The Feminine Magique

In this room, I am the anomaly.
I'm a unique specimen, an exotic import - the "other" in the homogenized pool around me.
I can attempt to camouflage myself, but it's simply be a noticeable lie.
They see me for the intruder that I am.
While I may walk among them, I am not one of them.

Thus is the crisis of a woman in a Magic store.

You may be reading "Magic store" for something more traditionally oddball - a shop of illusions and tricks. A retreat for those tuxedo clad deceivers equipped with rabbit-filled hats and dove-laden sleeves. If only it were so pedestrian...

I was first brought into the depths of this dark, ominous world with the most casual of colloquial additions. On my first date with my now boyfriend, amid a slew of getting-to-know-you information, he swiftly dropped the bomb of his most prominent addiction.

"... and I play Magic the Gathering."

He slipped it into the list of hobbies like one would a dozen eggs while rattling off a shopping list.

My ears perked to the information he'd volunteered. Magic the Gathering had mostly escaped my radar. From what little I knew, I'd grouped it within the Dungeons and Dragons sector of my mind - which is to say, a level of nerdiness I'd rarely approached with a ten foot pole.

Now this is not to argue that I was without my own eccentricities or fringe taste. I possessed a relatively enviable Sailor Moon collection and was frequenting my local comics shop in exploration of the regular Wednesday deliveries. However, with the Magic universe introduced, we were descending to the basement levels of geekiness I had hitherto left untouched.

For some women this may have been a deal breaker, but for me it wasn't a problem for me in the slightest. I'd met a wonderful, suave, smart, funny, and kind man whom I adored. A unique and (possibly) unfairly stigmatized hobby was not an issue in the grand scheme of things. In fact, the quirkiness almost added to the charm he used to sweep me off my feet. And so, like the enthralled eventual girlfriend I became, I threw my hat into the Magic ring in the hopes of being welcomed into this otherworldly realm of creatures, spells, and exorbitantly expensive cardboard.

My boyfriend took on the role of Magic tutor with an enthusiasm that made it all the more worthwhile. He'd had no expectation whatsoever of finding a girlfriend willing to take an interest in Magic, let alone play at a competent level. This low bar was a comfortable hurdle height, but little had I known what I was getting into.

"I've been trying to find a rule book or something, but I haven't seen anything at all. Do you have one?" I'd asked.

"The first rule of Magic the Gathering is that there are no rules to Magic the Gathering."

The adorably bad Fight Club joke sounded like a goof.
It was not.

To my rule-following, law-abiding mind this made no sense whatsoever.
And yet, paradoxically and in spite of a baffling lack of text, I found no shortage of rules to nitpick.

In just a single turn lay the Beginning Phase, the First Main Phase, the Combat Phase, the Second Main Phase, and the End Phase. Within these progressive steps lay myriad tappings and un-tappings, draws and discards, cycling and dredging. Cards were categorized as Instants, Sorceries, Creatures, Planeswalkers, Enchantments. Each of these with separate actions and interactions whilst entering the battlefield, in play, and when leaving the battlefield. On top of which, each card had it's own effects and terms, leaving me reaching for my nonexistent Magic Lexicon more often than not.

"What does 'haste' mean?" I asked one day, eyes blinking with the blankness of a disoriented fawn.

"It means that when you play it, the creature can attack immediately."

He said it with a matter-of-fact tone which made my lack of game play fluency feel even more pronounced.

I paused.

"Why can't all creatures just attack immediately?"

"Because when they enter the battlefield they have summoning sickness."

Once again I was the dull tool in the potting shed.

"What's summoning sickness?"

"It's like..." he hesitated searching for the most simplistic breakdown he could find, "it's like the creatures are stunned and woozy from being conjured - because they are spells being cast after all - and they can't act until they feel better and less sick. They need to rest until your next turn."

He'd said it as best he could without condescension, and yet it still retained the tone one might inflect whilst explaining to a first grader why the kitty and the mouse just can't be friends.

I was irritated with the game's logistical nonsense.
I was frustrated being the dull crayon in the box.
But most of all, I was furious that my boyfriend's "unicorn has a tummy ache" explanation had actually been effective.

Ironically, though it was certainly a formidable task, honing my Magic skills proved a significantly smaller road-bump compared to others. On my Magic journey little else compared to the culture shock of entering it's world obstacle-wise.

Magic is a dude's game.
To say that it's male-dominated would be an understatement of unparalleled proportions.
I have more finger on my hands than women I've seen playing Magic.
There may be more leprechauns out there than women playing Magic.
As of yet, I have never played against a woman at Magic.

At the MTG Grand Prix - with 1,400 competitors - I shared a washroom with a maximum of 12 women, most of whom were spectators. While it makes for a spotless, convention centre sized lavatory - one you can (or dare I say, must) tap-dance through - it does not exactly add diversity to your opponent pool.

Being thrust into the Magic the Gathering community is akin to an immersive anthropological experiment on a good day, an animals-in-the-wild style documentary on a bad day.

The ven diagram overlap of "Magic players" and "men who cannot speak to women" being so strikingly high, I've played more than my fair share of games with less than 10% eye contact.
I'm most often scrutinized, underestimated, and on the other end of a fistful of sexism.

And yet, all things considered, I've had an utter blast at some of the comic and card shops where I've played Magic.
The players are some of the smartest fellows I've ever met, and the level of intelligence, witt, and an almost British level of Sarcasm among them is delightfully high.
To whatever extent I am marginalized or ignored, it is typically at the hand of an unintentional perpetrator. While warming these guys to my corny humor and conversational game play is at times a teeth-pulling endeavour, it's made me some of the sweetest guy-pals a gal could hope for. Breaking down their walls is rarely easy, but I am met half-way more often than not and pleased to do it.

I'm luckiest, perhaps, to have the magic amigos I do, as well as a boyfriend who welcomed me to and kept me in the geeky world he loves. I'm still the only girlfriend going to play - for a multitude of reasons. I carry twenty-sided die in my purse, and I'm proud.
I won't lie - I am hopeful that badgering my MTG bros to drag in new blood will eventually bring me some buddies with a lower Y chromosome concentration.

Until then, I am the solo roller sporting a mini skirt, and I'm okay with that.

Unless there's cos-play at hand.
Then all bets are off.