Anime Conventions: How a Handful of Fans in Hotel Ballrooms Built a Global Industry

The first dedicated anime convention in North America, "AnimeCon '91," was held in San Jose, California in August 1991 with approximately 1,750 attendees. It was organized by fans who had been sharing VHS tapes and fanzines through mail networks, and it provided something that no other format could: the experience of being physically present with other people who shared your specific interest at a level of depth that the general public did not. The convention model — a weekend gathering in a hotel or convention center, with screenings, discussion panels, dealer rooms, and spaces for social interaction — addressed the fundamental problem of being an anime fan in a pre-internet era: isolation.

The growth from that founding convention to the present state of the anime convention industry is one of the more remarkable expansions in fan event history. AnimeExpo, which began in 1992 and is now held annually at the Los Angeles Convention Center, regularly draws over 115,000 attendees across its four-day run, making it one of the largest conventions of any type in North America. Otakon, held in Baltimore and then Washington D.C., draws around 30,000. Smaller regional conventions, of which there are now hundreds in North America, Europe, and Australia, collectively serve millions of attendees annually.

What conventions provide that streaming, social media, and online communities cannot is physical presence: the specific experience of being in a room with people who share your interest, dressed as characters you recognize, able to make jokes that require no explanation, able to purchase merchandise you have been looking for, able to meet the creators whose work has meant something to you. The cosplay dimension of anime conventions — elaborate costume construction representing characters from anime, manga, and games — has developed into a craft practice with its own competitive dimension and its own community, in which the quality of construction is celebrated and the investment of time and skill is recognized.

The commercial dimension of conventions has grown with their attendance. Industry panels, where studios announce upcoming productions and Japanese guests make appearances, are now genuine news events that generate coverage beyond the convention itself. Publisher booths, merchandise vendors, and artist alleys (where independent creators sell original artwork and fan merchandise) constitute an informal economy of considerable scale. The large convention weekend is now factored into release schedules and production announcements in ways that the fan gatherings of the early 1990s could not have anticipated.

The pandemic disruption of 2020–2022 demonstrated both the resilience and the specific value of in-person conventions. Virtual alternatives — streaming panels, online dealer rooms, digital artist alleys — could replicate some of the content of conventions but not the experience. Attendance rebounded strongly after in-person events resumed, suggesting that the social function of conventions — the physical gathering of a community — is not replaceable by the digital tools that have otherwise transformed how fans engage with anime. Something about being there, specifically and bodily, is what conventions have always been for, and that has not changed.