I’m a bit of a beanie freak.
I’ve lost track of how many are shoved in my various drawers.
From the loosely-knitted tan number (my first attempt at knitting), through the grey crochet beanie from Walpole’s hippy depths, a dinosaur beanie for freaking out the masses, my super-warm Canadian beanie complete with earflaps and woolly dangles, and my New Zealand beanies made out of merino and possum fur (mmmm, possum fur), I love them all and can’t bear to part with them.
On a frigidly cold morning I decided to wear my scrumptious jade green NZ beanie to work and was instantly reminded of the power of conformity. I was the only one on the train platform sporting warm headwear, even though the temperature was around 6 degrees (celcius, that is, for my thousands of readers in imperial nations around the world). I felt like a freak.
Why is it that we instinctively feel the need to conform with total strangers?
Why did I feel stupid for rugging up, when in reality, everyone else was stupid for suffering in the cold?
When it comes to fashion in general, I think I worry too much about what total strangers will think of me. I still don’t know why. If someone walks past me and thinks I look stupid, it will no doubt be a fleeting thought and they’ll never think of me again. Their thought didn’t hurt me in any way, so why do I worry about it? Meh.
Just as I was at the height of my despair over being the only one on the whole train rocking out in a beanie, I spotted a very dapper business man walking off the train sporting a super daggy (and by daggy I mean awesome) himalayan beanie with ear flaps, dangles, and a super fair isle colour pattern.
That man, with his briefcase and suit in beautiful juxtaposition, restored my faith in the underground beanie-wearing movement.
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