The Fool

This past weekend I was hired to work at Scarborough Faire in Waxahachie, TX, just south of Dallas.  My job is to dress up as a jester and stand at the front gate and try to stop as many people as possible to take a picture from a disguised camera in a terrifying clown head on a stick.  Honestly, some of the children look at the clown head in terror, well documented by the photographs I take.  I stand in the blazing Texas sun for ten hours a day, working on the most awkward summer tan of my life including lines from my jester hat, glasses, collar, and the back of my costume where it ties together leaving a small gap. 

It is, however, not the worst job I’ve ever had in my life.  The direct sunlight is pretty awful, and by the end of the day my feet no longer resemble their normal shape, but the rest of it is quite enjoyable. My boss during my lunch break asked me how I liked my first weekend, and I told her the truth: I love the culture of renaissance festivals. The people are great, I love seeing part of the shows, I love to be a part of it, and I love dressing up.  To the last part, she laughed and said “yeah, but it would be a lot better if we weren’t jesters.” 

I laughed at her honesty, and at the fact that I was actually pleased to dress as a jester. I suppose that as a jester, you wear jingle bells, extremely bright colors in loud patterns, and your job as a jester is to be annoying and in people’s faces.  To act the part of the fool.

I’m really good at it. I’m quite persuasive at getting people to stop at the gate to take a picture, even those that initially say no, I get them to change their mind by relentless badgering and following with a persistent smile.  It’s my job.   And it’s a lot easier to be badgering and annoying as a jester.

“It would be a lot better if we weren’t jesters”

Actually, I think it would be a hell of a lot harder. You can get by with so much as a jester.

I surprise myself with what I do in my costume, performing the role of a jester.  I tell people that they are beautiful, and then when they reject my offer to take a photograph I retort, “Fine! I take it back! You are ugly!” And actually, because I’m a jester, they laugh.

At the gate, when we try to stop them to look at their photographs before they leave the park, another jester tells them “Stop! Stop and look at your photographs of yourselves when you were much more handsome without sweat and sunburn!” Every time, they laugh.

“It would be a lot better if we weren’t jesters”

Maybe there is some embarrassment associated with being the fool, intentionally acting stupid and obnoxious and persistent and over the top. Maybe it is because we don’t want people to assume that the costume is our entire being.  We all want some separation of the actions we do and the identity we claim, and so often others interpret our actions as our entire identity. 

The easiest example of this is when someone steals.  It is so easy to say “that person is a thief” rather than “that person stole a wallet.”  You are not just the actions you do. We are so much more complex.  We do a lot of competing actions that communicate opposite facets of identity.  Two days a week I’m a teacher.  Two days a week I’m a fool.  Three days a week I reside in Liminality.

So of course some of my fellow jesters feel embarrassed to don the jingle bells and bright blue cap. They don’t want to be perceived as a fool and only a fool to the thousands of people that walk through the gate. So I understand the want to dress up as something other than a jester.

But as I watch the groups of people walk through the gate and notice the patterns of people, the role of the jester becomes easier and easier.  I lost count of Doctor Who and Firefly shirts after about 40. Every body type showing a lot of skin. Hundreds of tattooed and pierced bodies. Corsets made out of batman comics or hoop skirts with hello kitty fabric.  Pirate costumes, mermaid costumes, wizard costumes, monk costumes, fairy costumes. Gay and lesbian couples holding hands. Lots of them.

Scarborough Faire is a place to belong for those that sometimes have a hard time fitting in. For those that often feel like the fool.

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Almost exactly a year ago, I went to Scarborough Faire for the first time.  I went to the Renaissance Festival every year in Minnesota with my mom when I was growing up, and it was by far one of my favorite memories. 

Last year, I went to Scarborough Faire the same day before the evening I broke up with Pat.  My loving friends essentially kidnapped me for the day to distract me before my life would change.  Since that day at Scarborough Faire, I felt indebted to the festival and to the three women that got me through that day without feeling like a fool.

I drank a lot (on a Sunday, too, right away when the pubs opened at 11).  I had a turkey leg at 10am. We met the dirty poet and after I told him I was going to end a 5 year relationship, he recited a poem just for me. I had my tarot cards and my palms read by a woman that told me to have a lot of meaningless sex.

I remember during my tarot reading at Scarborough Faire, the fool came up in my future. It’s funny to think that it could have predicted something as literal as playing a fool at Scarborough Faire almost exactly a year later, but symbolically, that’s not what the fool represents.

The fool, unlike the interpretation of my co-workers, actually represents a type of wisdom: a childlike or mad-like wisdom.  It’s not necessarily a wisdom that makes a lot of sense, but something that sometimes comes out of trickery or chaos. It basically states when you are able to submit to your inner most desires, you will find wisdom.

Sometimes, the fool can represent a state of Liminality.

If you have known my year, you will know the fool is wise.

“It would be a lot better if we didn’t have to be jesters.”

If only she knew how much I beg to differ.  I thank you, my fool, my jester, for this year. For the Liminality. For the wisdom out of chaos. For forcing me to submit to my inner most desires. I’m proud to wear your hat.