I’m not a Trekkie.

I can’t list every “Star Trek” episode title chronologically. I… I’m not a Trekkie.

I can’t list every “Star Trek” episode title chronologically. I don’t know how to speak the Klingon language. I can’t even make my fingers split apart for a friendly “Live long and prosper.”

But for the local premiere of “Star Trek,” I donned a red sweater, stapled some gold ribbon around the sleeves and taped a Starfleet emblem to my chest. I was no longer Pitt student Noah Levinson, but Montgomery Scott, the chief engineer of the USS Enterprise.

While most theatergoers found the costume entertaining, some Trekkies said they believed my costumed friends and I had made fools of ourselves.

“They aren’t real fans, they’re just a bunch of idiots,” I overheard them say. They do make a point — I’m not a die-hard Klingon-fluent “Star Trek” follower.

But then why would I dress up for a movie about which I am not a feverish cult follower?

Two years ago, a director named Michael Bay decided to revamp an old cartoon series called “Transformers” into an explosive Megan Fox-laced film unsurprisingly titled “Transformers.”

I have little respect for Michael Bay and the commercialism and near-constant explosions present throughout “Transformers,” but it was the summer movie season. I found a stockpile of cardboard boxes in the garage and, most importantly, I was bored.

So in the span of a single afternoon, three of my buddies and I set out to create Optimus Prime and Megatron from old refrigerator boxes, reels of duct tape and spray paint. Before nighttime, we had noxious paint fumes in our lungs and “Transformers” costumes made of our blood, sweat and household items.

A note to anyone dressing up for this year’s “Transformers” sequel: Have someone else drive you to the movie theater or put on the boxes in the parking lot.

Not only is it a dangerous drive while you’re clad in boxes, but also why would a Transformer be driving a car? It’s just redundant.

Dressing up is an additional part of the movie indulgence experience. Movies are meant to be interactive, but not interactive like the DVDs that have games like “Dress the Grinch” and “Name that Shirtless Matthew McConaughey Scene.”

As an audience member, you go to the movies to become absorbed in the plot — or even a physical part of it — and the feeling lasts even after you exit the theater.

I came from a “James Bond” movie in the mood to kick ass. I wanted to acquire a tux and drive my car exceptionally fast while listening to big band Paul Oakenfold remixes.

Fast-forward a year later to Christopher Nolan’s comic crusader juggernaut, “The Dark Knight.” My excitement for the film reached almost dizzying levels — a horrifyingly creepy Joker and no “whams,” “pows” or Adam Wests.

Even better: Beyond Two-Face and the Joker, there are so many freaking cool “Batman” characters!

After a grueling day of Salvation Army and Wal-Mart runs, my 11 compatriots and I marched into the theater in full comic-book garb. The entrance is of the utmost importance — establishing your character “cred” eliminates any cause for self-doubt.

Dressing up means playing the part. When some little kids started screaming at our Scarecrow, he just sprayed milk through little squirt guns he hid up his sleeve.

People cheered as the Riddler entered — green tuxedo and all — but it only got better when he tore it all off to reveal tight green, question-mark-covered spandex.

Not only had we all become part of the movie, but we moved other people to get more involved within the film, too. Watching our Penguin stumble up the stairs in flippers heartily increased the audience’s anticipation to see the movie.

But enough reminiscing — I have to gather my leather jacket, sunglasses and thick Austrian accent together for “Terminator Salvation.”