THE WICKER MAN
It was a cold and dreary Tuesday afternoon during the exam season. The weather very much reflected my downcast mood. I was trudging through the town centre after my Modern Studies exam when post-exam paranoia kicked into gear. Had I passed? Had I failed? Did I get question three correct? Why had I used the word "moronic" to describe Tony Blair? All these questions flooded through my head but not one answer was to be found. Then, completely out of nowhere, I saw it. It was like a beautiful siren calling to me through the mist of my depression. It was a wicker hat from Top Shop. Suddenly, my bad mood subsided and the only subject that flowed through my mind was how cool I would look in that wicker hat. I swiftly grabbed it from a mannequin wearing bright red skinny jeans and a black cardigan before anyone else could get their grubby hands on it and paid the princely sum of fifteen pounds at the shop counter for the privilege to wear this diamond in the rough. I walked out of the shop with a lighter mood and a substantially lighter pocket.
As soon as I left the shop, I excitedly tore off the price tag and thrust the hat upon my head. I strutted through the city high street that day feeling extremely proud of myself. Well, I felt extremely proud of myself up until the point when a homeless man selling 'Big Issues' pointed out to me that I was wearing the hat backwards. Slightly embarrassed, I re-adjusted the wondrous piece of wicker and walked on. As I swaggered slightly, I noticed that people were staring at the top of my head with what must have been sheer awe. Everyone clearly thought that my hat was the coolest thing to ever grace someone's head.
I walked in through my front door a few hours later, when my mother greeted me with the ever-pleasant phrase, "What the hell are you wearing?"
"My wicker hat." I replied, thinking that this was quite obvious, unless you did not have eyes to see.
Cue my mother going on an extremely lengthy rant about how she was sick of me wasting my money, but I didn't allow it to dampen my spirits. I looked cool and I knew it. This hat wasn't just an impulse buy. This hat was an investment. I was certain of that.
However, despite my awareness of the brilliance of my wicker hat, it seemed nobody else could appreciate it as much as I did. Every time I went near my friends wearing it, I was greeted with the disheartening sound of mocking laughter. The volume of the laughter only increased when I wore the hat at a jaunty angle. Few claimed to like the hat, and I'm fairly certain that the ones who said they did like it only said so out of pity.
The final straw came when I was at a barbecue with friends at a local park. It felt like there was a heatwave brewing. The sun was going to be causing the temperature to rise at an almost immeasurable rate any time soon. It was the perfect day to be wearing a wicker hat. A number of strange looks were exchanged by people as they spoke to me and my hat appeared to be the main topic of conversation throughout proceedings. Allegations that I was "some sort of hippy" were slung around and my hat-wearing was not quite as enjoyable as it had once been.
After the barbecue I walked home with an unrelenting feeling of self-consciousness. I realised that the people who had been staring at me more than likely just thought that I looked a bit silly. I once held my head high and stood tall with my wicker hat. At that point in time however, I looked down at the ground, desperately hoping that no one would see the face being shaded by the ridiculous piece of woeful wicker. For a few more days, I soldiered on, trying to get the most out of my fifteen pounds, but eventually I just couldn't take it any more.
Wicker was originally used in ancient Egypt for thatching roofs and weaving baskets. It probably wasn't thought of as a nifty fashion accessory until a much later time. This was possibly the reason why no one could understand the hat. The social perceptions that wicker has been associated with makes it hard to accept as a piece of clothing. That, and it looked a bit girly.
Now my wicker hat lies dormant in my bedroom beside the parka I never bother to wear and the guitar that I never got round to learning. On occasions, I stare longingly at the potential the hat had that will never be fulfilled. I live in hope that maybe one day the rest of the world will catch up with my modern way of thinking and wicker hats shall be the premier fashion item. It could happen. One day.