Momnesia

Romanticizing the Renaissance

Romanticizing the Renaissance

The term Renaissance usually refers to a period in European history between the years of 1350 to 1600, during which there was a flowering of art, literature, and scientific exploration. It’s too bad that none of this exists at your local Renaissance festival – or even the one that’s three hours away. As far as I can tell, the appeal of these festivals arises from some kind of group delusion during which participants romanticize the era in three ways: societal simplicity, mental and emotional escapism, and outward expression of ego.

At these festivals, history and Dungeons & Dragons fans crawl blearily from their darkened homes to a façade of a wooded village where the air is filled with verbal and musical merriment, the smell of port-a-potties, and the ethereal chime of cash registers. “Merriment,” in Renaissance-speak, must have been defined as “merciless taunting.” Every failed actor hired by the festival shouts insults and come-ons at patrons to give them an authentic Renaissance experience. No wonder everyone carried swords. A few well-timed public beheadings were the only way to shut up these bastards.

The “privies,” as they were so lightly termed by the site’s owners, are disgusting – but they’re still cleaner than most mothers’ kitchens in the Renaissance. Nowhere in the festival is there any mention of marauding raiders, rampant disease, nearly universal poverty, and early death – the infant mortality rate was a healthy 50 percent. Finally, fans though they may be, most of the participants are pretty ignorant of the real history and culture the festivals celebrate. They think, despite the reality of history, that medieval and Renaissance England (one and the same thing to most festival-goers) was a cheerful, verdant theme park filled with only high-class (never peasant class) Hobbits and Heroes… Then they dress like them, and that is the reason the male patrons have never seen a real vagina.

Finally, for those who have not experienced a festival of this type, I recommend before you leave that you mortgage your home and sell your blood. The cost of admission, food, drinks, and crafts explain why malnutrition and homelessness were rampant in this time in Europe, considering that adjusted for inflation, a turkey leg cost approximately the same for peasants as an Xbox, and who can afford to buy three $200 squares a day? Also, because authentic nerds created the merchandise, and nerds are smarter than me, they have perfected the art of how to make me want pappy crap I would never be able to use in the real world. Case in point: a $110 checkered skirt that they had cleverly disguised as a “kilt” – from which my wife, Stacey, had to drag me kicking and screaming. Thank god Stacey had possession of the bankcard, but she left it unattended shortly after we returned and now my hallway and dining table are clad in plaid because I intended to make my own kilt. Since I don’t know the first thing about sewing, I may have a new tablecloth. I hope my wife likes it.