In Defence of the Renaissance Festival

Every year I hear about the Renaissance Festival in town (or close enough to town) and without fail I hear the snickering at the mere idea of going down to that dusty road. Now I absolutely understand the humor in it. It is funny in its own right; grown men pretending that they are blacksmiths or knights is kind of goofy and the grown women (and by grown I mean bigger than the outfits they wear) pretending to be royalty or handmaidens. But there are multiple ways of looking at this. One is to go there (or not) and criticize it. To be that guy (or girl) who will never step foot in the grounds yet have an opinion about it wrought with negativity. This one shows who you are as a person. Don’t get me wrong, there are some funny sites to be seen there and none of it intentional. The women there are sometimes far too comfortable with their bodies and their bodies can tip the scale at 300+ with little clothing covering their gelatinous, stretch-marked guts. This is sometimes hard to look past without laughing. But if I weighed as much as some of them and tried to dress like a medieval hooker then I would be just as susceptible to the wiseass cracks coming my way. The men for the most part are better. The ones that go around shirtless are typically in good shape and those who look as if they punch the gas pedal whenever they come in the vicinity of a gym are generally well clothed. The second is that it’s kind of sweet, thinking about the fact that there are these passionate people in the world who not only want to remember history but take a stroll through bits and pieces of it in the best way they know how. Their imagination is what is missing in the mundane freeway of our everyday lives. Here, we too can step outside of our uptight judgmental ways and stroll through their world of dusty roads, interesting foods, fun games, and shops. We can go through unnoticed or interact with them. The experience can be one of marvel and wonder or as miserable as you want to be and want it to be. I went today because it has become sort of an annual thing for my girlfriend and me. We don’t go dressed up because 1) it’s expensive to buy those clothes and we hate the cheap looking crap and 2) bloody hot out there. I got to shoot bow and arrows and practicing fencing which I’m apparently pretty decent at both. The people there want to talk to you. They are not the social rejects that people paint them up to be. One of the most stunning things you’ll notice, and I don’t believe you could find this anywhere else, is that nobody is miserable there. There are no angry people. If someone bumps into you by accident you’ll hear a thousand apologies (probably those exact words). There are no fights there that are not staged and yet people are walking around in the sweltering heat, drinking, some people armed to the teeth with actual weapons, and yet never will you see any type of scuffle. I think there is something to be said for that; for the great people of the RenFair. There is a fun time to be had there. Drunken scullery maids, gorgeous children dressed up in fantasy or medieval garb, Knights, fools and kings.
Remember that no matter how sad you believe them to be, they are actors. They play a role for your entertainment. They serve your happiness. For this you should be grateful.