Friends: Mr. Sekela has kindly asked me to write a few words from time to time with respect to my thoughts on the philosophy and practice of living history. Never having been short of either thoughts or words it will be easy, for my part, to oblige him; how much value the results possess must be decided, however, by you. I should be delighted if these occasional pieces, the fruit of some 35 years of thought, were to become the starting points for further discussion and hope to see what you think in the threads of the N.J. Sekela Forum at http://www.njsekela.com/forum/.
—Patrick M’Dermott
Internal Authenticity, first installment:
LOVING TOO MUCH
If you are reading these words you are probably one of those reenactors who can rattle off Federal blouse contractors or the various Confederate depots and then go on to list the major and minor variations between their products…or you want to be. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with this; in the immortal words of Emil Faber, “Knowledge is Good!” But it is all too easy to fall under the spell of this kind of abstract knowledge and forget that the soldiers for whom those items were made couldn’t have cared less how their blouses or trowsers were seamed (as long as they held together!); they didn’t care about the details of armscyes or lining materials, as long as they had clothing that fit and stood up to hard use.
To Mr. Freud, a cigar was sometimes “just a cigar;” but to “the Boys,” a blouse was always just a blouse…the thing that made it different was that it was “soldier clothes” rather than “citizen clothes,” and fatigue rather than dress uniform. To the Boys, our beloved (and expensive) uniform and kit items were completely unremarkable, work-a-day, clothes.
Back when I started reenacting—many many moons ago!—there were some lads who would appear at an event with their uniforms in suit bags, fresh from the cleaners. I haven’t taken the field for a decade now, so I can’t say whether this continues: but I can say it was wrong with regards to external authenticity (the clothes smelled of cleaning fluid and were entirely too clean for anything except dress parade in a fort) and—far more importantly—in what was revealed about the internal authenticity of the uniforms’ owners.
In this man’s opinion, those uniforms were fetish objects: something very special, to be lovingly cared for and used only on certain occasions in certain ways. To their owners, it seemed, they were mostly the sum total of a lot of drooling, a lot of saving, and perhaps a bit of conspicuous consumption—the feeling that owning “the good stuff” automatically made you one of the elite.
Friends: it ain’t so. If you are interested in being more than a mannequin in a museum display, that which is between your ears is what matters. Although we can never actually become mid-19th century people, we must try to become as much like them as possible if we want to have the fullness of the time-traveling experience ourselves and therefore be able to convey it to those who visit our encampments and museums. One way to start is to de-fetishize your clothing and kit.
During my time afield I was relatively poor—and preferred to spend what money I did have on 19th rather than 20th century clothing. My greatcoat was my winter overcoat; my bummer cap was my cap; I frequently wore my blouse, vests, and shirts on a day to day basis. I was lucky enough to be able to do this; I had indulgent employers—you may not be so lucky. But we can all find times and places to use our period clothes in “normal” situations: wear your fatigue cap when mowing the lawn, or your blouse when raking leaves. Take the word of an old campaigner: the change in your relationship to your period belongings will surprise you.
“FINIAN.”
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