Mar 13 – Mar 14, 2027
Pasadena Convention Center, 300 E …
The panels are the reason to go, which is not a sentence anyone gets to say honestly about most conventions. Blame the geography. This corner of the city sits within a few miles of Caltech, JPL, and the studios, which produces a fan base that reads closely, argues in specifics, and will not let a guest coast through a Q and A. The questions are better here. Everybody notices it eventually.
The rest is the good stuff done properly: voice actor panels and signings, a cosplay competition judged on actual craftsmanship, an artist alley of independent creators selling original work, a vendor hall, and a game room running open play all weekend.
Old Town is the other half of the argument — you walk out for real dinner instead of eating a pretzel over a trash can, and the Gold Line puts you a few blocks off.
Bring the friend who takes the craftsmanship judging personally. They will find their people inside of an hour.
Vendors are still cutting boxes open when you walk in, and the exclusives are all sitting untouched on the shelf. Nobody has bought anything yet. The whole hall is laid out in front of you, quiet, and for a few hours you get to learn it before it becomes a scrum.
That is the reward for planning far enough ahead. Premium badge holders get the floor, the exclusives, and artist alley first — convention-only limited editions, publisher variants, and pieces from the most in-demand creators that are simply gone by Saturday afternoon. Programming is deliberately thin, a handful of panels and screenings, because the point is the floor: map it, mark what you want, buy before the competition arrives.
Access requires the full weekend badge; there is no single-day version of this evening. The Anaheim convention center, with shuttles and the rail station close.
The people who plan ahead have already decided. Decide alongside them.
Mar 26 – Mar 28, 2027
Anaheim Convention Center, 800 W K…
Everyone has a friend who has spent a decade losing the badge lottery down in San Diego. This is where you take them.
Same organization runs it, same programming instincts, and a floor you can actually cross without a strategy meeting. Sixty thousand people rather than six figures, which is the difference between a convention and an evacuation drill. Publisher booths, artist alley, preview screenings, exclusive merch, and the Saturday-night masquerade, which is the flagship — costumes built over months, walked in front of a crowd that knows exactly how hard the seams were.
Because the badges are gettable and the halls are navigable, it has quietly become the best first convention a person can have. Families bring kids. First-timers stop being first-timers. The panel access is still real.
Anaheim Convention Center, three days in March, badges on sale months ahead with the good tiers moving fast.
Take the person who has been saying next year about the other one for a decade. End the streak.
The whole case for this convention is a math problem. You can actually reach three or four things you cared about in a single day. At the bigger show you pick one and spend the afternoon in a line for it.
Saturday is the peak — Hall B panels with talent in the room, the exhibit floor and artist alley at full activity, exclusive merch lines, and the masquerade final in the evening. That last one is the sleeper: judged on craftsmanship and performance, and the entrants treat the competition exactly as seriously as they treated the building of the costume. Same production ambition as the bigger convention, in a footprint you can cross without a strategy meeting.
Saturday single-day badges go first; the full convention runs the weekend in Anaheim.
Send it to the friend who has been sewing for months with nowhere to take it. This is the room.
Ask a veteran convention-goer which day they actually love and a surprising number will say the last one — when the urgency has drained out and what is left is a hall full of people who came for the same thing, quietly aware it is ending for another year.
Sunday is the undervalued badge. Crowds thin. Artist Alley cuts prices on whatever is left rather than haul it home. Vendors bundle things that were not bundled on Friday. Publishers discount remaining stock. The competition for panel seats evaporates and the convention finally becomes a social space instead of a logistics problem.
Closing panels run, and next year's dates get announced on the way out the door, which hands everyone something to look forward to before they have even reached the parking structure.
Take the train and stay until they sweep the floor. The last hour is the one people remember.
Every day· Next Apr 1
Los Angeles Convention Center, 120…
Fifty years ago a farm boy looked up at twin suns and a generation learned what longing sounds like.
Star Wars Celebration returns to Los Angeles on April 1–4, 2027, to mark the 50th anniversary of the film that changed everything. This is the gathering where Lucasfilm pulls back the curtain — world premieres of upcoming projects, panels with the creators who are building the next chapters, first looks at footage that won't exist anywhere else for months. The show floor spans the LA Convention Center with immersive exhibits, a cosplay showcase that draws the most ambitious builders on the planet, exclusive merchandise that sells out before lunch, and the collective energy of tens of thousands of people who all trace something essential about who they are back to that same opening crawl.
The 50th anniversary makes this one different. Half a century of stories, characters, music, and moments that shaped how an entire culture thinks about heroism, redemption, and the distance between who you are and who you could be. Whether you've been here since 1977 or discovered it last year, Celebration is the room where every version of that journey is valid.
What makes Star Wars Celebration unlike any other fan convention is that it is the only place where the future of the franchise is revealed first. Every major announcement — from The Mandalorian's debut trailer to Ahsoka's first footage to the reveal of new theatrical films — happened at Celebration before it happened anywhere else. The industry comes because Lucasfilm treats this room as the premiere venue. The fans come because they've been part of this story longer than most relationships in their lives.
Expect four full days of programming: the headline showcase at the Honda Center (separate ticket tier), hundreds of panels across multiple stages, the Fan Stage where cosplayers and community creators take the spotlight, interactive experiences that put you inside the worlds of the saga, and the Artist Alley where illustrators who shaped the visual language of Star Wars sell original work.
Four-day adult passes from $260.99. Children 4–12 from $105.99. Los Angeles Convention Center. April 1–4, 2027. Tickets via starwarscelebration.com.
Somewhere in that room two strangers are deep in an argument about print runs that neither of them will win, and both are having the best afternoon of their month. That conversation mostly went extinct the moment the entertainment industry discovered comics. Here it never stopped.
This is a collector's room first — condition, variant identification, print-run knowledge as the shared currency. The vendor floor is the reason to come: original art pages from creators whose names you know, silver and bronze age books priced by sellers who know their own inventory, Golden Age finds in sleeves, and a small-press aisle where independent creators sell and sign the thing they made themselves. Programming runs to history and craft, and the guests are there because they care about comics, not because a film is coming.
Spring in San Diego; venue and admission post at sdcomicfest.com.
Send it to the person who still has their long boxes in the closet.
May 29 – May 31, 2027
Riverside Convention Center, 3637 …
An hour to Los Angeles for the big convention, an hour back at one in the morning — that is what being an anime fan out here has always meant. This is the year that stopped. There is a real pride in a room full of people from Riverside, San Bernardino, Temecula and Redlands who finally did not have to leave home to find each other. It is the whole format at a scale you can actually walk: panels, an exhibit hall, artist alley, gaming rooms, and a cosplay contest judged by a crowd that recognizes the characters without being told. No airport-terminal sprawl. That trade was made on purpose — less distance between you and the thing you came for. The convention takes over the Riverside Convention Center downtown, with dates confirming at animeriverside.com. Bring the friends who made that drive with you one too many times.
Everyone plans for the weekend, which is exactly why the people who have done this before block out Thursday.
Opening day of the largest Japanese animation gathering in the world is the quiet one — quiet being relative when a hundred thousand people move through a convention center across four days. Artist Alley has lines you can actually stand in. The exclusive merch booths still have stock. The top-tier badge lanes clear in minutes instead of swallowing your morning. You pick up your badge, walk a floor nobody has picked over yet, and set up the rest of your weekend while everyone else is still at work.
Thursday carries real weight anyway: the Anisong concert, studio panels, cosplay gathering coordination, and a marketplace where licensed goods sit a table away from things you will never find again.
The Convention Center downtown, off the Metro at Pico Station. Badges go on sale well in advance and the good tiers vanish fast.
Find the friend who says every year that they will go next year.
The announcement you will see trending worldwide by dinner happens in a room you could be standing in at lunch. That is the entire case for showing up on the first full public day instead of easing in over the weekend.
This is when the building finally hits capacity and the studio panels start dropping licensing reveals and surprise first episodes. Anisong sets bring Japanese recording artists who almost never play the States. Voice actors and creators sign all afternoon. The floor and Artist Alley run flat out from open to close — hundreds of independent artists selling prints, charms, and original work — and the sweet spot for actually shopping it is early afternoon, before the prime-time panels pull the crowd away.
The Metro drops you a short walk from the doors. A main badge covers daytime programming, panels, the floor, and the alley; the big concerts ticket separately.
Send it to the friend with a simulcast tab open right now. They will not need convincing.
The Masquerade streams live every year, and watching the stream is a completely different event from sitting in that hall. On a screen you see a costume. In the room you see the seams — the thermoplastic, the wiring, the months somebody spent on a shoulder piece nobody was ever supposed to notice. Hundreds of competitors, judged on craft and on performance, and the noise when a build lands is unlike anything else all weekend.
Saturday is the peak of the whole convention. The biggest announcements come out on Saturday. The panel halls hit capacity on Saturday. Artist Alley lines wrap around entire wings, English voice actors do live readings, and Japanese creators appear in person or beamed in from across the ocean.
Come early for the exclusives, then return to the exhibit floor after the main panels, when it briefly calms down. The Expo Line lets you out right there.
Badges go first for this day. Ask the friend you always lose in Artist Alley.
Everyone chases the opening days — the announcements, the premieres, the Hall H-sized adrenaline. The people who know AX chase the last one. Sunday is when the world's largest anime convention exhales: the lines go short, the floor slows down, and the conversations finally stop being shouted between panels and start being real.
It's also the day the floor gets generous. Artist Alley cuts prices to clear the table, exhibitors let exclusive merch go at a discount, and the Closing Ceremonies — the weekend cosplay recap, the Masquerade awards, the official goodbye — mark the moment four days of strangers become the community that'll wait a whole year to reassemble. Day 4 badges are the easiest to find on resale and the most underrated ticket of the convention. And in 2027 the finale lands on the Fourth of July, with fireworks visible from parts of the LACC plaza depending on which way they launch.
Anime Expo 2027, Sunday July 4, Los Angeles Convention Center. Take Metro or rideshare — downtown parking and traffic are brutal on the Fourth. Come for the goodbye; it's the part that stays with you.
You did not buy this badge. Nobody buys this badge. You entered a lottery, refreshed a queue page with your heart going, and either the system chose you or it did not — and that is before the convention has even opened.
Four or five hours on one uncrowded floor. The people walking it are professionals, longtime attendees, and lottery winners, and they move deliberately because they already know what is here and where. Lines for the most-wanted exclusives form well before the hall opens, but the rest of it is walkable in a way that becomes physically impossible by Saturday. You learn the layout, mark the panels, and buy the thing before it evaporates.
The convention center on Harbor Drive, one Wednesday evening in July, trolley running late and nowhere nearby to park.
Send it to the friend who has entered that lottery three years running and still talks about it.
Everyone tells you Saturday is the day. They are wrong, and the veterans have quietly known it for years.
Thursday is thinner. Hall H is already firing, the floor is fully open, and the building hums at a register the weekend spectacle never quite reaches. Studios like to drop their surprise announcements here — timed to land at the exact point in the news cycle that buys them buzz for the rest of the week — so the reveals that feel realest happen before most of the city has even arrived.
A Thursday badge is not a lesser badge. Every programming room, every screening, every exhibit, Artist Alley signings running start to finish. Outside, the Gaslamp fills with off-site activations from studios that never scored convention space, plenty of them free with a badge scan or open to anyone walking past.
Send this to the friend who has lost the badge lottery a decade running. Tell them to stop aiming for the weekend.
By mid-morning the building is running at capacity in every direction at once, and you have to choose. That is the real experience of Friday — not the lines, not the swag, but the low-grade grief of knowing that whatever room you pick means three rooms you will never see.
Hall H is deep into its schedule. Ballroom 20 holds the overflow that did not make the Hall H line. A Friday badge gets you the exhibit floor, Artist Alley, and every programming room, and the best parts are unscheduled by design: merch drops, studio activations, a face you recognize walking a booth with no announcement. Outside, the offsites hit peak operation — studios build entire pop-ups across the surrounding blocks, badge or no badge — and the Gaslamp runs convention menus and parties that spill into the street.
Take the trolley or a rideshare; the lots downtown fill early.
Send it to the person you always text photos to from inside. Bring them instead.
Saturday is when Comic-Con becomes what it is.
Hall H fills before dawn — the line outside has been there since the night before. The franchise trailers, the cast reunions, the first looks: they all happen on a Saturday at San Diego Comic-Con. July 24, 2027. The day the industry picks to say what it couldn't say anywhere else, in front of the crowd that will carry it everywhere.
Saturday programming runs across all three levels of the Convention Center simultaneously. Hall H anchors with the major franchise panels. Ballroom 20 runs television and streaming. The smaller rooms carry comics, animation, games, and the programming that doesn't make the headlines but is often better.
The exhibit hall is at peak capacity on Saturday. Artist Alley is fully operational. The Off-Site activations in the Gaslamp are fully active — the marketing footprint of SDCC Saturday extends six blocks in every direction.
The pinnacle of the convention calendar. The day the rest of the year has been building toward.
Sunday is the convention's exhale.
Hall H empties out. The floor thins enough that you can finally see it. Badge veterans quietly rate it the second-best day of the week, and a certain kind of attendee plans the whole trip around it.
The programming tilts fan-first rather than franchise-first — comics panels, creator Q&As, the closing ceremonies the broader press does not bother covering. Vendors cut deals to move inventory before teardown, and Artist Alley final-day pricing is the best it gets all week.
By late afternoon people are already in the Gaslamp over dinner planning next year, which is its own tradition. It ends the same way every time: with everyone insisting it went too fast.
San Diego Convention Center, 111 W Harbor Dr. Sunday, July 25, 2027.
Thursday and Friday are about what this thing is becoming. Sunday is about what it has always been.
There's more here for you.
An account shows you comic & superhero events matched to your exact taste — not just what's popular.