Hoodies: get covered up!
14.6.2018
This is the story of a cameraman who insults a journalist about his second favourite item of clothing. What follows is a face-off about what to wear and the best solution to a problem that, according to the person concerned, has no basis in reality.
"You look like a homeless man again," says Stephanie Tresch, video producer.
To tell you the truth, I feel flattered, but I'm not exactly sure where she got that from. My beard hair is trimmed, as is my hair. My trousers don't have any holes in them, for once, and my shoes are...okay. They're old Doc Marteens, worn out, I grant you, and they could be a bit more presentable too. But they're not the cause of this discussion, because, as far as I can remember, they've never been in as good a condition as they are now.
Stephanie notices me mentally going over my outfit and trying to see how I look like a tramp.
"It's your hoodie. It's worn to a crisp. Say, how long have you been dragging it around?" she asks with an air of meaning "you need a new one."
"What do I know? Two or three years maybe", I throw out with relative certainty. Maybe I'm way off the mark after all.
"No shit. <"No shit, you need a new one," she asserts, but this time, postage paid.
"What the hell," I say in an equally peremptory tone. The people around us stand back a little, take out their popcorn and wait. Because when we disagree about something, we don't do each other any favours.
The state of my hoodie
Here is the offending garment.
While we're arguing, I'm thinking about my darling sweatshirt. Sure, new is something else. But I like it, even though the inside was all soft then and now feels rough to the touch. It's not stained, but the black is a bit faded. The zip sometimes gets stuck at the bottom, but that's no reason to replace it. Stephanie claims that the holes - some from welding sparks, some inexplicable - are reason enough to change it. I disagree.
There's a lot to be said for this sweatshirt. The hood has lived so much that it falls comfortably over my eyes when I want to sleep on the train or plane. It also acts as protection against the sun or rain. Plus, it smells a bit musty, like any self-respecting hoodie.
And last but not least, it's seen a lot of the country. He's accompanied me to two Mobile World Congresses, an IFA, two events in London and twice to Iceland. Stephanie shouldn't make such a fuss. So far, I've never had a problem.
So yes, it's true, it's rarely hung in a dryer or wardrobe for more than a couple of days, and besides, with a black sweater, you can't go too wrong fashion-wise, even if it's leaning more towards anthracite in the meantime. It doesn't matter if the elastic at the cuffs is loose.
I love this sweater so much that I bought myself the same one, but in grey.
But there's nothing I can do about it, I have a preference for my black sweatshirt. It's just the way it is, I can't help it, even though I've got nothing against grey after all. I wear it almost every day. And on the train, it keeps me warm.
Stephanie doesn't see it the same way, she who owns 20 jumpers in all colours and shapes; she can't understand all those concerts where the jumper kept me too warm; all those showers it saved me from; all those hours spent in the plane at the airport.es in the plane sheltered from the light; all those cold days when I snuggled up in it; all those sparks from which it spared my skin as I suddenly, the pillow it formed, when I balled it up, on the lawns by the water.
My black Carhartt jumper isn't a vulgar piece of clothing. It's deeper than that. It's a friend, a companion, a protector, a comfort capital what have you. You can't just replace it out of the blue. This jumper is more than a garment.
A new sweater?
"So, if you think you can come back in front of the camera with this old thing on you, you're kidding yourself," she quips.
I can tell the discussion is over by her adamant tone. For her, everything that happens in front of a camera is sacred. That must betray a certain taste for aestheticism, and I'm no exception to that rule.
"Let's dare to be ugly," I reply. That's what the lead singer of Stahlzeit, a Rammstein tribute band, once said to me. The thing is, Heli Reissenweber sounded more convincing than I did. I say these few words in a somewhat resigned tone, in a desperate attempt to save my sweater.
The odds are fading. He's got to get out.
I start looking for a new one. This goes on for three seconds.
I laugh inwardly. Stephanie won't believe it when I turn up with my new hoodie. It's brand new and soft on the inside. No signs of wear at the elbows or around the pockets. I wouldn't have told him anyway. But hey, it's still in one piece.
The hood still needs a bit of doing up, the sleeves are too tight. Also, why is it so dark?
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