Happy Noodle Boy

Thanks all for your insightful comments. I'm still dealing with this reassessment of what I collect and why, and, to put it in perspective and perhaps to offer insights some of you may find interesting, I'm going to share with you my history with comics, the ways in which my collecting has evolved, and how I came to this strange impasse, in which I know I love something, but am trying to figure out how best to do it. (Warning: this might be a little long.) 

Like, I suspect, all of you, I started off buying individual issues of comics, in my case at neighborhood variety stores and newsstands off of spinner racks. I was probably about six or seven. It was the 1970's, the Spider-Man cartoon was on my television every afternoon, and like all children I lived for Spider-Man. (It's the costume. It has some mysterious visceral appeal to children.) My comics buying started as a way for me to have more Spider-Man, and was of course strictly regulated by the generosity of my parents on any given day. ("You want a quarter for a funny book?") 

A couple years later I had discovered the paperback reprints Marvel was releasing through Pocket Books. These paperbacks reprinted six issues each of characters like Spider-Man, the Fantastic Four, Doctor Strange, and the Hulk, starting from the beginning of their runs, and I bought them all. I started with Spider-Man (three volumes were released) and expanded from there to the Fantastic Four (I had encountered them in the first issue of Spider-Man) and the rest. I can't overemphasize how foundational these paperback books were for my comic collecting. They were like going to Marvel School. And I noticed that the stories were better than the ones coming out every week on the spinner racks. I still remember reading the fourth issue of Fantastic Four for the first time and being absolutely enthralled by the Sub-Mariner and the gigantic walking whale he unleashes on New York City, and only poor Ben (at that time looking very monstrous and not at all the "bashful blue-eyed Benjamin" he would later become as his look was refined and some of his rough edges smoothed over) could stop the creature, by wearing a bomb strapped to his back and walking into its mouth! I now understood that Marvel had a vast, mysterious and utterly fascinating history. I had to know more. I was officially a Marvel Maniac. 

At this time my comics and my pocket paperbacks were in piles on the small bookshelf in my room, stored flat. No plastics, no backing boards, no comic boxes. I hadn't heard of them yet. "Condition" literally did not enter my mind. You bought the comic off the rack and you read it and threw it on the pile. All the pages were there; that's all that mattered. If I went back in time and tried to explain to my nine-year-old self about condition he would literally not understand. You can still read the book, right?

By age eleven I had discovered a little hole in the wall coin / comic shop called Giarla's Rare Coin Studio. This was in my home town of East Boston, Mass. I discovered it when an acquaintance of mine said that they had Superman #1 for sale. By this point I had greatly expanded my comics buying and was familiar, generally, with all the major Marvel and DC characters. The DC characters I discovered through the Super-Friends cartoon. But although I liked the DC characters on TV, I found their comics lacking. I had also read with interest the occasional newspaper article devoted to how comics were collectible and that some of them, especially the first appearance of Superman, were worth a lot of money. I promptly walked into Giarla’s, which was exactly large enough for a total of two customers to shop at the same time, and said, "Do you have Superman number one?" To which Mister Giarla replied, "Do you have three-thousand dollars?" He then pointed up at the Superman Famous First Edition treasury on the wall, and said, "But I have a reprint of it for two dollars." He took the treasury down off the wall and let me look at it. I had never seen a treasury before. It was a cool new way to read comics. I bought that treasury (it was okay, nothing special, nowhere near as good as Spider-Man), and lots of other ones too, and filled in the blanks of my comics knowledge with the history of the previously unknown DC Golden Age. And I kept coming back to Giarla's after that, week after week, every Saturday morning (he was open on Wednesdays and Saturdays.) I was usually the only customer, and he and his partner (a man about his age--his brother maybe? I never did find out) were very generous with their time, chatting with an 11-year-old kid about comics history, the importance of first issues, the proper way to pronounce "Sub-Mariner", and protecting comics in plastic bags. He had a couple of quarter bins full of comics that weren't in plastics and, behind the counter, a box of more expensive back issues that were in plastics. I would save my allowance money to buy $5 books from that box, including the first appearance of the Inferior Five and Binky #1. These were collectible, you see. You kept them in plastic bags, no matter how goofy you thought they were after you read them. He also introduced me to the Overstreet Price Guide, and sold me one (he ordered it for me.) Here's where I began to understand about "collecting" comics, and that condition mattered. Everything changed.

After this I put all my comics in plastics, stored upright in a long box. (At some point I started using backing boards; I forget exactly when.) Every week I was on the hunt for new first issues. Man-Thing #1 (second series.) Shogun Warriors #1. Moon Knight #1. These were prized objects and they made me giddy with excitement. But it took longer to buy comics now. Instead of just pulling an issue off the rack, I had to inspect them to get the best copy. Comics weren't just stories. They were collectible objects. They went in plastic bags in a box. My collection expanded as Marvel got better and better in the early 80's under Jim Shooter. I had two full long boxes by the time I was fifteen, and I had even gone to the Million Year Picnic with my mother, who bought me Daredevil #7 for $7.50. I was a collector now.

Then I started dating. By the time I was 19, the collection went away. All those books in plastic bags stored upright in boxes were a pain to hold onto and they just didn't entice me anymore. In their plastic bags, alphabetized, they had become more collectible objects than stories. The boxes were heavy. The books were always sliding around inside the boxes. It was a hassle. 

I got back into comics a few years later, as I had heard about the DC Archives: having the opportunity to read all the golden age Batman stories, in order, was too enticing to pass up. (They mostly hold up, but Batman was better before Robin.) They were printed in a hardcover book. It was the 1990s, and trade paperbacks were becoming a thing. Trade paperbacks didn't need plastic bags or long boxes. They were far less hassle to deal with and a better deal for the money. I got back into comics--but I only bought collected editions. As the years went by and Marvel and DC and Dark Horse reprinted essentially everything, it was a viable way to collect. I was reading stories for grown-ups now, in book format. Preacher and Madman and Sin City. The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. The Marvel Masterworks. Dark Knight Returns and Watchmen. (I had owned the floppies a decade before; now I bought the trade paperbacks.) It was all very...grown-up. But some essential magic was missing. I enjoyed not having to bother with plastic bags and boards and long boxes, but these weren't exactly comics. I couldn't put my finger on it, but something was missing.

I got back out of comics again in the early 2000s--sort of. I got rid of my trade paperback collection and switched to digital instead. Much more convenient. After moving a few times over the years I was thoroughly sick of hauling trade paperbacks around. Unfortunately, I never did find a comfortable way to read digital comics. My computer screen was too large and not shaped correctly. Tablets are too small and their weight eventually becomes a noticeable distraction if you're reading for a while. And holding them one-handed, as intended, is an awkward way to read something that's supposed to open out like a book. To this day I haven't found a way to read a digital comic comfortably. I can read digital books just fine on my Kindle Fire; books look great on it. But comics? No. I got out of comics again around 2012, knowing that Comixology had my purchases saved if I ever wanted to read them in some uncomfortable fashion again.

That brings me to the present. I got back into comics again in 2021 (perfect timing!) This time I was all in on the collectible aspect rather than reading. I wanted a collection of cool golden, silver and bronze age books with cool covers, and I could afford some, within reason. Although I don't like slabbing, Comixology's influence on the hobby, along with ebay shopping, nevertheless changed the way I collect: covers are much more important to me now. Which means, of course, that a book's condition has to be important too, for those covers to look as good as they can. And I haven't read most of the books I've purchased for this new collection. Because I haven't been collecting books I would necessarily want to read, but instead I've been collecting books with great covers from my favorite artists.

One focus of my new collecting though, has been to explore titles I never gave a second, or even first, glance to as a kid. Archie books, and bronze horror. And I do intend to read those. But when “condition” means so much, reading a comic is a little bit nerve-wracking. I miss the books just sitting on a pile on a shelf.

So after that long-winded preamble, I guess I can sum up my situation thusly: I’m trying to figure out how to interact with comics, and what they mean to me. I can never go back to the childhood days of comics being only for reading, because as an adult the collectability of them isn’t lost on me, and they can be truly beautiful objects. But they are still created to be read. They aren’t art prints. An analogy I keep coming back to would be: if you were a rich man who collects classic cars, would you ever buy one that you had no intention of ever driving? Would you buy a 1957 Chevy Bel Air only to look at it, parked in your garage? Sure, the thing’s beautiful. It would in fact be extremely fun to look at. But to never drive it, ever?

And I’ve read a lot of comics over the years, and a lot of them were great. But the idea of collecting all those runs of books all over again, and then to have to put them all in bags and boards and boxes again, and watch as they eat up all my space…it doesn’t sound like fun. I don’t need to own every comic I ever enjoyed as a kid. I don’t need to own some random issue of Roger Stern’s Spider-Man or Simonson’s Thor. I don’t need 100-issue complete runs. Maybe I’m all superhero-ed out. Maybe that’s a big part of it: I’ve done the whole Marvel Universe continuity thing. As fun as it was, I really don’t feel like reading all those books yet again.

I feel like there has to be some perfect balance I can strike, some way of enjoying comics as reading and as collectibles, in a comfortable format, that won’t take over my entire house and be a pain to deal with. Some series seem like they work better as trade paperbacks (Preacher comes to mind.) I’m considering a part trade paperback – part floppy comics collection that still involves collecting great covers by great artists. But there is a purist part of me that just wants to buy floppies only, not put them in bags, and just store them upright in a box. Like Gaines file copies. Gaines didn’t use bags or boards and look how good those books look.

The bottom line is the more hassle they are to deal with, the less fun comics are to collect. And I want to collect comics. Right now I’m leaning toward a collection of mid-grade floppies without bags and boards, all standing upright in short boxes. For some reason those damned bags and boards really are a psychological barrier to reading. It’s a small thing, but having to take each book out of its individual bag and then seal it back up again when I’m done is just…annoying. Looking at a short box full of books in bags and boards doesn’t make me want to read. But looking at a short box full of comics? Yeah. Those, I want to read.

Thanks for listening.

I started a thread a couple of months back asking if anyone actually preferred low-grade comics to high grade comics, not just because they were cheaper, but because they actually prefer the aesthetic of low grade books. (Not surprisingly, no one, including me, was willing to make that leap.) I was asking because my preoccupation with condition has resulted in me feeling more and more alienated from collecting. And I'm not a 9.8 guy either, or a slabber. I just like my stuff in near mint with nice corners and well-centered wraps, that's all. Nevertheless, it's somehow sucking the fun out of things for me.I remember when I was a kid first getting into back issue collecting, I hardly even looked at the condition of a book beyond "Does it have its cover? Are all the pages there?" I want to get back to that kid. 

Anyway, Le Chat Noir mentioned something about "lowball" collecting being a thing in coin collecting, but I never followed up on it and forgot about it until today, when I did some googling. AND WOW. That is exactly what I was referring to. These lowball coin collectors like the low grade coins for what they are, not just as placeholders until something graded higher comes along. I was intrigued by one of the coin collectors who mentioned that a low grade coin has a hidden history to it that makes it so appealing--who knows how many hands it went through, who knows what it purchased? Maybe FDR had it in his pocket. Maybe someone flipped a beat-up old quarter and made a major life decision because it came up tails? That history is everything. It isn't just some perfect specimen struck at the mint and sold immediately to a collector, never to be touched again. The flaws give the coin character.

And comics are even better for lowball collecting than coins, because there are so many potential kinds of damage to a comic that signify specific things. Date stamps. Date stamps from stores. Kids writing their names on the cover, or filling in an order form on the back cover. Coupons cut out. A subscription crease. Maybe some kid filled out a crossword puzzle or solved a maze, or filled in the cover logo with magic markers. Maybe they drew a viking beard on Captain America. And then there are the spine ticks. Every tick means a person handled that book. The more spine ticks, the more often a book has been enjoyed.

This is one of those dangerous moments when I think to myself: sell it all and start over. Collect in a different way. Stop obsessing over corner damage and miswraps and enjoy your comics. Sell the mylars and the backing boards too. Buy books in VG, don't bother with plastics or backing boards, and just put them in a box. But before you do, READ THEM, and think about who read them before.

It’s tempting.

I have OCD. Real OCD, not the kind that people joke about when they wish they weren't so indecisive. I deal with intrusive thoughts daily. They are not fun. I also go back and forth on comic collecting--I started a thread here awhile back asking if anyone actually preferred lower grade books for aesthetic reasons rather than just because they're cheaper to acquire, because my OCD around condition was really aggravating me. Eventually I sorted that out and decided what I want.

So my advice, first, is, to decide exactly what you want out of your comics. What, specifically, makes you happy? Do you like collecting runs? Do you like collecting keys? In a perfect world, what would your collection consist of? Silver? Bronze? Marvel? DC? What grades? High grade only? How high? Decide exactly what you want. Find a collecting focus. Then look at your collection with that in mind. Any book that doesn't make you happy, for any reason, get rid of it. Ruthlessly whittle your collection down to only those books that truly make you happy. Whatever your condition threshold is, any book that doesn't meet it has to go. Maybe that means getting rid of nearly everything. That's fine. Don't worry about if you'll ever be able to find a certain issue within your budget again. If the copy you own doesn't make you happy, get rid of it. 

The purpose of your comic collection is to make you happy. Any book that doesn't fulfill that purpose has to go. To do this, like I said, you will have to decide exactly what you want. Condition sounds like your problem, as it was mine. I decided that every book I own has to "look good" to me and I would not ever compromise that for a "low grade is better than no grade" mentality. For me, no grade is preferable to low grade. Because there a million books out there to collect, and if a certain book isn't available in the condition I want, I'll just look for a different book. I collect bronze age, so that usually means 8.5 - 9.6 (9.8 isn't a real grade, don't buy them.) But I have some books that fall below that grade range due to availability--Archies for example, just aren't easy to find in higher grades. But I still only buy Archies that look good to me. That's the rule. For me that means for starters, no corner damage, no stains, no tanning, and no miswraps. I miss out on a ton of books I want this way. I have been looking for Archie Giants 13 and 23 forever but the copies on ebay just aren't good-looking enough. And that's a shame. But every book in my collection makes me happy. Remember, with comics, no two books in the same grade are alike. A 9.6 can have a miswrap that makes it look like lousy, while an 8.0 of that same book can look beautiful. So yes, condition definitely matters, but judge every book individually, don't just lump them together by numerical grade. I have a bronze age House of Secrets that MCS graded at a 7.0 that looks great to me, and I'm happy to have it in my collection.

Always remember: The purpose of your comic collection is to make you happy. Hope this helps.

If I were creating my own comic book grading scale from scratch...

A book with a miswrap couldn't grade above an 8.0. Neither could a book with a date stamp. The worse the miswrap, the lower the grade.

A book with writing on the cover that isn't a date stamp couldn't grade above a 6.0. That includes autographs and "remarks". (Put them in the gutters on the splash pages if you must. We're collecting comics, not signatures.)

How many people think a grade of 2 out of 10 can really be called "good" and 4 out of 10 "very good"? Everyone knows these terms make no sense. In my grading scale the grade "Very Good" would be replaced with "Fair", "Good" would be replaced with "Poor", and "Poor" would be replaced with "Junk". I think these terms are better descriptors for books in those conditions.

Anybody else want to play?

I'm curious--I know there are plenty of collectors who live by the "low grade is better than no grade" mantra, but in those cases they buy low grade books simply because they're (much) cheaper. But are there any collectors who actually prefer the aesthetic of low grade books? I sometimes think a Bronze Age book in fine condition, with plenty of spine ticks, is more appealing than a copy of that same book that looks new off the rack. The defects give the book a kind of patina, a sense of history. This is a book that someone has read. 

(This existential collecting crisis brought to you by my continued obsessive concern over incredibly slight corner damage in 9.4 - 9.6 books, which is imperceptible when not looking at a blown up photograph.)