Talk to the Hat!

“Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Er… I left it in my other pair of trousers!”

Anonym Erzherzog Karl II

How often do we do this? We mentally imbue a garment with a particular feeling, often the way we feel when we wear it. And then – and this is the part that I find particularly fascinating – we wear that item in order to recreate the feeling when we need it.

This post suggests assuming the persona of someone who would not be intimidated by whatever is intimidating you. Clothing, I believe, can be a very useful tool in doing this – even if you don’t have a specific person in mind.

For example, one might wear red to feel confident or powerful, when what one really wants to do is curl up under the covers with a sympathetic teddy bear.

Attributed to William Scrots - Elizabeth I when a Princess (1533-1603) - Google Art Project

Or a swishy dress to feel feminine, when one feels either bloated or brickish. Or a long coat when awesomeness is called for – and awesome is the opposite of what one feels.

Hats, I find, are particularly useful in this regard, as they are less tied to practicality – which is to say, they often don’t need to be getting another job done and can simply focus on producing the desired effect, whatever that may be.

Frivolous, intimidating, classy, mysterious, historical, “pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral, tragical-historical, tragical-comical-historical-pastoral” or indeed very nearly anything else. There is a hat for every mood.

Behold! A tragical-comical-historical-pastoral hat!

Similar, but slightly different, are what you might call superstitions about clothing. E.g. this is my lucky hat; these are the socks that won the America’s Cup; and so on. I don’t go in for it myself, because what if you lose the item? (Or your socks run pink in the wash?) You’re just going to psych yourself out.

Do you go in for mood- or mind-altering substances clothing? Are you superstitious about your socks? Would you dare to wear the t-c-h-p hat? Tell all!

O Frabjous Day!

I would even go so far as to say Callooh, callay.

Last Friday my boss called me in for a meeting with my supervisor. (No, that isn’t the good bit. Be patient!) Having waved a long list at me of what I currently do, and a shorter list of what else they’d like me to start doing, they said that all this really came to more than four days a week, and that they would like me to go back to five days. (Definitely not the good bit.)

Can you guess what I said in reply? If you can’t, go back and have a look at the last quote post. It was like that, except my boss didn’t offer me a pay rise. I handed in my official resignation letter the next working day.
I am leaving the Dreaded Day Job! My Jabberwock is slain!

Jabberwocky

In the end, after all my dream-drafts, it didn’t actually matter whether or not I crafted the perfect resignation letter. I had other things also on my mind that weekend and the main thing was that it was done. Like organising a wedding: the main thing is that you end up married to the person you love; everything else is just icing.

Being absurdly happy at giving notice, I was prepared to be generous, and have agreed to stay on til the end of February, doing five day weeks while they train a new person. This means a notice period of seven weeks instead of the usual four, but hey, I bask in a mellow glow. Peace on earth, goodwill to all mankind etc etc.

But, I hear you ask (all right, I don’t, but indulge me here) what are you going to do now? Man does not live on bread alone, but it certainly helps! What new job have you acquired, and are you quite certain you aren’t going from the frying pan to the fire? Better the devil you know etc etc.

I thank you for your kind concern, but let me allay your fears at once. Thanks to the machinations of the Caped Gooseberry’s fruitful brain, I shall from March be taking up a full-time position as a SAHW – a stay-at-home writer.

My dream has come true.

I feel like Mary Theotokos:
“My heart overflows with my Lord’s praises,
my soul with joy because of God my Saviour
for he has not forgotten me, his servant.
Everyone will call me blessed and happy
because of what the Mighty God has done for me
– holy is His name!”

In fact, my only difficulty now is to avoid looking too happy at work – since my boss has asked me not to tell my colleagues yet, questions might well be asked which it would be difficult to answer honestly.

Happy, fortunate, lucky, blessed – oh, yes. That’s me.