The first thing you need to know about the Renaissance Faire is that it’s super horny. While they label the event “family-friendly,” there’s a subtext that people are 100% ready to f#@k. Sure, kids are swinging $25 wooden swords, munching on massive cotton candy spools and running around in the early part of the day, but know weekend warriors are chilling at tables eyeballing the meat rolling in and out of the grounds; they want that ass as soon as night falls.
Apparently the campgrounds at night are an orgy of writhing nerds who are in dire need of a shower. This was my first foray into the velvet grasp of those who speak with a pretend English accent.
The Faire is set up as a small Ye Olde Towne situation. There are jugglers, a skeleton band that plays a constant, slow death dirge. One of the first noticeable things is that this experience is rooted in escapism. Who could blame these folks? The world is a rotting trash heap, and it feels like it’s getting worse with every political ad or promise for that rash to clear up with specialized medicine that side effects include a puckered butthole. There was jousting, which looked like it hurt like hell; the winner of the match was this tiny woman who kicked this other dude’s ass. We also caught a falconry show, which, while on the surface seems like some expert-level stuff, my man’s bird was not into cooperating with the day’s activities. Disney World budget the bird show did not have.
Going to the Faire, I was with a bunch of comedians respectively from Sunset Strip and Joe Rogan’s Comedy Mothership. And all of them were either drunk or on some form of illicit mental entertainment. And most were dressed up. Philip Garcia was a monk on DMT, while Nicholas Cepegglia went as Jesus on Easter.
I’ve wanted to go to the Ren Faire for years, not as someone ready to throw on a Monty Python outfit but relishing the experience of being an outsider who can’t step into waters he doesn’t understand. I crave the unknown, and I love a strong drink. I love chaos. So, I did my best in those seas, which differed from the ones I regularly waded in.
I’m not a dress-up kind of guy. While others can’t get out on the dance floor, I’m a dancing fool. I will juke hard with your grandmother or auntie. Put a few whiskeys in me, and I will 100% be doing the Bus Stop or The Cupid Shuffle. I will dance with zero shame after John Jameson and I have made our handshake, indicating that we will have the best time with either R Kelly (Ignition still slaps. Sorry, not sorry) or The Gap Band. Me dressing up like a pirate or someone who steals maidens from their rooms at night, not so much. I love the idea and aesthetics of Halloween, but am I not good at it?
No - paint my face, and we’re at my best. Some relish the idea of hiding a new identity for a day, full of lousy accents and all. I would instead tuck and roll into traffic. I’m cool with being a hater who views life through my specific lens. Do I love to get drunk? I love some good old sex, drugs, and rock and roll. I will do shots in a seedy dive bar with your uncle after a Mexican goat rodeo. Me putting on a robe and pretending I’m a lord on the lamb? Never. I don’t even like wearing new kinds of shoes or pants. (Vans and Dickies for life.) While sitting on the back patio of Austin’s beloved dive bar-cum-service industry hang, Side Bar, it came up.
Either my ex-girlfriend/best friend/girlfriend (who I’m completely in love with. Trust me, it’s real cool.) or merry prankster Scott Filmore (a hilarious, insane man who does stand up comedy) had the idea.
The Ren Faire has free parking (at least in Central Texas). It’s always a plus when you don’t have to give a kidney to park in this Capitalist hellscape. Upon walking in, I first experienced a dude with dreads screaming about his wares, selling spicy pickles like a pirate. There is something inherently hilarious about a man in an eye patch screaming to women about taking a bite out of his wet, delicious treat. Again, immediate sexual innuendo. At least ye judge another man’s spiciness and girth. I ain’t got nothing to say; I’m batting a small “It’s fine” down here in the lesser imp section of the cock leagues, so scream away, me hearty.
A perk of the whole deal is that, at least for booze, it’s not too bad. You can get an entire bottle of mead for $36, and it’s big enough to give a concussion should you want to throw it at a knight sassing your wench. There are also beers and stuff, and they even spin the iPad back to you, just like in the real world. The Ren Faire is a yard sale for dorks who love Lord of the Rings-styled shit and want to smash a chick in elf ears. I’m not here to judge; just explain the content of my experience, and that was more than one loaded knight drinking out of a chalice ogling maidens.
On the food front, I regret not getting a turkey leg. Our beef rib was tough and chewy and, for some reason, came with grapes and potato salad. The potato salad had a zing of pickle juice, which was good. The rest made me wish we’d stopped for a Scotch egg.
Walking the grounds, you’ll pass men in full armor, ladies barely covering their chests, embracing the mood of this horny ass place. One gentleman was even in a Boba Fett knight crossover thing. It was wild. Bands played sea shanties; those musicians could rip, even playing a pan flute. One guy had one of those creepy puppets that made it look like he was stroking his pet cat, but it was his hand. Weird. Also, what’s up with the bros not rocking some codpieces? If you’re going to go all in, we expect some aluminum-covered dicks. There are many dudes in chain mail and cargo shorts just out here, raw dogging life. This is the land of Zero f#@ks because a whole lot of grown men rock kilts, swords, and this is most definitely their thing. There’s something wild about watching a chick who refuses to break character engage with someone paying by tapping their iPhone. As the skeleton band passed us, the whole enterprise left you asking multiple times, “Do these people work here, or is this, like, their thing?” Once, we had to stop and wait for the King of Scotland to make his way, with a procession following. I have my suspicions that His Majesty installs car stereos at Best Buy by day.
Scott Filmore got the genius idea to have Jesus (Nicholas Cepegglia) arrested on Easter. For $16 American dollars, you can have someone arrested where they parade some poor bastard through the streets in handcuffs, like through the whole grounds, and then throw them in a real f#@king jail cell with iron bars and everything. At one point, he had to spin a wheel and wound up in that wooden thing where your arms and head stick out. Wait, that’s called the stocks. I wasn’t going to Google it. While it’s a novel idea, they lock you up for at least thirty minutes.
Jesus was not into it by the end.
I don’t know what I learned from the Ren Faire other than that escapism is alive and well and that we’re all coping in our own ways. Reality exists through whatever lens we give it, I guess. There’s a crux of nerd culture meeting in the pantheon of the moment, and here, all things geeky can co-exist. I saw a chick dressed like an old-timey 1920s strong man one minute and within a few feet, someone playing the roles of Link and Zelda. There is no judgment, which is a nice exclamation to the notion that this place represents those seeking to be away from politics, branding, and life choices. Some choose to embrace their bullshit persona of Cool Guy (me) and let the world batter our hearts with each passing day, while others do it while rocking a leather helmet and brandishing a broadsword. How we judge experience is cruel, but it’s the human condition. There are worse ways to spend a Sunday; I had fun hanging with my favorite person; that alone is a gift. Her infectious enjoyment even makes the most bitter pills I don’t like tolerable; which is also a gift. Would I do it again? Probably not, but at least I can offer an opinion about how sweaty it must get wearing a full suit of armor in the Texas heat. I went in as a skeptic of the culture and came out still a skeptic of the culture; I just wished I’d gotten the turkey leg.