My Renaissance Faire Experience 2025: A Lesson in Self-Acceptance
Growing up in the early 2000s, I was an oddball among the girls my age. While my peers tried out makeup on each other or discussed pop music and the latest Disney stars, I was obsessed with rock music and video games like The Legend of Zelda and Banjo-Kazooie. I spent afternoons watching Dragon Ball Z and Danny Phantom with my brother, while my friends watched all the Barbie movies.
My “boyish” interests made me feel excluded, and I often felt like the odd one out for loving things that weren’t considered “girly.” My classmates once laughed at me for being interested in Mughal and Tudor history, the sinking of the Titanic, and the backstories of the Dynasty Warriors games. I felt like no one understood me, and I wished I had people I could talk to about my “weird” interests.
Everything changed when I discovered anime and the infinite potential of Internet chatrooms and online gaming communities as a sheltered teenager. Suddenly, I was surrounded by other “weirdos” who shared my love for role-playing action games and anime series like One Punch Man. Online games like RuneScape became my safe place to be myself, where social misfits like me could connect over our love for rock music, weird history, and fantasy video games.
For the first time, I realized it was okay to like things others around me didn’t and that I didn’t need anyone’s approval. Through recommendations from my online friends, I spent hours exploring slice of life anime series, listening to history podcasts, shoegaze music, and discovering risque yet action-packed games like Bayonetta.
In the present day, as I leaned against a tree outside the Privies and observed the cosplayers around me, I marveled at how people were unapologetically themselves and how much things had changed since I was younger. Neurodiverse folks with ADHD, depression, Tourette’s, and autism, excitedly gushing about their fandoms and over each other’s costumes. Goths, nerds, geeks, furries, kinksters, weebs, and dorks like me walked around in handcrafted and store-bought costumes, wielding realistic weapons and props, wearing wigs, corsets, and even full suits of armor. Theater kids, hot chicks, gays, muscleheads — all united under popular (and niche) fandoms.
Steampunkers fascinated me in their top hats and breeches as they checked their watchpieces. One girl even wandered around in a miniskirt and an actual computer monitor on her head, hollowed out like a helmet. I saw multiple knights and three handsome Geralts, followed by their squires. I spotted a dozen Links, but a few Zeldas. I even gawked at a beautiful Rapunzel from Tangled, complete with flowers braided into her luscious hair. I admired the fans of fictional games and series’ dedication to their costumes and couldn’t get enough of seeing everyone proudly strut their stuff.
But despite all this self-expression, I couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious in my low-effort costume, a velvet skirt thrifted from an estate sale, a black corset belt, and a lacy white blouse, alluding to my imagining of Ella from Ella Enchanted (the movie has nothing on the book, if I may say so myself). Meanwhile, my best friend, dressed as a sexy gothic elf from Dungeons & Dragons, turned heads everywhere we went. I felt a pang of envy, wishing I’d put more time and thought into my outfit, and promised myself that I’d work on my costume more the next time I attended the Renaissance Festival.
Maybe I’ll dress as a steampunk Victorian, a genderbent Dante from Devil May Cry, or even Xena from Xena: The Warrior Princess. The possibilities are endless, and the idea of putting my multidisciplinary creative skills to the test excited me.
I used to scoff at people who lost themselves in video games, anime, and movies to escape reality. I frowned upon Disney adults, finding them childish and cringeworthy. I rolled my eyes at people who role-played as video game characters and laughed at ambitious fanfiction writers, even as I secretly devoured their stories late at night. Meanwhile, I admired my best friend’s cosplay of Rei from Neon Genesis Evangelion and wished I had her confidence.
But standing at the Renaissance Faire, sipping my overpriced honey lavender lemonade and looking around the sea of people laughing and admiring each other’s cosplays, I mused on how empty life felt without an escape into a fictional fandom.
I found myself reminiscing about the pure happiness I felt when I first discovered InuYasha in middle school, or the rush of joy when I finally beat Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess. The closest I get these days is stumbling upon a new Devil May Cry fanfic or occasionally playing Super Smash Bros on my Switch. I realized how full of life I was back then and wondered if I let adulthood batter me and suck the joy out of the things I once loved.
Ever since graduating from college and becoming financially independent, I’ve prided myself on being mature, practical, and no-nonsense, but I started to wonder if it was worth it. I love learning about politics and contemporary issues and nerding out over public health research, but surely there were other ways to enjoy myself while taking a break from the real world. Fortunately, I have my best friend to remind me how important it is to indulge in a bit of whimsy and wonder. Our hangouts include walks in the far countryside, romanticizing historical downtowns, and impromptu photoshoots.
As I watched the crowd cheer on the jousters in hand-to-hand combat in the present day, I realized how far I’d come from those lonely childhood days and how much the world had changed for us “weird” folks. People seem much more tolerant and accepting of us these days.
I found myself thinking about how, just ten years ago, people like us, those with niche fandoms and passionate interest, would’ve been relentlessly teased or dismissed for being diehard fans of Game of Thrones or House of Cards. I remembered childhood friends telling me that games and swords were “for boys,” the guy I had a crush on in junior year who made me prove I knew what Fire Emblem was before taking me seriously, and how I was labeled a tryhard when all I really wanted was to connect and make a few friends in college.
Now, it’s actually cool to be uncool. After a lifetime of being an outsider, I finally had somewhere I could belong. I still have a long way to go to rediscover and embrace my inner geek, but I am much closer to it now than I was 5 years ago.
Next time, I promised myself, I’d go all out in my Renaissance Faire costume: maybe a knitted dragon wing scarf, a crocheted Victorian collar, a steampunk-inspired helmet, and whatever else I can cobble together with my arsenal of craft supplies and skills.
After all, the Renaissance Faire is a magical place where being your weird self isn’t just accepted; it’s celebrated.
***Thanks for reading***
