Armour
In writing this week’s episode, I was at first considering how little armour shows up in the average person’s daily life - or, perhaps I should say, how little it shows up in my life. I am not usually under siege by Vikings or Vandals, and so when I leave my house, I really do not need a helm or a shield or a mail shirt (Mithril or otherwise) to protect myself from evil or enemy. On the other hand, as spring s-l-o-w-l-y begins to take over from winter, I am realising that perhaps I do wear a sort of armour, one that is becoming more apparent to me as I shed it, now that temperatures are, mercifully, on the rise.
I have replaced my long, substantial parka with its hood for a sort of in-between coat - it still has a hood, ideal for the sudden rain and sleet that are still making their presences felt - but not as bulky or warming, nor quite so long, as my winter jacket. Yesterday, I went for quite a long walk without a toque or mittens, and wore a lighter scarf than I have done in months, and it felt like being let out of prison, flying along the street with wind in my hair - but admittedly, with my hands stuffed in my pockets. I think perhaps I was a little too excited by the joys of early spring and its burgeoning warmth, and forgot about the wind. More fool me.
And yet, the more I think about it, the more I think I continue to wear types of armour year-round. In a way, we all do. Perhaps not the metal kind, but still. I wear a scarf all spring long - a light one, really more of a pashmina, though I know they went out of favour in the early 2000s, but a bare neck feels deeply exposed, and you never know when a length of spare fabric might come in handy. And when sultry, sweaty summer finally comes around, coquettish and demanding like a Southern Belle, I’ll don my widest-brimmed hat and linen and, most crucially, SPF 50, which might well be understood as shield and mail in a tube, armouring me against the onslaught of the sun.
And when winter returns (shudder and shriek), I’ll wrap my muffler round my face and neck and yank my toque down over my head so that all you can see are my eyes: the rest of my face and head are swathed in wool. This similarly impedes my vision, too, so that really all I can see is what is directly in front of me. Sometimes, wandering around outdoors on the days when I choose to brave the cold (inadvisable), I wonder if this is what it’s like to wear a helm, with only a little slit for looking through.
Indoor clothing can feel similarly protective. I have a leather jacket which, when worn zipped all the way, has a collar that stands up like a funnel, shielding the lower two-thirds of my face from the world. I was skeptical about this article of clothing, but having tried it on, I discovered that I loved having a kind of hole into which I could retreat, with only my watching and distrustful eyes peeping out from above the collar. The world can be a deeply unpredictable place, and that little barrier between it and me was and is comforting. I would recommend a similar garment to all.
But perhaps the very best, and most ubiquitous armour I regularly use aren’t garments at all - they’re my headphones. Oh, beloved headphones - many and varied blessings upon you! They do double-duty: to the outside world, they indicate that I am not interested in conversation while sitting on the subway, that I wish to be left in peace. And all the while, they keep swirling, unhelpful thoughts at bay with their constant music, audiobooks, or podcasts. Sit alone on the bus with my own thoughts for twenty minutes? Hardly! Would an Anglo-Saxon go to battle without their shield? And when I step out my door, I must be similarly dressed and ready for war - even if it is only with public transit and myself.
Jennifer