#nyrf

[arorea]

Cosplay your DND characters at the Renaissance faire. Do it.

[jkthinkythoughts]

New Series: Faire Warning

Where we explore the underbelly of renfaire life. This may end up being a series.

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They Will Take It With Them

The thing about working faire full time is that the general public thinks it’s whimsical.

They see ribbons. They see turkey legs. They see a man in tights calling himself Lord Bumblefuck of the Dandelion Court and assume the whole operation runs on mead, bells, and the power of everyone having read one book about elves in 1998.

It does not.

It runs on vendor contracts, electrical hookups that look like a raccoon installed them during a divorce, managers who say “we’re a family here” right before inventing a new way to charge you for dirt, and booth owners who have sunk the GDP of a small, spiteful duchy into making a temporary plywood rectangle look like a medieval shopping experience.

So when my boss told me about the sword vendor, I did not gasp.

I was counting stock behind the counter, because someone had decided the correct place to put seven decorative daggers was in a pile, point-out, at child height. This is the kind of decision that tells you a lot about humanity. The morning rush had passed. The lane outside was doing its normal midday thing: dust, bells, roasted meat smoke, and parents negotiating with children in princess crowns like tiny unionized terrorists.

My boss leaned on the back table and said, “You ever hear about the guy who packed up during the middle of a show day?”

I looked up.

There are levels to “packed up.” At faire, “packed up” can mean a vendor quietly pulls a few bins after closing because their weekend was bad. It can mean somebody folds emotionally behind a tapestry and has to be revived with lemonade and a joint. It can mean an artist decides Sunday at two-thirty that commerce is a disease and starts giving away ceramic frogs to anyone who makes eye contact.

So I said, “Define packed up.”

He smiled, which was never a good sign. Smiles from my boss are either followed by a funny story, a lawsuit, or the phrase “technically, we’re allowed to.”

“Middle of Sunday,” he said. “Patrons everywhere. Management pissed him off so bad he drove his truck right in.”

I stopped counting.

“Into the faire.”

“Yep.”

“With patrons around.”

“Yep.”

“And management did not enjoy the consequences of their management?”

“They did not.”

This is why I respect vendors, in the same way you respect weather systems and large animals with opinions. A vendor will smile at a patron asking whether the handmade leather bracer comes in “vegan” and then, three hours later, decide that a contract dispute has entered the load-bearing phase.

My boss kept going. “He pulls up right to the booth. Gets out. Starts tearing the whole tent down.”

The image arrived fully assembled - the sword racks, the canvas, the dumb little pennants flapping like they were about to be subpoenaed. Patrons standing there with half-eaten steak on sticks, watching a grown man dismantle his business in real time while probably still wearing period boots because nobody in this industry ever changes footwear before making a life decision.

“Did anybody stop him?” I asked.

My boss gave me a look.

Right. Of course not.

Because faire management, despite being able to appear instantly when your sign is two inches too tall, becomes an endangered vapor when the problem has torque, wheels, and a vendor who has crossed over into religious clarity.

“He just took it down?” I said.

“Completely.”

“Beautiful.”

“It was not beautiful.”

“No, it was. Not for them. For them it was infrastructure failure with witnesses. But spiritually? Gorgeous.”

Outside, someone asked if the swords were real.

I told them they were real enough to be expensive and fake enough to keep everyone out of court, which satisfied them because patrons love answers that sound like a policy even when they are mostly fatigue.

They wandered off. My boss waited until they were out of earshot.

“I knew one guy who pulled a two story both down after hours, salted the earth, and never looked back.

I looked at him again.

He held up one hand. “Not here. Not recently.”

“Of course. Folklore.”

“Yeah.”

Faire has normal folklore, in theory. Ghosts in the old lanes. A queen who cursed a stage. Somebody’s cousin who met their spouse behind the pickle barrel and now they have six children named after herbs.

Then there is vendor folklore, which is less about magic and more about what happens when a person spends ten thousand dollars on carved trim, hand-painted signage, imported fabric, custom counters, fairy lights, display risers, roofing, locks, mats, curtains, and vibes, and then realizes the faire owner may get to profit off that pretty little money-pit after the vendor is gone.

That kind of folklore comes with accelerant.

My boss tapped the counter. “Some people would rather destroy it than let the owners keep it.”

I nodded.

That is the part civilians miss. They think faire people are whimsical because we own mugs with antlers and say “good morrow” to strangers for money. They do not see the spreadsheet behind the whimsy. They do not see the booth rent, the build-out, the weather damage, the permit nonsense, the owner politics, the seasonal gamble, the forty-seven conversations about where a tent stake may morally be placed.

They see a booth.

The vendor sees a hostage situation made of pine.

A group of patrons drifted in then, loud and sunburned, carrying the exhausted optimism of people who had already spent too much money but wanted one more object to justify the parking fee. One of them pointed at a sword and said, “Could you actually fight with that?”

I looked at the sword. I looked at him. I thought about trucks in pedestrian lanes, burning booths, management consequences, and the ancient faire law that every object is only decorative until someone becomes sufficiently wronged.

“Depends,” I said. “How mad are you at the lease agreement?”

My boss coughed behind me.

The patron laughed because he thought I was joking.

This was kind of him.

[yridenergyridenergy]

[space-bee3s]

I went to renfaire!! had so much fun!!

[emmastory]

strongly recommend going to the ren faire with your funnest friends, esp @bacongolem and his enormous axe. gotta be one of my favorite ways 2 engage in anachronism and whimsy

[feedyourlocalgoth]

Finally took my @orchardcorset out for a spin 🖤 🏹 . . . . #nyrf #newyorkrenaissancefaire #newyork #tuxedony #tiefling #tieflingcosplay #tieflingoc #personal (at New York Renaissance Faire) https://www.instagram.com/p/CT8Dr4ev-X2/?utm_medium=tumblr

[mayfairemooncorsets]

Hey, all! While I may not be out doing shows, my corsets are! All my current stock can be found at Knightly Endeavors at the wonderful New York Renaissance Faire. Go have a look, and let the lovely humans at the booth help you try one on. And if there’s anything you’re dreaming of, they can measure you on the spot, and then we can plot! Go on up, have some fun, and send me pictures! #corsets #costumes #nyrf #renaissancefaire #renfest #faire #labordayweekend #silk #steelbonedcorset #custom #handmade #bespoke #fantasy #cosplay #bridal #weddinggown #design #everybodysoutsidebutme (at New York Renaissance Faire) https://www.instagram.com/p/CTaJ0oXLjVB/?utm_medium=tumblr

[koshercosplay]

Some fun facts for jumblr about how wonderful and progressive and accommodating the New York Renaissance Faire is (from me, an Orthodox Jewish person in the cast for the first time):

- At the audition, I told them I can't work on saturdays because of shabbat. All (very mandatory) rehearsals and performance days are Saturday and Sunday, so I'd be quite literally missing half of both rehearsals and performances. I assumed this would lead to a very polite email letting me know this wouldn't work out. Instead, I got a callback, and then got cast.

- They have helped me every step of the way so far (we are two weeks away from the start of the faire). A form needs to be delivered on Saturday? Email it instead. Hat measurements need to be taken in the costume shop on saturday? Special dispensation to get them done on sunday. Missed an important period-era dialect workshop on saturday? Here's a pdf with all the info. Important event during the faire my character will be leading? Here are the two people who will be taking it over for you when you can't be there.

- All cast members have been strictly instructed not to use any gendered terms when speaking to any person or audience. That means no "lords and ladies" or "gentleman" or "sir" or any of that. Only "good friend" or "gentles" or "travelers", etc. We literally aren't allowed to assume anybody's gender. They told us that they want no emails this year from patrons about being misgendered. The faire belongs to all people no matter what.

- Jobs within the cast are open to people of all genders. A woman can be the mayor, can be the sheriff, can be whoever she'd like and whatever job she would like. Gnc people can choose how they'd like their character to present. I was asked at my first costume fitting if I'd like my character to lean more feminine, masculine or somewhere in between. The costumer also asked me permission before taking my measurements.

- A post in the cast facebook group started a thread with everyone's pronouns in the comments so that no one in the cast would get misgendered either. I speak from experience when I say that people have truly taken this to heart and do their best to remember it in person during rehearsal interactions.

- Fellow cast members have, at different points throughout rehearsal: offered to keep me posted on what I miss on Saturdays, sent me recommendations on where to get kosher food nearby, gave me advice on how to best utilize the fact that I speak Hebrew/know all about Judaism while remaining in character, and been nothing but respectful when asking questions about it.

Basically: the NYRF is the most wonderful, accepting, warm-hearted and open-minded place on Earth, and I'm so lucky to be working there this summer.

Anyone here planning on going?