Annamarie McIntosh is coming undone. People in comic-book tees are rushing past her, lit up by too-bright fluorescents. She's surrounded by massive signs with corporate logos, from Nintendo to DC Comics. The cavernous hall is 460,000 square feet, and McIntosh is taking up about three of them, trying to cinch the beige bandages wrapped around her arms. “We're having issues here,” she says, with an exasperated giggle. “It's been falling down all day.” With an assist by her mom, the 17-year-old finally twists and tucks her costume into place. All things considered, the fix is easy. It's 2019's Comic-Con International, and compared to the wizards and warlocks and Wonder Women crowding the floor, the outfit of the Jedi Rey is plain, simple. Sensible.
Cosplay, that pinnacle of performative fandom, dates back to the mid-20th century; some accounts note that there were cosplayers at the first World Science Fiction Convention, in 1939. Women have always been involved, both making costumes and wearing them. Options, however, have never been wide-ranging. For every Harley Quinn, there were a hundred Batmen and Jokers; for every Uhura, a dozen Spocks and Kirks; for every Kitty Pryde, a slew of, well, X-Men.
Star Wars, too, offered few opportunities for women to embody major characters. There weren't many marquee names to begin with, and those that did exist had significant barriers to entry. Padmé Amidala had more layers, makeup, and hair spray than a British royal. Mon Mothma's sober toga wasn't as intricate or bank-breaking, but fellow con-goers only wanted to talk to you about Bothan death tolls. Princess Leia, the obvious choice, was most recognizable in an ogle-baiting metal bikini. For years, women did dress up like one hero—Luke Skywalker—but they could never really be that hero. (The choice between an opposite-gender farm boy and a royal sex object scrambles one's sense of belonging.)
Then, in 2015, Star Wars: The Force Awakens happened. Near the start of the first act, a young scavenger removes a pair of goggles, and we meet the galaxy's new hero: a brave woman, draped in no-fuss garments and carrying a staff. Every fan wanted to be her; every fan could be her. “I make a lot of costumes with my dad,” McIntosh says, looking down at her linen and straps. “It's super empowering for girls to see that they can be that person.”
Now Rey is heading into her third (and possibly final) movie. Which has meant four years of fan-driven debate about the existence and value of a female protagonist. Much of that conversation has felt either rote or backward—but shifting the focus from Rey's gender to the more specific ways she wields and wears it reveals the deeper secret to her success: her costume.
This was all by design. From the beginning, Rey, played by Daisy Ridley, was meant to be a nobody who doesn't know she's a somebody. As he developed her look, costume designer Michael Kaplan sought to make it as attainable, but still as Star Wars, as possible. Rey wears the cheap, desert-ready clothes of a resourceful orphan. She has protective eyewear fashioned from a retrofitted stormtrooper helmet. “You can tell they're homemade goggles. That shows savviness on the character's part. She's self-possessed,” Kaplan says. “We didn't want her necessarily to be a very feminine character—or a very masculine one.” Her arm bandages were inspired by the shin wraps on Luke's boots.
Kaplan has some experience with utilitarian looks, particularly those that become fashion statements; he's the man responsible for Jennifer Beals' legendary cut-up sweatshirt in Flashdance. For Rey, he built off Donna Karan's “seven easy pieces” philosophy, layering essentials so she always has what she needs on her back. “Daisy didn't have a simple job,” he says. “The stunts she was expected to do, the training, and the things she needed to learn in a short period of time—I would've really felt bad if she was encumbered by a complicated costume. She felt very heroic in this.”
Rey's accessories are—for a specifically important reason—also heroic. Until she summoned a lightsaber in The Force Awakens, leading women in the Star Wars movies had never wielded the saga's signature weapon; Padmé and Leia, in the few instances they were allowed to fight, had to make do with puny blasters. “Let's be honest, who doesn't pick up a wrapping-paper roll as a kid and pretend it's a lightsaber?” Caitlin Beards, a cosplayer and longtime Star Wars fan, says. “And for the main character in the story to be a female Jedi is just phenomenal.”
The 34-year-old Beards had been cosplaying as anime characters and Final Fantasy folks for years, but she'd hardly touched the Lucasfilm universe. “Looking at the cosplay community of Star Wars initially, it always seemed really scary,” she says. “Everybody was so gung-ho about being as screen-accurate as possible.” She liked Padmé's look—the embroidery, the beadwork—but “wasn't in love with her.” She did some dressing up as Sabine Wren, but that Mandalorian warrior isn't exactly well known. When she saw Rey for the first time, Beards felt a sartorial kinship. “She had to work for everything she had,” Beards says. Rey had to rely on her own resourcefulness and strength, and that, Beards says, made her someone that women in the fandom wanted to emulate. The simple outfit, paired with the singular accessory of a lightsaber, gave rise to an army of Reys.
They now fill convention halls everywhere. On a Facebook group called the Rey Cosplay Community, which Beards belongs to, scores of “scavenger sisters” trade tips on costume construction. Don't know how to make your belt? A fellow fan will tell you, or you can commission them to craft one. Stuck on what color dye to use for Rey's Jakku rags? There are tutorials. (The less devoted can pick up Rey's outfit on Amazon for around $35. Just add a pair of Uggs and you're convention-ready.)
But here's the most unexpected twist: According to Alice Hall, who studies how role models in movies affect fans, Ridley's character seems to impact not just young women but young men too. They don't necessarily want to be her, Hall explains, but they do want to live up to her zeal and daring. She's at the center of the trilogy—Han likes her (grudgingly), Finn admires her. Obi-Wan Kenobi and Luke are no longer the galaxy's only hope; the future of the Resistance is now largely in Rey's hands, and hers is the fate that matters most. Hall believes this signals a shift in the Star Wars universe, an indication that the women's stories can be just as rich, and enriching, as the men's.
In their explanations of fandom, media theorists like Hall often talk about parasocial relationships, one-sided bonds formed with a character or celebrity. When a fan sees a character as a hero, Hall says, that fan can adopt the character's personality quirks and even their moral code. No interaction is necessary; these heroes and the choices they make hold an outsize, personality-shaping importance. When people talk about the merit of having “strong female characters” in movies, this is what they mean.
Indeed, Beards' connection with Rey goes beyond performance. In 2017 she joined the New York chapter of the Saber Guild and has since become the temple's resident Rey enthusiast, transforming her hobby into an opportunity to do meet-and-greets with other young fans and raise money for charities like children's hospitals and the Trevor Project. (During an event at a New York Yankees game with the Rebel Legion, a young girl tugged on Beards' costume, hugged her, and said, “Rey, you're my hero.”) She teaches aspiring Reys how to swing their swords—a radical notion for a group of fans who likely would've been harassed in their Leia outfits 20 years ago. “Myself and too many of my female friends have had bad run-ins with people. But I feel like now cosplayers are quicker to say, ‘Back off!’ ” Beards says. “If a guy gets too up close and personal when you're Rey, you have a lightsaber, so you can put a nice 32-inch distance between you and the guy real fast.”
Rey and her lightsaber: Throughout the new trilogy, Disney has capitalized on the power of that image. Trailers for The Last Jedi lingered on scenes of Rey training on Luke's lonely island, blue blade flashing; The Rise of Skywalker promises an epic, storm-drenched sword fight between Rey and Kylo Ren. Then there's the most GIF'd Star Wars moment of 2019: Rey unfolding a double-bladed red lightsaber. Theories about “Dark Rey” have blanketed the web like Ewok fur. Kaplan, the costume designer, keeps mum on what this Sith-ish costume could mean. “I would be in a lot of trouble if I talked about that,” he says, laughing.
Fans like McIntosh and Beards will likely stick with their hero. “It's just a challenge to the Force to see what side she connects to,” Beards says. “That's my theory.” Sure, but the possibility remains: Rey could go evil. She could become a Sith. And you know what the 10 existing Star Wars movies have never had? A badass female villain.
ANGELA WATERCUTTER (@WaterSlicer) is a senior editor on WIRED's culture desk.
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