One of the most interesting things about MarsCon was the costumes. There was an official masquerade, a costume contest, one night of the con, but many attendees stayed in costume throughout the weekend, including yours truly. Why? Because we could. Because the whole point of reading or watching (or writing) science fiction and fantasy is stepping outside one's own little life into something extraordinary. And the whole point of a sci-fi convention is to really and truly step into those other worlds for a couple days. Every grown-up kid who ever dreamed of being a wizard, an elf, a starship captain, a Jedi knight or just plain Someone Else is free to become that alter ego at a con. Dressing up is not only sanctioned, it's encouraged. And it's fun.
Playing dress-up is the least of it, though. Sci-fi fen live in their imaginations, not at the gym, and it shows. And no one cares. Fen are people who accept not only the idea of sane adults dressing like fairies in public, but also tentacled aliens from outer space. A few extra pounds on a human frame means nothing; it's whether you've got the dirt on the latest episode of Farscape that counts. The only time anyone cares what you look like is when you get the details of your Starfleet uniform wrong. Otherwise, you're free to be you, or the alternate-universe you, or a Tiny Tim impersonator. It was refreshing to be around a crowd that cared little for outward appearances except as a canvas on which to paint their other, truer selves.
As for Jedi John, he was recognizable by his glowing light saber and a radio-controlled mini-R2D2 robot that he walked around the hotel like a puppy. Since he was a tall, dark, handsome fellow, I asked him the time. He was truly a Minnesota Jedi, though. He just unclipped his cell phone from his belt, showed me the little screen with the time displayed on it, and put it back. Not a word. If he was trying to communicate with me telepathically, as Jedis sometimes do, I missed it. Maybe my mind was not open enough.