Does wearing a black turtleneck sweater instantly turn you into
a social leper? One thing's for sure, throat huggers do not make
for appropriate karaoke garb.?More of that later though, let's
begin at the beginning - Friday morning. I rose with the knowledge
that I had worn the last of my clean clothes the day before. I did
have an aired pair of slacks but no shirt that wouldn't offend my
colleagues' nasal passages. And so I went with the turtleneck
sweater that I had bought the previous weekend and had intended to
reserve for fine wine tastings, film seminars, poetry recitals,
gallery unveilings, humidor shopping and deep sea fishing with
captains of industry.
Instantly I felt more eyes on me than usual, like searing laser
beams of disapproval for trying to be something I'm not. I imagined
these onlookers were thinking: "that chump thinks he's soooo
sophisticated, doesn't he?"
In my mind, the condemnation of my apparel was mushrooming. On
my way to get an espresso (damn, only snobs and wannabe playwrights
drink espresso!) I happened to pass a group of builders. As it
stands, I have a phobia of such burly types and in my country of
birth I would always mentally prepare myself for an onslaught of
wily barbs whenever I came into contact with tradesmen. I walked
briskly passed this group that were huddled outside of China
Daily, which is currently a hive of construction, and
immediately noticed the smirks on the men's faces. In a feeble
attempt to gain favor with the gents, I murmured a half-arsed "ni
hao", and a few of the gang replied, albeit in a deliberately
effeminate tone. Their laughter echoed in my ears long after the
bitterness of the coffee shot had faded from my mouth. I ran,
screaming to the smog smeared skies "Turtleneck wearers are human
too you know! Damn you! Damn you all!"
There was not enough time to change before meeting friends that
evening at an embassy bar for drinky-poos and chit-chat. Again the
black turtleneck became a target for strangers' derision. A
dress-up party was being thrown for a few diplomats who were
leaving Beijing, but even those who bothered to adhere to the theme
were less the subject of mocking glances than me and my
fancy-schmancy pullover. I soon scurried to the door like a damned
ghoul as guests pointed and laughed in unison. Tears streamed down
my frost bitten cheeks as I made my way to a karaoke bar.
But wouldn't you know, the heating was jammed up high in this
particular house of merry song, and beads of sweat cascaded down my
brow - it was hot as Hades under my thick collar. Later, as the
alcohol began to flow and the inhibitions gave way to slurred
singing, one girl, who I had only just met, giggled and said: "Ha
ha! Bit hot for that turtleneck isn't it mate?" Alas, I was not
wearing an undershirt. I felt trapped inside a wooly prison. It had
become a moist straightjacket, leaving me defenseless against the
cruel criticism of turtleneckists.
This seemingly innocent but now much-maligned item of clothing
now lies at the bottom of the dirty pile along with my spandex
man-vest and neon velour jumpsuit. Sigh.
(China Daily December 6, 2007)
