Naka-Kon 2026: "We are so back"

Most conventions don’t die loudly.

They don’t collapse in scandal or implode under the weight of ambition. They simply stop. One year the website goes quiet. The social media posts slow, then disappear. Volunteers move on. Venues stop returning emails. What once felt inevitable fades into memory, mentioned only in forum posts that begin with “Does anyone remember…?”

Anime conventions, especially home-grown ones, are uniquely vulnerable to this fate. Many are lucky to make it to five years. Volunteer burnout, financial strain, changing fandom trends, and the sheer logistical weight of running a multi-day event can grind even the most passionate teams down.

And then there was 2020.

A global pandemic that didn’t just shorten lifespans, but erased them, laying waste to long-standing cons and fledgling ones alike. 

So when Naka-Kon prepares to open its doors March 13–15, 2026, at the Overland Park Convention Center and Sheraton Hotel, it does so with the quiet gravity of something that understands how close it came to not being here at all.

“For us, being able to make it 21 years is a huge accomplishment,” said Chris Powell, Naka-Kon’s press director. “If you know anything about anime conventions, most are lucky to make it to year five. Let alone trying to go over 20 years.”

Powell doesn’t say this as a victory lap. There’s no chest-thumping in his voice—only awareness. Twenty-one years isn’t a guarantee of permanence. It’s proof of survival.

“We feel very lucky to be in the position that we’re in,” Powell said. “You can’t really do it without a great supporter base. And you can’t really do it without competent leadership. We’ve had that throughout our time.”

Naka-Kon began in 2005 as a single-day event at the University of Kansas. Like many early-2000s anime conventions, it was built on passion, volunteer labor, and a fandom still defining itself in the American Midwest. Anime wasn’t mainstream yet. Streaming didn’t exist. DVDs were precious. Fans traveled hours just to be around other people who got it, swapping bootleg VHS tapes and dog-eared NewType Magazines while a new generation was being born thanks to Cartoon Network’s Adult Swim and Toonami programing blocks.

Over time, Naka grew—slowly, deliberately—into a three-day convention drawing 8,000 to 9,000 attendees annually, peaking at more than 10,000 in 2016. By any metric, that’s the size of a small city. One that has to be fed, entertained, protected, scheduled, and guided through a massive convention center with minimal friction.

What allowed Naka-Kon to keep going when so many others vanished?

Powell’s answer is simple but not easy: adaptation.

“[Naka-Kon] has done such a great job of utilizing the space that they have over the years,” he said. “Improving the processes they have. Learning what are the most important things to feature for attendees.”

That learning isn’t abstract. It’s documented, analyzed, and acted upon.

“One thing I can say is we take attendee feedback very seriously,” Powell said. “Because of that, we’ve been able to improve parts of the convention that people are most interested in.”

It’s a feedback loop that has become foundational to Naka-Kon’s identity. Surveys aren’t window dressing. They’re tools for survival.

The year everything almost ended

Naka-Kon’s adaptability was tested most brutally in March 2020.

As COVID-19 spread across the country, Naka held on as long as it could—until the Thursday before the convention weekend. “Day 0.” The cancellation decision came at the last possible moment, after months of planning and days before thousands were set to arrive.

The response was immediate and emotional. Anger. Sadness. Understanding. Fear.

“The pandemic was really hard on us,” Powell said. “There was a time where the future of the convention was in doubt.”

For a while, Naka-Kon existed in a kind of suspended state. Not gone, but not alive in the way it once was. Returning required rethinking everything: safety protocols, staffing expectations, international guests, even the calendar itself.

“There was some retooling that had to happen,” Powell said. “When you have great leadership, great staff, and a supporter base that really wanted to continue supporting the convention, it made what we do much easier.”

That support didn’t just keep the lights on—it gave Naka-Kon permission to change.

“You’ve got a different political landscape. You’ve got a very different set of circumstances as far as safety is concerned,” Powell said. “You’ve got to think about all these things.”

Rather than resist those realities, Naka leaned into forward-thinking leadership.

“It’s definitely a top-down situation,” Powell said. “The people in charge of those aspects are very forward thinking in how they want to improve.”

Making a convention navigable—and human

Anime fandom doesn’t age out so much as it replenishes itself. Research from the International Anime Research Project shows that the average age of fans remains stable over time, with new fans continually replacing those who drift away. Convention-goers skew slightly older, while cosplayers trend younger.

Naka-Kon has responded by building an experience designed to meet people wherever they are in the fandom.

“We’re very welcoming to people of all different ages and experience levels,” Powell said. “We really try to make it as first-time friendly as possible.”

That philosophy manifests physically.

“We wanted to increase signage and make sure it flows better,” Powell said. “Because there are some conventions where you can be really confused about where to go.”

At Naka-Kon, entire floors and wings are dedicated to specific interests. Gaming isn’t hidden—it’s an entire floor. Vendors have their own space. Programming is centralized. Cosplay has multiple defined areas, from the courtyard to the main stage.

“If you want to go to gaming, you don’t have to search for it,” Powell said. “If you want to go shopping, we have a whole room dedicated to that.”

This simplification is intentional, especially for newcomers who might otherwise feel overwhelmed.

“We really try to push to simplify our layout,” he said. “So it’s easier for first-timers.”

Accessibility also means inclusion- but with boundaries.

“We make it as inclusive of an environment as we can,” Powell said. “Regardless of what your interests are, there’s always going to be a place for you.”

That includes maintaining a family-friendly atmosphere.

“We want to make sure people are dressed appropriately so families don’t feel like they can’t bring their children,” he said. “There are a lot of ways we go about making sure it’s appropriate for people of all ages.”

A convention that never stops planning

For attendees, Naka-Kon is a 72-hour immersion. For staff, it’s a year-long cycle that restarts the moment the doors close.

“Literally, it’s that weekend,” Powell said. “You generally already have a thread going with ideas on how to improve for the next year.”

More than 200 staff members and volunteers keep the convention running, and interest in joining that group has only grown.

“We’ve seen a lot of interest as far as staffing goes,” Powell said. “When we do PR events, there are a lot more people interested in working for the convention.”

That enthusiasm is mirrored by Naka-Kon’s relationships with its venues.

The Sheraton Hotel which not only adjoins the Overland Park Convention Center but offers its space for various Naka-Kon panels, is a lavish and striking silhouette on Overland Park’s skyline, and despite it’s lavish looks and serious-seeming aura, guests are often delighted to see staff conducting miniature “dance parties” while helping with traffic flow to the elevators, or the bartenders slinging themed drinks with anime t-shirts and a smile.

“The [Sheraton Hotel] staff love having us there,” Powell said. “Some of them cosplay. Some request staff shirts and wear them while the convention’s going on.”

The Overland Park Convention Center, he added, has been “nothing but hospitable.”

“That’s why those buildings really do feel like a home for us.”

Culture, not just content

Despite its name recognition, Naka-Kon resists being labeled “just an anime convention.”

“We’re not just an anime convention,” Powell said. “We’re also a celebration of Japanese culture.”

Programming reflects that mission. Anime and manga exist alongside music, gaming, fashion, design, and traditional cultural elements. As a 501(c)(3) nonprofit, Naka-Kon also fundraises for causes aligned with that mission, including the Miyagi Coastal Reforestation Project and the Taylor Anderson Memorial Fund in the past.

And culture, Powell notes, includes food.

When Naka-Kon introduced food trucks several years ago, it wasn’t an afterthought, it was a thematic choice.

“We did a food theme that year,” Powell said. “And it was very well received.”

Ramen vendors like K.C. Craft and JINYA appeared inside. Food trucks lined the exterior. The response was overwhelming.

“Once we did it, we realized how popular it was,” Powell said. “We got a lot of feedback that it was something we should keep.”

It’s now a staple.

“If you’re on site the whole weekend, food options matter,” he said. “Especially for staff. We’re not changing that anytime soon.”

A guest list that reflects recovery

The 2026 guest lineup reflects Naka-Kon’s renewed strength.

Voice actors Heather Gonzalez, Xanthe Huynh, Zeno Robinson, and Jonah Scott represent a generation of performers whose work bridges anime, gaming, and Western animation. Their credits span Persona 5, Fire Emblem, Demon Slayer, Attack on Titan, Young Justice, BEASTARS, Kaiju No. 8, and more.

Music remains central. Maki Otsuki—the original ending theme singer for ONE PIECE—returns Naka to its anime-music roots. PAiDA, a Texas-based dystopian J-pop idol, brings a distinctly modern, genre-bending presence.

Fashion and craftsmanship are highlighted through Harajuku brand Iris Garden × Haenuli, Kansas City cosplayer Diana The Great, and master armor builder Angus Duff of Duff Cosplay. Japanese performer and DJ Hiromi Sameshima, of BAN BAN BAN and Anison Disco, adds international energy.

“Getting Japanese guests back was huge for us,” Powell said. “That was a really big moment.”

For Powell, it’s about maintaining authenticity.

“We want to give people that full experience,” he said.

No five-year plan—by design

Despite the momentum, Naka-Kon doesn’t chase distant milestones.

“We try not to get too ahead of ourselves,” Powell said. “If you start thinking too far into the future, you lose perspective on what you’re doing right now.”

The pandemic reshaped how the convention thinks about planning.

“One thing can completely ruin your whole plans,” Powell said. “So we try to leave ourselves some flexibility.”

That flexibility has become a strength.

“We do think about improvements,” he said. “But we do it year by year.”

After years of disruption, Powell says operations finally feel normal again.

“We’re back into our normal processes for the first time since the pandemic,” he said. “Now it’s just about getting everyone back.”

What remains at the core

When asked what he hopes people take away from Naka-Kon each year, Powell doesn’t hesitate.

“It’s how diverse the fandom is,” he said. “And that the diversity is good.”

That diversity shows up everywhere—furries resting in the Headless Lounge, tabletop gamers lost in strategy, arcade purists hauling custom joysticks, cosplayers portraying obscure characters from decades-old anime.

“If you’re into something,” Powell said, “we’ve got a space for you.”

That philosophy- welcoming, adaptable, grounded in community- is why Naka-Kon reached 21 years. And after everything it’s endured, simply being here feels like a quiet, defiant victory.

So, with a nod to internet vernacular: after years of “it’s so over,” 2026 may finally be Naka-Kon’s “we are so back.”