order to access a special type of magic found only in being someone or something else.

The simple act of putting on a mask or a cape to transform into someone new is incredibly empowering. Cosplaying has allowed me to connect to the culture I consume in a way I never had before. It’s given me the opportunity to tap into new, confident parts of my personality, and perhaps most importantly, it has created the same feeling of excitement that I had as a kid on Halloween.