In my improv class the other day, a girl was asked to deliver an impromptu personal monologue based off the suggestion “London.”
“I’m gonna share something about me that’s, like, really weird,” she began, ringing her hands as she shifted from one foot to another. “It’s kind of embarrassing, but I’m, like, really into Tudor history. I can name all six wives of King Henry VIII, I’ve read a ton of books about Queen Elizabeth, and I’ve seen ‘The Other Boleyn Girl’ twice.” She shrugged apologetically as she glanced around the room. “I know that’s, like, so weird.”
It’s probably a good thing I didn’t tell the class about my own experience with Tudor history, because if she’s considered “weird,” then lock me up in The Tower and throw away the key. My “weirdness” takes the freakin’ cake.
I was nine years old when I first discovered my parents’ large coffee table book with portraits of the English monarchy. I remember poring over a picture of Anne Boleyn and staring into her eyes, gently caressing her “B” choker and drawing one finger down the gentle curve of her neck. I thought to myself, “I was once you.”
From then on, I had no trouble preaching to my friends about recreation, which I referred to as “recycling,” and I openly believed/bragged that I had been Anne Boleyn in a past life. People called her “slutty” and “manipulative,” but I called her/myself “misunderstood.”
You see, Anne was just a young girl when she first laid eyes on King Henry VIII. He didn’t notice her, but she saw him, and he looked FABULOUS—these were the years before his obesity and gout. Anne knew in her heart that she was destined to sit by his side and be Royal. She was very unlike Lorde in that way.
Anne’s power-hungry ambition made her into something of a shady character, if she wasn’t already one to begin with. In fact, some people thought she was a witch, because she had a tiny extra nubblet of a finger on her right hand, and she liked to wear her hair down a lot, which I guess was considered skanky. She had a number of romantic dalliances with the men at Court before eventually drawing the eye of the married King. She wanted to be more than his mistress, though—she wanted to be his queen—so she refused to sleep with him, using sex as leverage to get him to do whatever she wanted. Eventually she promised him a male heir to the throne, so he casually demolished the Catholic Church in England, divorced his wife, and married her.
Bad news for Anne, though: Henry was BATSHIT INSANE. When she gave birth to a daughter instead of a son, he assumed it was because she had cheated on him… with her own brother… and he had her head chopped off. He was not a very nice dude.
So at age nine, I heard this story and RELATED to it. In fact, at that time, I would have told you this story from the first person perspective. Despite not even having a concrete understanding of what sex was, I was always quick to defend Anne: “I did what I had to do to win! Judge me, peasants!”
This was how I “knew” I was Anne in a past life:
1. Our names are very similar, and it’s proven that she might actually be one of my ancestors.
2. We both like music and poetry, unlike anyone else in the world.
3. She was ambitious, intense, and borderline power-hungry, which I also apparently was as a nine-year-old.
4. I have a very real phobia of necks, and:
5. I JUST FELT IT IN MY BONES.
In reality, I suppose I just had a really big girl crush on her. She was the original femme fatale, beautiful and strong within the context of her time. I wanted to be as captivating and alluring as Anne—I wanted to draw powerful men to their knees just with a twitch of my six-fingered hand.
This whole obsession culminated with my sister and I visiting London, learning everything we could about the Tudor dynasty, and then making a historical film about King Henry VIII with our Barbie dolls. It was complete with royal births, beheadings, and musical numbers, and it received an Academy Award nomination for cinematography.
The most important thing for you to take out of this, though, is that no matter how weird you think your obsessions may be, you are PROBABLY not the weirdest one out there. If the Internet has taught me anything, it’s that. Because I may have thought I was Anne Boleyn, and I might have made Barbie films about her, but I’m actually not the only one. In fact, there are HUNDREDS of people on the Internet who proclaim to be the reincarnation of Anne Boleyn. There are so many “Fanne Boleyns” out there that someone is actually making money selling these T-shirts:
I like to think that it would really piss Anne Boleyn off, but then, I wouldn’t know.
Or would I? Love, Ann(e/a)
“I’m gonna share something about me that’s, like, really weird,” she began, ringing her hands as she shifted from one foot to another. “It’s kind of embarrassing, but I’m, like, really into Tudor history. I can name all six wives of King Henry VIII, I’ve read a ton of books about Queen Elizabeth, and I’ve seen ‘The Other Boleyn Girl’ twice.” She shrugged apologetically as she glanced around the room. “I know that’s, like, so weird.”
It’s probably a good thing I didn’t tell the class about my own experience with Tudor history, because if she’s considered “weird,” then lock me up in The Tower and throw away the key. My “weirdness” takes the freakin’ cake.
I was nine years old when I first discovered my parents’ large coffee table book with portraits of the English monarchy. I remember poring over a picture of Anne Boleyn and staring into her eyes, gently caressing her “B” choker and drawing one finger down the gentle curve of her neck. I thought to myself, “I was once you.”
From then on, I had no trouble preaching to my friends about recreation, which I referred to as “recycling,” and I openly believed/bragged that I had been Anne Boleyn in a past life. People called her “slutty” and “manipulative,” but I called her/myself “misunderstood.”
You see, Anne was just a young girl when she first laid eyes on King Henry VIII. He didn’t notice her, but she saw him, and he looked FABULOUS—these were the years before his obesity and gout. Anne knew in her heart that she was destined to sit by his side and be Royal. She was very unlike Lorde in that way.
Anne’s power-hungry ambition made her into something of a shady character, if she wasn’t already one to begin with. In fact, some people thought she was a witch, because she had a tiny extra nubblet of a finger on her right hand, and she liked to wear her hair down a lot, which I guess was considered skanky. She had a number of romantic dalliances with the men at Court before eventually drawing the eye of the married King. She wanted to be more than his mistress, though—she wanted to be his queen—so she refused to sleep with him, using sex as leverage to get him to do whatever she wanted. Eventually she promised him a male heir to the throne, so he casually demolished the Catholic Church in England, divorced his wife, and married her.
Bad news for Anne, though: Henry was BATSHIT INSANE. When she gave birth to a daughter instead of a son, he assumed it was because she had cheated on him… with her own brother… and he had her head chopped off. He was not a very nice dude.
So at age nine, I heard this story and RELATED to it. In fact, at that time, I would have told you this story from the first person perspective. Despite not even having a concrete understanding of what sex was, I was always quick to defend Anne: “I did what I had to do to win! Judge me, peasants!”
This was how I “knew” I was Anne in a past life:
1. Our names are very similar, and it’s proven that she might actually be one of my ancestors.
2. We both like music and poetry, unlike anyone else in the world.
3. She was ambitious, intense, and borderline power-hungry, which I also apparently was as a nine-year-old.
4. I have a very real phobia of necks, and:
5. I JUST FELT IT IN MY BONES.
In reality, I suppose I just had a really big girl crush on her. She was the original femme fatale, beautiful and strong within the context of her time. I wanted to be as captivating and alluring as Anne—I wanted to draw powerful men to their knees just with a twitch of my six-fingered hand.
This whole obsession culminated with my sister and I visiting London, learning everything we could about the Tudor dynasty, and then making a historical film about King Henry VIII with our Barbie dolls. It was complete with royal births, beheadings, and musical numbers, and it received an Academy Award nomination for cinematography.
The most important thing for you to take out of this, though, is that no matter how weird you think your obsessions may be, you are PROBABLY not the weirdest one out there. If the Internet has taught me anything, it’s that. Because I may have thought I was Anne Boleyn, and I might have made Barbie films about her, but I’m actually not the only one. In fact, there are HUNDREDS of people on the Internet who proclaim to be the reincarnation of Anne Boleyn. There are so many “Fanne Boleyns” out there that someone is actually making money selling these T-shirts:
I like to think that it would really piss Anne Boleyn off, but then, I wouldn’t know.
Or would I? Love, Ann(e/a)
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