It’s safe to say Tate’s Comics is a dynasty in South Florida comics. We have handed it Best Comic Store for about the past 73 years, but it’s not because we’re lazy. It’s because of conversations like this that happen inside the sacred walls of geekdom:
“But look at her boobs; they’re so fake-looking.”
“She’s made out of PVC.”
“Obviously, but they’re just so fake-looking, and why would she wear that if she’s fighting dragons?”
“She fights demons.”
“Oh, sorry, but they’re still fake-looking.”
There’s a feeling you get when you walk into Tate’s — an instant sense of dorky camaraderie, like everyone who walks through those doors is your friend. Those who can’t tell the difference between toys and collectibles, who can’t see beyond the pictures to the content — those people are the outcasts in these hallowed walls, and it takes a special store to instill that feeling without seeming elitist. Tate’s isn’t a store — it’s a haven, and it’s a place of respite from a harsh world. It’s a place where superpowers are the norm, and no pop culture reference is too obscure. Tate’s is heaven.