Anime Central 2026

My friend described it as "chaos." That was the immediate impression people received after stepping into Anime Central. With an attendance of over 36,000, Anime Central is the most significant anime convention in the Midwest. To an outsider, that might not sound particularly impressive. Being the "best in the Midwest" can feel like a backhanded compliment, akin to boasting about the world's largest ball of yarn. I don't say this to disrespect the event. Anime Central is genuinely more successful than the vast majority of its peers and consistently ranks near the top of the list of the largest anime conventions in North America.

Anime Central has all the trappings of an anime convention. It has the vendor hall, artists alley, gaming hall, events, panels, contests, cosplay, dances, and viewing rooms. At a ripe 28 years of age, it's a mature, established anime convention in the third largest city in the USA. Despite this, I find myself asking silly questions like "If it's in the third-largest city in the USA, why isn't it the third-largest anime convention in the USA?" Well, by my count it's the fourth largest anime convention in the USA, which is close enough, right? Maybe I'm being picky, but after attending the biggest and arguably best conventions in North America, I have high expectations. This isn't to say that "bigger" always means "better." While larger events have more resources, they also have the potential to fail in more spectacular ways. At this scale, professional execution is required to back up the hype. So, how does Anime Central hold up? As it turns out, not particularly well. Crowding is a common issue at large cons, and Anime Central is no exception. Combined with aging facilities and pedestrian traffic hazards, the convention faces significant challenges. Perhaps its greatest hurdle, however, is environmental dissonance. The programming promises a vibrant, connected community experience, but the fractured, aging venue forces a drab, disconnected reality.

Anime Central experienced a growth in attendance for 2026, which is good for the financial health of the con, but it was countered by increased crowding. With entry to the Donald E. Stephens convention center limited to the main entrance and the skywalk, lines formed early in the day and wound dangerously down N. River Road. Security was enforced with metal detectors which slowed the process. This wouldn't have been so bad if the lines were properly managed, but they weren't managed at all. It was a free for all - get in line wherever you think you should and hope it leads to the right place. I wasn't aware of any signage or staff directing attendees, but I also wisely waited for the line to die down before entering. I also took advantage of the skywalk entrance on Saturday, which was a much shorter wait than the street level entrance. The crowding was exacerbated by a questionable decision: moving registration into the main lobby. This area is the primary landing point connecting every part of the building - the artist alley, vendor hall, gaming room, and main entrance all converge here. While the lobby is spacious, it isn't designed to house the entire registration process. The result was overwhelming.

Two related issues make the entry situation worse. First, the lines form on sidewalks adjacent to N. River Road, a six-lane arterial with a 35 MPH speed limit. There are no barriers separating thousands of pedestrians from fast-moving vehicles. One misstep by an attendee or a lapse in judgment by a driver could easily become a tragedy. Secondly, the main intersection between the hotels and the convention center is uncontrolled. There are no traffic lights or pedestrian signals. While uniformed police officers direct traffic during peak hours, attendees are left to cross six lanes of active traffic on their own once those officers leave. This is particularly dangerous at night when visibility is poor. This infrastructure hazard isn't Anime Central's fault, but it is their problem. I'm surprised the venue hasn't worked with the City of Rosemont to upgrade the intersection. Convention centers and city leaders usually share a symbiotic relationship; what's good for the center is good for the city. Human safety shouldn't be a question of economics. The lack of safe pedestrian infrastructure suggests a level of apathy from everyone involved. While Anime Central doesn't control the roads, they bring a significant economic impact to the area and should be using that leverage to lobby for permanent changes.

The Donald E. Stephens Convention Center makes me chuckle. It's a patchwork of buildings built or remodeled at different times and it shows. The main lobby looks like a 1980s sci-fi movie set, complete with chrome, mirrors, and a red-and-gray palette. It's an interesting aesthetic for a convention center and while functionally fine, it's not a great selling point for an anime convention.

The "Golden Girls Hall" is also awash in 1980s goodness, but this time it's bleached oak paneling, crystal chandeliers, and pink marble. You could cosplay Dorothy, Rose, or Blanche and you'd fit right in. Imagine big, teased glamorous hair, shoulder pads, and blue eyeshadow.

The "Retailer Hall", as Anime Central calls it, looks like a warehouse. This part of the convention center is especially old and doesn't have the polish of newer, fancier, and more expensive civic convention centers. It looks more like a county fairgrounds with a mishmash of construction types. A little bit of wood beams mixed with steel girders and lighting of varying color temperature and quality. There's a ramp between two sections which I guarantee doesn't comply with ADA law. It might be quaint if it didn't feel so dark and dank. But attendees want none of that. They want bright, spacious and accessible spaces with tall ceilings and ample bathrooms, drinking fountains and food vendors. This isn't that. Given the lack of other major venues in Chicago besides the likely overpriced McCormick Place, Anime Central is somewhat a victim of its location. This one is reaching the end of its usefulness for an event of this scale. As the convention grows, it's only a matter of time before it runs out of space. In the meantime, the organizers ought to address the real issues which they can control - like the registration flow - and advocate for the ones they can't, like the pedestrian infrastructure.

Words fail to describe how frustrating it is to move between the convention center and the adjacent Hyatt Regency. The Hyatt Regency is the official hotel for Anime Central and holds many events including the late night dances, 24-hour viewing rooms, and specialized fan lounges. As an official part of the convention, the hotel should be easily accessible. Moving between the buildings is an exercise in frustration. While you could literally throw a stone from one and hit the other, you have to walk no less than a city block to move between them. Looking at a map, you can see how they sit across the street from one another. You would think you could just walk across the street and enter the convention center, but no. There is no entry allowed. You must enter from the main entrance around the corner on N. River Road. Conversely, you should be able to exit the convention center, cross the street, and enter the hotel. On some days you can. There's a small, unremarkable exit from the vendor hall through an underutilized cafe which leads directly to the hotel. But on Sunday the security guard would not let anyone exit. Why? Who knows. It's completely infuriating and annoying. This once again falls back to the facility needing to improve their infrastructure and provide access to the hotel via a proper entrance on that side of the building. Given the more pressing infrastructure issues, I'm not holding my breath on this one.

A convention's personality is defined by how people interact with the space. Think about how the Gaylord National affects the personality of Katsucon or the Kalahari Resorts' effect on Colossalcon. If the space forces attendees to be isolated - no seating, disconnected environments - the convention's identity shifts from "fun" to "unfriendly." An unfriendly vibe was definitely palpable at Anime Central. There was an underlying wariness in the atmosphere that was hard to ignore. While people weren't explicitly unfriendly, they weren't exactly welcoming either. I noticed a distinct caution when approaching cosplayers that I rarely encounter elsewhere. This stands in stark contrast to events like Otakon, where the community energy was high despite hurdles there. When a venue forces attendees through long lines and metal detectors and then into uncomfortable spaces, it creates an unwelcome, guarded experience. We aren't just here for the programming and vendors, we’re here for the people, and if the space doesn't invite us to open up, the "community" Anime Central promises remains out of reach. This dissonance leaves Anime Central with an identity crisis. It wants to present a bright and fun anime event but it clashes with the venue's dark, dated, and unwelcoming reality.

Stepping back, I realize this may sound like a laundry list of complaints, but I prefer to call it constructive criticism. My goal isn't to be negative, but to point out obvious issues that can be fixed. Attendees often call out conventions for things well within their control. For example, Katsucon resisted mailing out badges for years, forcing attendees to wait hours in line, until they finally implemented the practice in 2024. Without pressure from the community and articles like this, these changes often never happen. I'll call it tough love. I want conventions to succeed. If they aren't improving, they are stagnating or failing. Larger organizations than this have failed. Anime and comic conventions suffer quiet deaths all the time, often unnoticed by the broader community. Even Otakon, the third-largest anime convention in the USA, nearly collapsed during the pandemic. For Anime Central, the path forward is clear: the organizers and staff must confront these operational realities with as much zeal as they do the cosplay contest or artists alley. Basic logistics like how registration is handled leave lasting impressions on attendees. If these glaring operational missteps at the entry point become the status quo, the convention risks losing the goodwill of the community it serves. This isn't merely an operational issue, it's a cultural one. Staff motivation often stems from a genuine love for the community, but that excitement often fixates on the "fun" elements - guests, cosplay, and programming - rather than the grueling reality of logistics. The hard truth is that while passion pushes the convention forward, maintaining success requires tackling the un-fun work: negotiating with city officials, fighting for infrastructure, and fixing facility flow. The average attendee is a casual fan, not a die-hard organizer. They do not share the staff’s deep-seated motivations, they simply want to enjoy the event with as little friction as possible. Ultimately, it's up to the organizers to remove that friction.

As always, thank you to all of the cosplayers who recorded video with me. Please find their social media accounts linked below.