Colonial people are people too.
I learned that the hard way one evening as I walked down Richmond Road in an ankle-length pink gown, my breathing constricted by some primitive, white, bosom-binding undergarment and my feet already ready to explode from an equally-confining pair of buckled shoes.
The stares I got were epic. Even in Williamsburg, where colonial reenactors are a dime a dozen and can be seen
colonial baskin robbins
frequenting places from WaWa to bowling alleys, people love to stare at colonial people. I guess walking anachronisms just don’t grow old here. (See picture right–my friend Leigh and I before the shoot, with typical 1800-era desserts.)
I’m not even a regular. One of my friends worked for the Productions office of the Colonial Williamsburg Foundation, and I got lucky enough to be an extra in a movie on the election of 1800. This is not an event of which I had an extensive knowledge, but once I was informed that the scene would culminate in an effigy-burning of John Adams, I was sold. (Anytime you’re offered a chance to burn something in effigy, do it.)
I was outfitted from head to toe in colonial fashion, instructed to act like a member of the hoity-toity Williamsburg gentry, and then released to have fun with it. I probably won’t even make it into the scene, but the hours of shouting colonial absurdities were certainly worth it for the novelty.
Effigy Before Fire:
john adams effigy is my homeboy