the RennFest disparity

I did everything on my weekend list except read the book like I should have. Well done me. (The shower curtain went through the washer just fine.)

The RennFest was a lot more fun than I thought it would be. It’s not far away at all, either from where we live now or from where we went to high school, so BF and I both have long experience with it. By far the best part is people-watching; the number of boobs attempting to escape too-small corsets is always vast and amusing. BF also mentioned how he liked that the RennFest is an excuse for people to wear just any old weird thing they wanted to wear – striped knee socks, fairy wings, black lipstick – along with the folks who actually go for the serious gear. We saw a guy with red leather armor who looked like Sauron himself.

I went to the Fest once with my parents when in high school; Mom and I talked Dad into letting me rent a costume, and I spent the rest of the day feeling guilty for how much it cost. I’ve been a few times since then and never really enjoyed myself. But this time was actually fun. We ate various deep-fried things on sticks and watched glass-blowing and generally had a nice time. I’d love to go sometime with unlimited money, and buy all kinds of jewelry and clothes and ironwork and glassware. There’s just too much cool stuff, but sadly it’s all being sold for what it’s worth.

I also waxed philosophical about how sorry I felt for a lot of these folks dressed up in full costume. Not because I thought they looked stupid – they certainly didn’t – but because, for some of them, the RennFest is likely the only time of year that they feel like themselves. I observed this when I was LARPing in college, the fact that people who lead colorless, aimless lives in the 21st century can often live fascinating, powerful lives inside the fantasies with which they surround themselves through gaming. I remember one guy in particular, packed with charisma, who was deliciously frightening in character as a double-crossing grand-vizier type, but who worked as an orderly and drove a Civic out there in the real world. There was no way for him to channel his fantasy-life capabilities into the real world, without money or a plan to put into action.

The RennFest people are sometimes the same way. All they want to do is live in the 16th century, with big brocade skirts and thou’s and leather mugs. But there’s no place or time to do that except the Renaissance Festival once a year. Where people like me admire their clothes and their ability to stay in character.