October 21, 2009
Ever notice how there aren’t any Renaissance faires in Texas in August? Here’s why: Wearing a suit of armor in Texas in August is a surer and perhaps more painful death than anything the armor might repel. A couple of hours in the full sun and the occupant would have the skin tone of a Renaissance faire turkey leg. You might be Sir James the Tumescent putting on the armor, but you’d be taking it off as Slim Jim. Of course, the same could be said of just about all faire wear, be you saucy wench or roguish knave. A bodice (aka “boob bucket”) is a perfectly acceptable means of support in most climates, but around here it’s just a recipe for a big ol’ pail of mam chowder. Really the chillest Ren wear would have to be the monk’s robe, which offers the opportunity to freeball it but wears like a Navajo sweat lodge. Judging by the dress code, you would think that the Renaissance bypassed Central Texas altogether. Not so. As early as the 1500s, Spaniards were sharing the wonders of the Renaissance with the indigenous peoples of the desert southwest: smallpox, measles, whooping cough, and cholera to name a few. They also brought along their co-pilot, God, who navigated them toward gold and glory but instead got the consolation prize of murder and slavery, referred to in history books as “missionary works.” Not surprisingly, the Renaissance isn’t remembered fondly by the locals. Sure, they found Jesus, scored some used blankets, and learned to make the beast with two backs, but all in all they found the juice wasn’t worth the squeeze. They were happier running around in animal skins and feathers, hitting it doggie style, and worshiping the earth. They even have their own Renaissance faires – they’re called powwows, and even though you can’t get a turkeye legge, you can get a turkey leg, in full confidence that it’s authentic, historically accurate, indigenous cuisine. Huzzah! Really you haven’t lived until you’ve spent a weekend camping out, wearing leather, smoking “the peace pipe,” and munching on fried bread. Regardless, American Indian fetish wear is still a niche market compared to real Ren faire wear. Not only did Western Europeans overrun the New World, they cornered the fetish market too, which seems a natural turn of events considering that depravity and debauchery were perfected in the 17th century – probably near ye olde towne of Versailles. “S’wounds I say! Thou shouldst bynde faste ye rodentes’ pawes ere ye shoveth hyme up thy arse!” To this day, for a certain segment of the population, nothing swells the organs lyke the sounde of olde Englyshe and the sight of the tightly corseted torso of a pasty pale wench or pudgy knave. However fetishy it may be, Ren wear, like the Ren faire itself, leaves a lot to the imagination. If only you could sexy it up some how … show a little more skin. Well, happye newes, bytches! This Friday night at 9pm the Extravagasm Fantasy Ball returns at Mixx on Sixth Street. This year’s theme is Erotic Renaissance, which means the ball features all kinds of exciting activities: fire spinners, Hula-hoopers, piercings by Pineapple, belly-dancing by Z-Helene, rope bondage by Bydarra, body-painting by Curvy Canvas, tarot readings by Cat Dancer, and the Siren of Song Ms. Cat Mon Dieu. If you want to be on the ball, make sure to strap on your fetish-influenced fashion and fantastical costumery! Just remember: No blatant nudity, and all genitalia must be covered. Start with your own. Nobody wants to see your turkeye legge poking out of your tyghtes.