How do you feel when you wear a face covering whilst going about your daily business: protected; claustrophobic; nervous; emboldened?
Personally, I cannot wait to wrench mine off (carefully mind, without touching the material, ready to hand wash after every wear - yeah right!). To me, the face mask is restrictive - an unpleasant necessity, to be removed at the earliest opportunity - much like a bra at the end of the working day. As soon as I step out of the supermarket I snatch at the straps and yank it off in one smooth motion (the mask I mean, not my bra - the old folk of Sevenoaks would have heart failure), gasping for air like a fish out of water.
There is only one way to wear a mask, right? With the nose and mouth covered, straps over each ear. Wrongggg! There’s only one correct way to wear a mask, granted, but you only have to look around you to see the many different and creative ways people wear theirs: nose out; dangling from one ear; pulled up so high you can barely see their eyes; yanked down under the chin.
The types, styles and fashion statements of the masks vary wildly too: from the clinical PPE-style coverings to boldly-patterned cloth ones...I’ve even seen leather styles studded with breathing holes which make the wearer look like they’re about to star in a new Hannibal Lector movie. Fortunately said scary wearer turned out to be a regular customer of mine, a well-heeled local lady, and not a serial killer looking for their next victim, a nice bottle of Chianti and a tin of fava beans concealed in the Waitrose shopping bag she was carrying.
The personalities, current moods and mental states of the wearers of these now-compulsory face coverings are all too evident in the many ways they ‘wear’ their masks: happily acquiescent; rebelliously reluctant; wearily resigned.
Like it or not, we are forced to wear them not only to be protected from this unseen virus, but moreover to be accepted by our peers, and society in general. Whether or not you think they are effective, or even necessary (and there are a lot of conspiracy theorists among us) is irrelevant - the government has decided they must be worn, and so we must obey.
The social stigma associated with not complying with the rules is often the driving force behind our lemming-like behaviour, rather than the belief that masks actually prevent us from catching the virus. Indeed, the packaging on the face coverings actually states that the masks 'do not provide any protection against coronavirus,’ and the soaring R rate would suggest they are as effective as a chocolate teapot. Yet herd mentality means we continue to wear them, as a courtesy; the innate desire to be accepted by our friends, colleagues and neighbours more powerful than any threat of a fine imposed by the police for refusing - of which there have been very few.
All this mask-wearing mayhem, and the psychology behind it, has got me thinking about the other kinds of masks we wear on a daily basis, in order to conform to the norm:
The happy mask
We know that like attracts like: positive people are a joy to be around, and they attract the same into their lives...whilst those who are continually depressed can bring others down. Rather than be that energy vampire that people cross the street to avoid, we strap on our happy mask and go about our day. Of course, the downturned mouth is still there, behind the mask, but nobody can see it. They can’t be made unhappy by our contagious sad faces if they’re not showing, so that’s ok then, isn’t it? Everyone’s happy (except they’re not).
The professional mask
Obviously we can’t rock up to work sporting the outfit we really felt like wearing when we woke up that morning - be it a comfy tracksuit and messy bun; hippy kaftan, hair beachy...or those spray-on teflon trousers that make your bum look peachy. We’re not kids anymore, getting away with wearing a Spiderman costume to go to Sainsbury’s with Mum because she wanted a quiet life. We have rules.
So. Many. Bloody. Rules.
The carefree spontaneity of childhood gets locked away in our mental toybox, the key only being retrieved and turned in the lock for parties, festivals and random last-minute trips to Ibiza. The majority of our time is spent smiling through gritted teeth behind the mask labelled ‘professional,’ which is tailored and pinstriped, ironed and starched to within an inch of its life before being stretched tightly across our faces like a gag - lest the child in us should rip it off with gay abandon and run off in the direction of the nearest playground.
The responsible mask
Like the professional mask, this one is well worn and must be kept firmly in place when caring for others: children; elderly relatives; those less able than ourselves. These ones are the blackout blinds of the mask world: particularly good at blocking out our own needs and desires, in favour of prioritising those of the people who rely on us most. Any needs of your own whilst wearing this mask must be pushed down the list - sometimes for years at a time.
The fun mask
Oh good, I hear you cry. Finally a mask I can’t wait to take out of my handbag and strap onto my face with glee, replacing all those other masks I’ve had to wear all week. Only when you dust it off and loop the elastic behind your ears, it no longer fits properly. It’s been a while since you’ve worn it, so it feels funny. You adjust it, bending the metal nose strip and tweaking it around the chin. You look in the mirror: the colours are bright, the material soft...but your eyes still look tired, and a bit, well, sad. It’s not easy to transition from wearing one mask to another.
“But I’m going out today, I need to see my friends and have fun. More than that, I need to be fun. I have to go to the party. I am the party.”
You have an idea.
“I know,” you think, “I’ll have a drink.”
So you take a long glug of wine and put on some music. Just to get in the mood, of course. Your brain heaves a sigh of relief; the traces of the other masks you’ve had on all week start to disappear. Or at least, you think they do. They are still there, those imprints on your skin from the other masks, they haven’t gone away - but your ability to give a shit has, which is the next best thing, right?
So you check yourself in the mirror once more, grab your keys, readjust your fun mask and go out for the weekend. You drink, you party; your voice gets louder, your head fuzzier, you forget you’re wearing your mask altogether. You go home, crash, mask skewiff; sleeping the dreamless sleep of the sozzled.
But then it’s time to start the new week. The alarm shrieks. Your head hurts. You’re confused. Which mask do I need to wear today? Shit. All of them.
“But how the hell do I do that? I won’t be able to breathe.”
So you layer the various masks on in a haphazard fashion, feeling stressed and anxious: happy, professional, responsible. You feel claustrophobic; restricted. How the hell am I meant to wear all of these at once? Above the masks your eyes look wide with panic, dreading the day ahead. You can only mumble through all the layers of fabric. This can’t go on.
Eventually, you realise that, ironically, the mask causing most of the problems is the one marked ‘fun’. This is the mask that’s causing the hangovers, the anxiety - making all of the others so uncomfortable to wear.
So, reluctantly, you put the fun mask in a drawer, and stop drinking...just for now, mind. You replace the booze with a soothing herbal tea and the fun mask with a silky sleep mask. You wake up early, even on your day off. You nurture your body and soul with good food, exercise and long walks in nature.
And then something miraculous happens. All the other masks become easier to wear. They feel looser, less restrictive. Sometimes you even wake up and look forward to wearing them. And then you begin to discover a whole new set of fun masks exist that you weren’t even aware of, ones that you must have missed when mask-shopping, many moons ago: ones for hobbies and pastimes that until now only existed in your peripheral vision, ones that other people wore.
Soon you don’t want to wear that old ‘fun mask’ anymore. It lies discarded in a drawer. When you stumble across it and try it on it feels wrong somehow; alien. You’ve finally realised that not everyone is wearing a ratty-looking alcohol-soaked mask - some people are completely free: fearless, not wearing a mask at all. They don’t need the false sense of security it gives.
I’ve finally discovered that I’m one of them.
I don’t need to wear that metaphorical mask that alcohol gives me any longer. Or rather, my loud-mouthed alter-ego doesn’t. Sammy Saucers has been made redundant. Turns out there’s not much call for party girls during a pandemic. (See, Covid has been useful in some respects, triggering the kind of self-reflection and soul-searching that was long overdue.)
That old mask was useful at times but it no longer serves me. Without it I can inhale deeply, take the fresh air of a new dawn down into my lungs, and go about my day. I’m not scared of what’s out there, or what the future might hold. I’ve finally thrown out that restrictive old mask that I’ve been wearing for decades. It was worn out, and too small.
I’ve grown.
I can breathe freely, for the first time in decades. I think I was wearing it all wrong anyway - over my eyes, as well as my nose and mouth - because now the booze-blinkers are off I actually see the world differently, too.
And it looks a much better place.
Day 50.
Sam x
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