Get in, loser. We’re going Renaissancing.

Installment 2 of cartoons on the theme of ‘I went to the Renaissance Society of America conference in New York, did I mention it was in New York?’ (some Renaissance-themed cocktails here). Anyway, it was pretty giant. Renaissancists as far as the eye can see. I’d never been to a conference that big before, and it was simultaneously pretty damn cool and sorta daunting, especially when working out which one of the dozens of parallel panels to go to next (thanks, RSA app!).

So I drew this guide when I got home. A public service (ahem). In which I (with no seriousness intended whatsoever) engage with several existing stereotypes, and invent some of my own (such as an abiding conviction that the Italianists are getting more than the rest of us).

On Thursdays, we wear lanyards with our names and institutional details on them. And on Fridays. And especially on Saturdays, because we need them to get into the open-bar reception.

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You’ll notice I haven’t added ‘Unfriendly book historian hotties’ and that is because a) Everyone I met at RSA was pretty darn friendly, and b) *inclines head and lowers voice creepily* Renaissancists, you’re all hotties.

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Renaissance Society of Alcohol, more like

Recently I went to the Renaissance Society of America conference in New York. The jet-setting life of an academic! And I met many excellent people, including people I had only met before on the internet (which was ace) and saw some really interesting papers, and may have developed a deep desire to go to the Folger Shakespeare Library and get a bit overwhelmingly geeky about BOOKS. It is nice, post-thesis, to be reminded how interesting all this scholarship stuff can be.

Before the conference the RSA sent out an email with lots of information in it, one bit of which generated much conversation – the news that the conference was sponsored by a vodka company and said vodka company would be supplying ‘Renaissance-themed cocktails’ at the opening reception. So obviously I whiled away my flight out making a cocktail menu.

Everybody’s talkin all this stuff about me / Why don’t they just let me live / I don’t need permission / Make my own decisions / That’s my prerogative

I mean, would you be able to remember how to spell ‘curacao’ while halfway across the Atlantic in a flying metal tube next to a poor couple who think you are mental because you got all weepy when you watched Frozen?

Leaves not a rack behind, unless you have stolen a rack at some point in the evening

Did you tell that professor of your desire to be ‘mega bros’ with another professor? If not, then I am still winning.

Please only drink the last one I don’t want to be responsible for what the others might do to you