Like many people these days I have taken to wearing a black balaclava when out and about. Walking into my bank to draw out some money over the counter, buying a paper at my local corner shop that’s been hit three times this month, going for a jog through London’s charming Regent’s Park. All these experiences are enhanced, I find, by that nice snug feeling a balaclava affords. And it just looks to-die-for. They call it emergent fashion, I believe.
But there have been problems. What I had been taking for stunned admiration for my sartorial daring and panache turned out to be more usually – though not always, I am sure – some form of what the officer called ‘utter terror’. So I took my psychiatrist’s advice and started experimenting with different colours.
Blue and green didn’t make much of a difference. Red and white made people think for a bit; but still not much change. It was only when I started wearing a pink one that looks of horror began turning to looks of quizzical fascination, even delight! My yellow and purple polka dot number has become quite a hit locally, and passers by have taken to loudly calling me Wayne Car, whom I can only imagine is a new enfant terrible of the fashion design world.
Take it from an expert: whatever your predilection, be sure to think deeply about the livery you adopt.