Avoiding Responsibility

ok,

so I didn't expect that many of you to have a look at the website that quickly. I am feeling something along the lines of inadequacy right now. Um, I really should have more stuff here for you guys to look at.

The good news is that I already have some new stuff to go up, but it has to wait until I could be bothered lugging my laptop down to the net cafe. And its a long way. And its cold. And I am lazy. So it may take a while.

Anyway, I will warn now that this is going to be a controversial posting. I normally don't like to alienate groups of people, particularly the people who visit here. But it has to be done. So, read on....

It's only in the last couple of years that I have come to a very important realisation. Actually, I think I have always known it, I just never wanted to admit it to myself. But now, having grown up a little bit (I said a little bit!) I am comfortable with this idea.

Most of my female friends will decry me as being stupid, and that this idea is just plain wrong. And for much of my conscious life, I would have agreed with them. But no longer. I think it is something that most men will agree with at some point throughout their life. And what is this revolutionary idea?

That's sometimes, not all the time, but sometimes, mothers are right.

See, groundbreaking isn't it. Now, this is not to say that mothers are infallible; they are human as well and sometimes make grave errors of judgement. But every once in a while, a mother can have an insight into a situation that seems to have originated in another plane of existence - the precience shown cannot possibly be of this world. And as much as at the time, it sounds really dumb, one day you will look back and go "yup, she was right."

Now, when I use the term mother, I mean this in a strict fashion. Not necessarily a strict biological fashion, but strict to mean the woman who played the role of signifcant female care-giver in the formative years of a childs existence. And yes, that completely precludes mothers-in-law.

How do I know this? Well, from my own experience, there have been a couple of times when mum was dead-set spot on in her analysis of the situation.

Example 1. When I was three, mum said "Don't play with your brother (who was 6), you will get hurt". And sure enough, hurt I got.

Lots.

Anyway, I got over that. But there were other times, which I won't go into on a public space like this.

Why then do I feel compelled to write this space now then?

I was witness to a situation on Saturday which will for the young man involved, eventually turn into one of these "mum was right" situations. It will take him many years of reflection, but one day, he will admit it to himself.

So, let me paint a picture here for you. I am not the most gifted artist (actually, I pretty much suck, but we'll see how we do). There I was, wandering amongst the cavernous halls of the Arnott's department store on Henry Street in Dublin. I was out shopping - having recently secured a position in a respectable job, and having moved from the other side of the planet, I was dramatically short of clothes that would match my respectable employment situation. So off to shop I went.

After many hours of wandering around Dublin city centre, I came to the conclusion that the shopping to be had in Dublin was, well, not of a standard to which I expected. Saying that, there are only half the people in Dublin that there are i Sydney, and Canberra, where I have been living for the last two years, is filled with cashed-up public servants. So I was a little distressed to discover that the choices were to be as restricted as they are.

The purpose for my visit to the shopping mecca that is Henry St, Dublin, was the absence in my travelling attire of any real quantity of suitable "professional" attire. For those people reading this that worked with me over the last two years will be astounded to hear this, but, it is true, my current place of employment requires that I a) turn up to work at 9am and b) that I act, and look, like a "professional". So off to get some ties I went.

Now, in the general manner of things, men are severally restricted in their options for fashion, particularly when concerning "professional" clothing. Suits. Their dark. They might have two buttons instead of three. That is about the extent of the variety on offer. And the shirt is white. Or, if you are daring and the office you are working in has moved into the 70's, you might be able to get away with a blue one. On dress-down Friday. And the boss is away. At least you girls get to wear skirts when you feel like it (and in summer, there are times when I certainly wish that it was socially acceptable for me to wear a skirt in public other than college).

For men, expressing your individuality and great sense of style is restricted to just three items; shoes, watch, tie. Now most men would consider such things (well, at least the first two) as completely functional and require only that they serve their purposes, and who the hell bothers whether they reflect their tastes in fashion. Me, being the enlightened, sensitive GQ-reading fashion bitch that I am, need an outlet for my style flair, and operating under the strict corporate wardrobe, find expression in these three items. Watch and shoes are very much long-term purchases, but ties are something that can be changed relatively easily. Well, one would have thought so at least.

You see, and most women really should heed these next few words, ties are a very personal thing. What some find conservative and dull, others find distinguished. And what some find funky and exciting, others find the pieces of carrot and corn in the vomit that was the inspiration for the design. And so it is that I come to the point of this musing.

After dramatically reducing my expectations for my fashion shopping in Dublin, I continued to wander and look for the ties. I was already reconciled to the fact that I wasn't going to find the ties that expressed "me"; stylish, sophisticated, classic. So I was looking for the least offensive ties that I could find for a price that befitted the fact that its a piece of silk that was sown by sweatshop labour in Indonesia. Not to say that I am cheap (I am, but thats not the point here), but €80 for a tie? Um, yes, its very nice. Yes, that sum of money represents about 0.0001% of the price you paid the child who made it.

I fell into the men's department of one of the large department stores (literally, I am having a really bad month for gravity I think) and discovered that this store seemed to follow the Dublin tie fashion tradition of every possible combination of colours that don't match. After a cursory glance, I turned to leave when I noticed a young gentleman tie shopping with his mother. Now, normally this wouldn't be a big deal, but the scene that occured, and my reaction to it, was very profound.

Having pulled a "tie" from the shelf, he handed it to his mother and remarked "I like this one." I use the word tie in quote marks because the only thing it should be used to tie is a noose for the people who a) made such a ghastly frabic in the first place, b) decided that it would be suitable for a man to place around his neck as an advertisement for his style and c) the buyer for the store who showed the ultimate disrespect for their customers by assuming that one of them would purchase such a horrible item. It pains me to attempt to describe this tie, but for the purposes of this monolouge, it is somewhat necessary.

Picture - salmon pink, with small and large circles of brown at irregular intervals and fine and heavy lines of black crossing the tie at (again) irregular angles.

Upon receiving the "tie" from her son, she inspected it, turned and asked in that tone that only mothers can make "Do you really like this one?" I was very happy to hear her say this, and continued on my way. After only two steps I hear the rejoinder "Yeah, I think its cool. That's the one."

Never have I felt the urge to slap a complete stranger so strongly and built up in such a short period of time. But not just slap. Slap him around the head with this filth that he is trying to make his mother purchase for him, even after she has, quite correctly, voiced an opinion of disapproval. After my urge to commit physical violence faded (probably induced by the fact that I was walking into the perfume department and my eyes were starting to water - Chanel No.7 is the base used in tear gas, dead set!) I reflected upon the situation that had caused such anxiety within me.

In the events as described, it was quite plain to me that this mother had been very correct in her assessment of the visual qualities of the "tie" her son had selected (I am quite confident that she was not commenting on the quality of the stitching). And she had been forthright in her views on the matter, and coould not have left her son in any doubt as to her revulsion at his choice. So what had gone wrong? Is it possbile that the son was so completely devoid of any concept of good taste that he actually did think the "tie" to be visually appealing? I cannot believe that such creatures exist. I am hearing howls of protest now, particularly from those of you who have visited western sydney, and yes, I have been to Parramatta Westfield, I know the depths of despair that some people sink in their quest for "the look". But for those who raised objections I have obviously not communicated to effectively exactly how offensive the design of the "tie" in question was!

So we are left with a situation where a young man is going to purchase (and presumably wear) a "tie" that will completely destroy any respect that his family, friends, colleagues and the greater world at large may have previously had for him. What insanity would drive a peson to do this?

I think I know. It is as simple as the fact that his selection had caused the ire of his mother, and that she had not seen fit to restrain herself in communicating such ire to her son. By doing so, she, as is a mother's right, indirectly told her son that he had failed in what is a relatively simple task of choosing a tie. As correct as she was, she failed to account for the fact that her son, being of less maturity than an enlightened soul such as myself, could never possibly beleive that his mother could be right. That the "tie" was indeed ghastly. As is the way for most white, middle-class young men, pride kicked in, and so the path to total fashion oblivion was chosen.

The events which I have described are indeed shocking. I can only guess that the young man has already been castigated from society, and is currently wandering through the Wicklow mountains south of Dublin, wondering how it all went so wrong so quickly. I feel for that man, because he was overtaken by a process that all men deal with throughout their lives. Unfortunately for him, the consequences of were much more dramatic than for others of his sub-species.

But in this man's pain we should find a mirror. We should reflect on it takes so long for men to realise that their mothers can be correct in their assessment of a situation and the expense of their own thoughts on the matter. My wish is that by stimulating debate on this issue, I might be able to save another man from falling into the depths of social bereavement that has befallen the victim of this story. It is painful to me to recall the image of this "tie", but if I can save just one man, then it will be worth it.

Brothers, let us teach our young folk that sometimes, not always, but sometimes, their mother's opinion on a subject may be better informed than their own. The situation's when this can occur vary greatly, and it is necessary for that the young man take a moment to relfect on the matter at hand to determine if it could be one of these situations. And they may still get it wrong. Pride is a powerful force in white middle-class men. But try we must. One life saved is payment enough for any efforts that we make.

And the market for ugle "ties" will hopefully fall out and the Indonesian sweatshops can be turned to making nice ties for the cheap shops as well as the designer labels.

See, everyone wins. Crusade my brothers! Crusade! To the pubs and pool halls with you! Enlighten our younger brothers, so that we may be strong, and continue to rule the world.

Geoffrey