My Second Contest Experience: 2025 ModelZona

Another year, another contest entry, and another lesson in the peculiar journey of scale modeling. This past weekend, I entered my second-ever model competition at the 2025 ModelZona here in Phoenix, Arizona. My entry was a Cozmic Scale Model Star Trek 1:20th scale Travel Pod, complete with a scratch-built base representing a section of the USS Enterprise (NCC-1701) hull docking section. The result? Once again, no trophy to take home.

The Build

The Travel Pod project was ambitious for me—taking the Cozmic Scale kit and elevating it with a custom docking section meant pushing my skills in new directions. The scratch-built base was constructed entirely from styrene sheet, requiring careful measuring, cutting, and layering to capture the distinctive Starfleet aesthetic: those clean lines, the subtle panel work, and the iconic color scheme that made the refit Enterprise so memorable.

The piece is meant to capture that iconic docking scene from Star Trek: The Motion Picture—you know the one, where we first see the beautifully refitted Enterprise in all her glory. I wanted to freeze that moment where the Travel Pod is approaching the docking ring, showing the scale and grandeur of the starship just before final docking. To bring the scene to life, I integrated LED lighting into both the pod and the hull section, illuminating the windows and docking bay to recreate that warm glow against the pearl-white hull plating. The weathering was kept subtle—just enough panel line work and shading to give the surfaces depth without contradicting the "fresh from spacedock" appearance the ship has in that sequence.

I'm genuinely proud of how it turned out, particularly how the lighting creates that cinematic atmosphere and the sense of movement as the pod approaches its destination.

The Square Peg Problem

It's now been almost a year since I joined the IPMS Phoenix chapter, and I'm still grappling with a feeling I suspect many niche hobbyists experience: I don't quite fit in. Don't get me wrong—the members are welcoming, skilled, and passionate about their craft. But there's an undeniable reality: the vast majority of builders in the club focus on aircraft and military vehicles, particularly WWII subjects. Tables are dominated by Spitfires, Shermans, Tigers, and Mustangs—all executed with incredible skill.

Meanwhile, I'm over here with my sci-fi subjects, dioramas, and figures.

Is It Me, or Is It Them?

I can't help but wonder if my ongoing trophy drought is partly due to this mismatch—or if my work simply needs improvement. It's a question every modeler asks themselves after a contest loss.

Science fiction modeling has its own set of standards and challenges. Like historical modelers who rely on photographs and documentation, sci-fi builders use production material, photos, and screenshots to make their builds as "canon" as possible. But the aesthetics are different: sci-fi subjects often feature clean, minimalist designs and interpretive weathering based on screen appearance rather than operational history. It's a different visual language, and I wonder if that sometimes creates a disconnect in judging.

This year, I also found myself questioning the categorization. The contest had both a Sci-Fi category and a diorama category, and my piece was placed in diorama due to the size of the base. I understand the logic, but it made me think about how display bases and full dioramas are different beasts—and whether my entry might have been better suited to the sci-fi category where it would compete against similar subjects.

Small Victories

That said, the year hasn't been without its bright spots. I've formed a genuine friendship with Robert, a club member who's been consistently supportive and offers thoughtful, honest observations about my work. Having him there to visit with and talk to during the event made this year's contest a completely different experience from last year, when I sat mostly in silence. He even brought me a PB&J sandwich, chips, and a soda—a small gesture that spoke volumes about the kind of friendship that can develop in this hobby.

When the results were announced and my name wasn't called, Robert was genuinely disappointed for me—and that meant more than any trophy could have.

There were other positive moments too. Several people stopped by to compliment the build, particularly the lighting effects. A couple of modelers even asked if I was "the artist who brought in the AT-ST to last year's contest"—which tells me that at least some people are noticing and remembering my work, even if the judges aren't putting ribbons on it.

I also had the pleasure of meeting a modeler who had traveled from California to attend the event—a Marine Corps veteran who came to enjoy the show and community. It's encounters like these that remind me the hobby extends far beyond our local club dynamics, and that there's a wider community of enthusiasts out there with diverse interests and backgrounds.

Lessons Learned

Beyond the social aspects, this contest also gave me valuable practical experience in the logistics of competing. I'm getting better at packing up and moving pieces safely from home to the contest venue and back without damaging the models—no small feat with delicate scratch-built sections and LED wiring, especially when dealing with my neurological tremor. This year I came much better prepared: I brought my own power supply to power up the piece, tools for on-the-spot repairs, towels and brushes to clean the piece, and my trusty red wagon to move it all about with. These might seem like small details, but they're part of becoming a more seasoned exhibitor, and they made the whole experience far less stressful than last year.

The Path Forward

So where does this leave me? I'm not ready to give up on contests, nor am I willing to abandon the subjects I love to build. Instead, I'm considering a few approaches:

• Seeking out sci-fi-focused competitions and online communities where my work might resonate more strongly

• Documenting my techniques and decisions more thoroughly, perhaps with display cards that help judges understand my creative choices

• Having conversations with organizers about categorization to better understand where my builds fit

• Continuing to improve my fundamental skills—painting, weathering, scratch-building—regardless of genre

• Building what I love and letting the awards (or lack thereof) fall where they may

The Travel Pod may not have earned a trophy, but it earned something more valuable: it taught me more about my craft, my community, and what I want from this hobby. And it reminded me that recognition comes in many forms—sometimes it's a ribbon, and sometimes it's a friend who sees your work and says, "You deserved better." Sometimes it's just someone who brings you lunch and sits down to talk about the things you both love to build.

Not every competition entry needs to be a winner. Sometimes, just showing up with work that matters to you is enough.

Have you ever felt like an outsider in your hobby community? How do you balance building what you love with competing in traditional categories? Let me know in the comments.