As a mother, I have witnessed first hand over 16 years of variations on dressing up. From superheroes and princesses up to ninjas and plague doctors (really). The storylines and character development are second to none when eavesdropping on a young child deep in the throes of pretending, uninhibited by social norms or fear. Many a lunch was had with masked and caped little boys and trips to Target with a shopping partner decked out in a tutu and tiara. It comes with the motherhood territory and I couldn’t get enough of it.

The frequency of this masquerade fades with age though, as they find things like video games and friends more entertaining. And then, just as you see their imagination seemingly wane to nothingness, you spy the familiar sparkle in their eye as Halloween and the promise of free candy circles around. Even events like dances have sprinklings of younger days as so many girls find their inner princess. These later versions, though, rarely have a storyline and dialogue like in childhood. There is minimal “acting out” and inventing plotlines. 

That is, until you visit a renaissance faire. 

I recently attended the opening day of the Colorado Renaissance Festival in Larkspur, Colorado with my friend. And yes, we did dress up — along with approximately 70% of the attendees. From the moment we stepped out of the car, a new universe broke open around us. 

“I think I’m just going to be ‘Wizard #3’ because I never came up with a better name.” The young man in the car next to us adjusted his yarn beard on his chin as his tennis shoes peeked out from an improvised robe. Without missing a beat, his friend knowingly nodded. Moments later, I overheard another guy say to his companion, “…Ah, it must have been the polliwog stew you fed me last week!” 

The freedom to say the ridiculous and pretend to be someone — or something — different is the draw of cosplay. We saw it all that Saturday, from elves and gnomes, to ogres and beasts, to princesses and fairies, to knights and more. As a hobbit and woodland elf, Rob and I blended in, pointy ears and all. And it occurred to me — we got to be children again. We granted ourselves permission to step back into the land of imagination and play, to make-believe, to invent storylines, all without fear of ridicule.

Because that is ultimately what killed it for us in the first place, wasn’t it? Ridicule? Societal norms dictated that we stop acting out stories and limit our costumes to a holiday once a year. To quit imagining and as a result, the pool of pretenders dwindled down to the high school drama club (of which, I most certainly was one).

But here, in the countryside of Colorado, were thousands of people playing along. Adopting a dialect. Eating turkey legs and swigging wine from a horn as if it were just a Tuesday in this Middle Age kingdom. Carousing with strangers and laughing at bawdy jokes — even cheering on jousters as if they were truly fighting each other. How amazingly wonderful is that!? A new world waiting to be discovered… just like the ones out my front door.

I realized how similar this microcosm was to the travel I embark on for the thrill of imagination and exploration, discovery and play. It is why I travel and, as a result, much of why I write. The whole world isn’t one big RenFaire and not everyone will meet me in my child-like curiosity, but heaven help me if I ever decide to leave my “ears” at home when I go discover the world. Because each place I travel is a new world to experience… may I always dress up for the occasion!