“Am I Jesus?” Evelyn asked, her cantaloupe-sized melon poking out from a wooden cutout. It was the third hole she’d posed in —the first being a busty Viking woman, followed by a classic head-and-hand stockade.
“No, you’re the Mona Lisa,” I told her, mildly surprised at her somewhat close guess despite our lack of religious leanings.
Our time at the Renaissance Faire in Fairburn, Georgia, felt otherworldly. The commitment to dressing up among attendees was a staggering 90%, which left my small guild gawking rather than flaunting our garb.
What we wore could best be described as modern-day commoner attire—plain tees, practical shoes, and not a corset in sight. Well, except for Evelyn, who proudly wore her Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle costume. It turned out to be a crowd-pleaser. One woodworking man spotted her shell and immediately ushered us into his booth to show off his intricate, 3D wood inlays of Leo, Donny, Mikey, and Raph—each piece layered with colorful overlay, crafted like heirlooms for pizza-loving warriors.
As we ambled on, people watching gawking, I saw her—this six-foot woman with a light lavender parasol laced in trailing ribbons, her dress billowing like she was parting a sea of onlookers. Few people made a statement as well as she did. She looked like someone who could time travel on purpose.
After today’s display—and knowing this won’t be the last medieval fair I attend—I started mentally bookmarking costume ideas. From fairies to corsets, to leather-bound pirates, I have my pick. Something about the steampunk goggles and feathered hats, parasols floating through crowds, and bonnets resting gently on heads—it has me salivating. Unlike the previous pop-up tents and temporary circus feels of smaller fairs, this Ren Faire had wooden structures built in permanently for the nine-weekend-long event.
The number of solo actors and impromptu performances made it impossible not to stay engaged. You’d bumble from one to the next, eyes darting, ears perked. The final act we caught was a fire-eating performer whose call-and-response bit had him shouting, “Was this the best show you’ve ever seen?”
To which we all replied: “No, it was just adequate.”
He laughed. A 17-hour drive from Canada to Georgia just to perform here was further evidence this man loved what he did.
While waiting for the jousting tournament to begin, where the King and Queen would soon arrive in their velvet-robed regality, Evelyn’s name caught the ear of the woman seated in front of us. Her name was Eve she told us. She turned around—her daisy chain crown nestled in curly hair that flowed down to her lower back—and revealed a circular glass bottle filled with a blue liquid, sealed with a brown cork. Evelyn asked what it was.
The woman looked directly at her, never breaking eye contact. “You know how a strong tea is good for you?” she said. “Well, this is a kind of potion. It gives you special powers.”
She said it with such grace and conviction I half-believed her myself. I secretly wanted to ask for a swig.
But then what? High on the good stuff, I’d fly, turn invisible, or suddenly be incapable of lying. And then? Any act of defying the laws of reality might land me in a long-term care facility far earlier than I’d like.
On second thought, lady, keep that potion to yourself.
The way I see it, whatever costume I commit to will also become my forever Halloween outfit. Which is perfect. It helps me justify the not-so-frequent use of it.
Stay tuned on that front. I bid you adieu until tomorrow.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 