I never thought one cheap Halloween dagger would change my life. But here I am, years later, with an entire faire family, a persona called Dagger, and a home-away-from-home I never expected to find.

My first faire, I had no idea what I was walking into. I showed up in jeans and a t-shirt, thinking I’d blend in and just “check it out.” Rookie mistake.

Within minutes, a guild member called me out as “naked.” Pirates jeered, courtiers bowed anyway, and vendors gave me knowing smiles. I felt both welcomed and completely out of place—like the village was alive with its own rules, and I hadn’t gotten the memo.

By the end of the day, I was enchanted. I knew one thing for sure: next time, I wasn’t going to be caught naked again.

The next year, I came “prepared.” Or so I thought. I cobbled together a cheap cloak from the Halloween store, thrift boots that barely fit, and a plastic dagger strapped to my belt.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

I was hanging around Pirate’s Cove when a guild member spotted me. They pointed straight at the dagger, grinning.

“Look out, this one’s armed! Careful with yer purse, lads. We’ll call ye Dagger!”

The name stuck instantly. What started as a joke felt like a spark—it was the first time I felt like I belonged in the story, not just watching from the sidelines. From then on, I wasn’t Alex anymore. I was Dagger.

Over the years, Dagger grew with me.

I upgraded piece by piece—first a proper pouch so I wasn’t juggling everything in my hands, then real boots that could handle mud and miles of walking. Eventually, I splurged on an artisan hat, then a handmade leather mask. Each addition made me feel more like I was stepping into the world, not just playing dress-up.

And funny enough, the dagger itself—originally a cheap prop—became part of my persona. At first, it was just a gag. But as I grew into my garb, the name took on new meaning. Dagger wasn’t just the joke; Dagger was who I was at the faire.

I started to play along, tossing pirate insults back, bowing dramatically in the Queen’s Court, even introducing myself to other rennies as Dagger. It no longer felt like pretend. It felt like me.

The biggest change came when I joined a guild. That’s when the faire truly seeped into my blood.

Daytime was still about the guests—performing, selling, making sure they got swept into the magic. But after the gates closed? That’s when the village transformed.

We gathered by fire pits, singing bawdy songs and trading tall tales. There was laughter, music, and the infamous “Here, Drink This” walkabouts—where you’d pass a tankard of mead or a bottle of whiskey from group to group until nobody remembered whose it was to begin with.

It was during those nights, with the fire crackling and the stars overhead, that I realized this wasn’t just a hobby anymore. It was family.

Chosen family. The kind that patches up your garb, shares their last bottle of mead, and still laughs with you long after the faire closes.

And yes—there was that one time I woke up in a tent that wasn’t mine. That was the moment I knew Dagger had truly arrived. 😉

Looking back, it’s wild to think that my journey started as a “naked” fairegoer in jeans and a t-shirt. That one silly dagger I strapped on as a prop became the symbol of my transformation.

Now, Dagger isn’t just a name—it’s a persona, a family, and a way of life.

So if you’re reading this as someone who’s still naked, or just starting out in a thrifted cloak, don’t worry. Every rennie starts somewhere. The magic is in the journey, in every upgrade, every nickname, every laugh by the fire.

HUZZAH! And if you hear someone shouting for Dagger at the next faire… well, that’s me.