The daily digest of Twin Cities culture | Secrets of the City

See the CONvergence photo gallery here.

First, a few confessions: Over the weekend I attended the largest science fiction convention in the American Midwest. I did so not as an outsider, tourist or poseur, but in the capacity of a guy who (once you scratch the surface and get to the core of him) obviously belonged there. Also, this wasn't my first time. As a kid I once bummed a ride down to the Saint Paul Armory to get autographs from Patrick Troughton and Colin Baker and I was hooked, lined and sinkered by a subculture I'd previously assumed to be made up only of myself and a couple of friends. Over the years, I dove back into those waters every time I caught a whiff of that same or similar bait. Since the late eighties I have attended Minicon, Marscon, Dragoncon, Wizardworld, Fallcon, more Doctor Who conventions than I care to recall, and the aforementioned nerd mecca known colloquially as CONvergence. Hi, my name is Rob (I'll pause now while you say, "Hi, Rob.") and I'm a geek.

If you, like me, have quietly indulged such passions on the DL since your eighties-era childhood, through the formative years and on up through responsible adult life, then you'll already understand the gravity of this public confession. We thirty-something-or-above-types remember all too well the days of atomic wedgies and imprisonment within our own lockers during an era when Revenge of the Nerds was practically a documentary. They were dark and difficult times but we made it through. Some of the more bold among us even went on to become CEOs, software giants and presidents (more on that later) but most of us adopted a head-down approach, hoping to get through life with our passions for sci-fi and fantasy safely unnoticed. If you're like me, we share these experiences. If not, then heed the words of your enlightened elders: You kids today, as Weird Al once sang, "ain't never had it rough."

While we within the older generations once felt compelled in public neither to ask nor to tell about our respective favorite Star Trek series, today's young and beautiful closet not their passions for Heroes or Lost so much as their more traditional and median status-setting traits. It's not the car you drive, the clothes you wear or the touchdowns you can score that get you in-crowd standing. It's your moped, the logo on your laptop and the code you can write. By today's standards, every character in Heathers (except for the actual nerds, and the paradigmatic bad-ass JD) would be as uncool as they are unpopular. Same goes for everyone in The Breakfast Club except for Brian and Bender, respectively. 1

Today, the world loves itself some nerd. When Dragoncon comes to Atlanta, the municipality is so thankful for the economic boon brought by the fan community's massive encroachment upon its soil that stormtrooper and clonetrooper alike are welcomed into the city with open arms. Here in our own little city, a trendy club attracts those of the geek chic persuasion with a weekly science fiction-themed event. The Current recently turned their morning coffee break over to our kind in honor of our topic, and CONvergence itself filled three Bloomington hotels with throngs of hip young twenty-somethings barely dressed in the brass and leather adornments of the steampunk persuasion. The beautiful people made it their continuing mission to explore strange new networking opportunities, to seek out new themed beverages and new decadent pastimes, and to boldly party like no one has partied before. 2

"How," you ask, "did this ever happen?"

"Well," I offer, glad that you asked, "I have some theories."

A gay acquaintance of mine recently offered the astute observation that cultures and subcultures invariably gain social capital within the mainstream when their financial capital becomes apparent. She told me of the old days of Pride, the remembrance of Stonewall and the solidarity inherent in the struggle for acceptance. All these things she recalled before going on to recount the veritable overnight change in the attitudes of outsiders once the obvious spending power of childless adult couples was realized. One year, every booth at Pride prompted political action and social activism. The next, realtors and bankers descended upon the place hoping to earn the business of the gay consumer, after which the festival was never the same again.

We, the geeks, are at the height of yet another of the collective perception's great transformations. While not entirely analogous, the upswing in interest in our formerly sad, little worlds has similar roots. When I was a kid, everyone wanted to grow up to be an athlete or rock star. Our role models were Joe Namath and Axl Rose. People laughed at the likes of Bill Gates and Steve Jobs. Sure, it was reasoned, they had money and power, but they were still nerds and, it was further reasoned, no amount of wealth could ever make up for that. The current generation bordering precariously on a proverbial ledge overlooking the deep, craggy canyon of adulthood sees these men solely as role models and emulates accordingly.

As I've said, there are some slight differences: While the new geeks may not be especially keen on selling things to nerds, they do tend to squee with joy at the prospect of being nerds to whom people are intent on selling things. I also liken this social shift to that of the grunge movement of the early nineties. For no clearly discernible reason, young people everywhere donned their flannel and Doc Martens in order to look and feel like they belonged to a small clique of Seattle deadbeats-turned-overnight-millionaires. The look and the culture that went with this trend transformed that generation into a demographic to which every marketer in the nation hoped to successfully pander. Time passed and the movement slowed, gradually halting in its own unmotivated tracks until, when it seemed to be gone for good, it came back as retro (or vintage, depending on who you ask) and new life was breathed into the ailing combat boot industry.

This is the direction I see my own culture taking. Gone, for now, are the days when geeks were ridiculed and rejected. That was fifteen years ago and in our modern times they are nearing the peak of the great social Everest. I see my generation as sherpas who've spent their lives on the mountainside but never shared in the glory that belongs to the climbers they guide. Sure, there'll be an eventual climb back down, but even after that we'll see this vast, vibrant and attractive generation of geeks easing into their mid-thirties and longing for the glory days of old. The very people who are destined eventually to abandon us will one day bring us back again.

Geek chic will die out and rise to shamble aimlessly about like so many zombies within the next ten or fifteen years, and that's what the future holds for us. There won't be jetpacks, silver jumpsuits or flying cars. There will only be pocket protectors and taped up glasses, mass-produced and overpriced, hanging on the vintage rack in the back of The Gap.

So I propose we enjoy it while we can, indulge in the social delights the beautiful people have brought to our world while they're here and, when their attention to us wains the way ours did to Kurt Cobain and Layne Staley, let's find a more dignified and less permanent way to excuse ourselves from the fickle attentions of the cool crowd. Let's relax, enjoy the calm and wait for the resurgence. But until that lull comes I, for one, intend to ride this mania to the bitter end as I wade through the shoulder-to-shoulder crowds at next year's CONvergence.

Unless, of course, wading ceases to be an option. Then I'll simply crowd surf.

   1.
      The verdict is still out on Ally Sheedy. Sure, she started out as a misfit, but by the end of the film she sold out and hooked up with the jock.
   2.
      The author wishes to offer his sincerest apologies for having used the term "party" as a verb.

Rob Callahan is a Minneapolis-based author of Horror, Science Fiction and Fantasy. His newest novel, Hellbound Snowballs, is available from the various online vendors or via your local retailer. He is also frequently found lurking about on facebook and at his own website, www.robcallahan.com

FOR MORE PICTURES FROM CONVERGENCE FROM DIGITAL CRUSH PHOTOGRAPHY CLICK HERE