Honor Among The Nerds & Knaves

You can smell it the second you walk through the door. It’s that intoxicating mix of newsprint, old glue, and just a hint of hope. For a kid or a novice, a comic book store isn’t just a retail space; it’s a treasure map where every back issue bin represents a potential discovery. You spend an hour—maybe two—flipping through the "stable full of" silver age reprints and modern keys, your fingers turning that specific shade of grey that only comes from handling forty-year-old paper. You finally find it. The book you’ve been looking for. The price tag says twelve dollars. You’ve got the cash, you’ve done the math, and you walk up to the counter with a smile on your face.

Then the mood shifts. The shop owner takes the book, looks at the sticker, and then looks at you. He doesn't reach for the scanner or the bag. Instead, he reaches for his phone or pulls up a tab on the computer. He starts checking the "liquid" market value on eBay sold listings or a real-time pricing app. A moment later, he looks up and says, "Sorry, this one actually moved. It’s forty dollars now."

It mirrors life, right? Just when you think you’ve secured a win, the goalposts start moving.

We talk about the comic book market as this complex mechanism of supply and demand, a substantive part of the collectibles world, but at its very core, it relies on a very simple, old-fashioned thing. That thing is trust. When a shop owner puts a price on a book and places it in a public bin, that is a social contract. Breaking that contract at the register is a breach of common etiquette. Either update the prices or honor them.

I want to be fair. I know that shop owners have to protect themselves. There is a specific type of "collector"—and I use that term loosely—who thinks they’re being clever by swapping price stickers from a beat-up dollar book onto a high-grade key. That is theft, plain and simple. A shop owner has a right to ensure they aren't being robbed by bad actors. If a sticker is clearly tampered with, or if a book was placed in the wrong bin by a genuine mistake, a conversation needs to happen.

But that’s not what we’re talking about here. We’re talking about the "bait and switch" as a business model.

The problem arises when a manager or owner uses outdated pricing deliberately as a lure. They keep the old stickers on the books because "twelve dollars" looks a lot more attractive than "forty dollars" when you’re browsing the bins. It gets people in the door. It gets the book into the customer’s hands. They rely on the "nuance" of the moment—the idea that once you’ve decided you want the book, you might be willing to pay the higher price anyway just to avoid the disappointment of walking away empty-handed. This isn't just bad business; it’s a predatory tactic that preys on the enthusiasm of the very people who keep the lights on.

Think about the bedrock of the industry. For a local comic shop to survive in the age of digital downloads and massive online retailers, they have to offer something the internet can’t: a relationship. When you’re a regular, you aren’t just a transaction. You’re part of a community. You trust that the person behind the counter is giving you the straight dope on the grade of a book or the potential of a new series. When that same person tries to squeeze an extra twenty bucks out of you because a movie trailer dropped while the book was sitting in the bin, that relationship gets damaged. You don't feel like a valued customer anymore. You feel like a mark.

The aftermarket is a strange beast. It’s volatile. Prices can spike overnight because of a casting announcement or a viral tweet. Keeping a "stable full of" thousands of back issues accurately priced is a Herculean task. I get it. The ideal solution isn't to re-price the books at the point of sale with any great frequency. The solution is to have integrity and honor your old price (it might even motivate you to update your stock more regularly).

If you realize a book is underpriced when it hits the counter, sell it at the stickered price, shake the customer's hand, and then go back and check the rest of the bin. Better a short-term hit on one book than alienating or angering a customer. Why? Because your shop's reputation is worth more than the margin on a single issue of Amazing Spider-Man.

Honesty is a liquid asset. It flows through the shop and creates an environment where people feel safe to spend their hard-earned money. When a shop is known for "checking the phone" at the register, word spreads. In the small, tight-knit world of comic collecting, your name is your currency. Once people realize you’re more interested in the "mechanism" of the squeeze than the "nuance" of the hunt, they’ll stop coming. They’ll go to the shop across town where the price on the bag is the price you pay. Or worse, they’ll just stay home and buy everything off their screen—or save a few extra bucks for the convention.

For the novices and the kids out there, here is my "old man" advice: if a shop does this, walk away. Don't argue, don't get angry; just leave the book on the counter and find a different place to spend your money. Keep an eye out to see if it is something you have been encountering there more than once. These days, the next shop might be a long way away if you live in small-town Minnesota, for instance. Make sure it’s not an anomaly. If you go to conventions, though, and it happens there, just move along. There are other options.

And for the shop owners who think they’re being "smart" by catching those market spikes at the register—look around. Look at the empty stools and the dwindling pull lists. You might think you’re protecting your bottom line, but you’re actually eroding the very foundation of your business. The comic book world is built on the idea of heroes and villains. Don't make it easy for your customers to figure out which one you are. It is better to be a neutral arbiter who acts as a trusted middleman.

It’s better to be honest. It’s better to honor the sticker. In the long run, the trust you build will be the most substantive thing you own. It’s the only way to ensure this hobby stays healthy, vibrant, and, most importantly, fun. Because at the end of the day, we're all just people looking for a bit of magic in a colorful paper world. Let’s not let a few dollars get in the way of that.