Reality Sucks. That’s Why I Love the Renaissance Faire

I remember the first time I saw a jester pee on the side of a New York highway. Years ago, I was on a bus filled with other twenty-somethings dressed as wizards, maidens, and elves—plus one really quiet guy in a Slayer tee—that was stuck in traffic for the New York Renaissance Faire. “Is it your first time?” a woman in webbed ears asked me. Given that we’d all made it to Times Square by 9 AM for this bus, a friendship already felt earned. She told me traffic could last for hours: “So people jump ship on the buses, piss in the woods, and walk the rest of the way.” The jester darted out of the woods, followed by Robin Hood and Little John. 

That was my fever dream soft launch into the Renaissance Faire and the start of a day that impacted me much more than other actual vacations. Today, with the 2023 season coming to a close, I’m still savoring memories of mead and jousting and feeling an even deeper appreciation for the Faire’s weird, sweet community catharsis. For anyone itching to get away from the stresses of modern-day life, Ren Faires are a worthy annual rite of passage—but especially for shes, theys, and gays who crave gentle community spaces where we can look hot in elf ears. 

A few weeks ago, I pulled up with my biggest group yet to the NY Faire. I stood guard while two friends took the obligatory pee squat in their pantaloons by Route 17A, hit their Elf Bars, and discussed what we should do first—Archery? Find the sword swallower? Hit up the ‘Ye Olde Faijtas’ stand? Many friends were first-time attendees, and while some clearly played Baldur’s Gate 3, most were just weekend wizards. That’s one of the most refreshing things about Ren Faires like this. The point isn’t necessarily matching the event's production level so much as it is to match its enthusiasm. Except for functional swords, all degrees of costumery and historical accuracy are welcome, from the pop-up Viking village where people live like it’s 700 AD to the dude I saw in Bass Pro Shop shades and devil horns. Gwyneth Paltrow once said that life is about “the balance between cigarettes and tofu”; life at the Ren Faire is about the balance between traditional wood joinery and a gemstone thong reading, “FRODO LIVES.” 

All of this is heaven on Earth to me, but I was curious what my friend Alexandra, a queer Black woman who isn't a fantasy fan, thought about the event. Did it feel inclusive? “At face value, no,” she told me. “There was probably one Black person for every 100 white or non-white people.” That's the case among lots of fantasy and sci-fi fandoms, and deep-seated issues often come with that. “But population diversity aside,” Alexandra said, “I felt extremely included as a Black woman. Perhaps it was because I traveled with a large group of fun, joyous white people, but every worker treated me nicely, and I got many compliments on my outfit. People were more focused on where to get ethically sourced sword metals or where I bought my gold elf ears than the color of my skin or the texture of my hair.” 

It’s worth noting that our large group of joyous white people was also largely queer, which I don’t think is a coincidence. The Ren Faire and fantasy, in general, can feel like a safe haven for queer world-building and aesthetic experimentation—a place people try on new, imagined selves in a setting liberated from the norms of our daily lives. And while the Faire doesn’t take itself too seriously, it certainly understands the seriousness of dress-up. As my non-binary friend Emma said on the way, “I was planning on wearing a skirt last night. But I just decided to wake up and see what my gender would be in the morning.” The result was a goblincore arrangement of leather, elf ears, and chainmail that perfectly complemented their Mark McGrath-meets-The-Legend of Zelda energy.

Regardless of whether you're queer or just like D&D, a single day in the Ren Faire world is such a welcome respite from thinking about, say, the rising costs of living. I’ve never felt that need more than I did this year, and I don’t think I’m alone. There’s been a broader cultural pull towards all things Medieval- and Renaissance-revival, from Grimes’ sci-fi fantasy visuals in “Player of Games” to Julia Fox wearing a 16th-century-esque chainmail set on her video podcast, moody Enyacore, #castletok posts, Papyrus fonts in my friend’s Instagram stories, and a home decor aesthetic that Architectural Digest calls “Middle Ages Modern.” As the author of the AD article writes, we’re craving “a tougher, more dramatic, and even mystical” escapism in a post-pandemic world—quite like the Victorian Era’s idealization of ye olde time periods in response to industrialization. We’ve made it out the other side, and we deserve wrought iron, gem-encrusted Juul Pods, damnit.   

So maybe my love for the Ren faire feels stronger than ever in response to “egg-flation.” Or maybe it’s tied to excitement to explore my queerness. Or just the simple human need to lick a turkey leg while a guy plays “Stairway to Heaven '' on a lute. Whatever the reason, I take comfort in knowing that, once a year, I can hop on a non-stop bus from Manhattan to The Shire.