Overcast and under wraps: what do we hide behind our shades?

It’s getting to that time of year again where there’s no longer much call for sunglasses. Well, not from an environmental perspective, anyway. And yet I still find myself routinely carting them about, and regularly finding the need for a bit of “shade”. Even though, most of the time, there is little real need to.

I sometimes feel slightly ridiculous walking down the road with my sunnies on, when they are not strictly required, but it doesn’t stop me doing it. Because some days you just need a little distance from the outside world. Some days it’s easier to hide behind the shades and seek refuge in anonymity than it is to say good morning to the outside world.

But why do we need that distance? As autumn unfolds, how many of us keep them about our person, regardless of plummeting UV levels? What are we trying to hide? I am definitely not alone in seeking to effectively avoid the outside world on occasion, even while making my way through it.

A friend of mine made the point to me recently that if he were to walk down Dún Laoghaire pier, and happen upon a good-looking woman fitting the usual profile: shoulder-length, well-groomed, highlighted hair; slim build and skinny jeans, topped off with an oversized pair of Ray Bans, he could be five minutes into the conversation before he twigged who he was talking to. Because they confer a veil of anonymity, take the individual out of you, enable you to just get Lost in the Crowd. They create a safe level of distance between you and the outside world. And perhaps they provide that distance while simultaneously making the right fashion statement. A win-win all round, you might say. Except for the fact that maybe, just maybe, we could all benefit from a bit more openness, and from the ability to actually connect with those around us.

I remember being at a decidedly autumnal wedding last year at which, even inside the church, so many of us had our designer talismen perched above our heads, ready to bring the shutters down at any point. Maybe it was sheer vanity and the need to show off to the world that you had a decent pair (which I didn’t), carrying the appropriate bling-factor, or perhaps it was just the fact that they’re a lot trendier than a hairband. Not to mention that a pair of the wide-rimmed variety can be a great leveller: how many of us average Joes can somehow feel just a little bit Jackie O with the shades on?

But my own sense is that the real reason is a lot less superficial; that it stems from our need for distance, for privacy, for space from a world that can sometimes feel a just a little bit overwhelming. (And how many parents feel almost blinded by any kind of natural light, after we’ve managed all of three hours uninterrupted sleep?)

I never keep them on in conversation. There is nothing more disconcerting than not being able to look someone in the eye while talking to them – or, even if you don’t ever actually look, knowing you have the option to look makes a vital connection. Even for the briefest of exchanges, while buying the paper, or my bus fare, or nodding to my neighbour en route to the car, I always lift the shades, even momentarily, as I feel it rude not to. As if you couldn’t be bothered to fully acknowledge a person right in front of you, while having your own image reflected back at you from their sunglasses.

Last week, I met a new group of mothers, one of whom never once took her shades off during a 20-minute conversation. I made an assumption that she was snooty, aloof or disinterested, and I found out later that same day that nothing could have been further from the truth.

So maybe it’s not always laziness, bad manners, general boredom or inertia that stops people connecting fully with the outside world. If the eyes are the window into the soul, perhaps, at certain times, some of us aren’t always willing to share that insight with all and sundry. And the habit I always took for rudeness , might be nothing of the kind. Perhaps sometimes we don’t have the energy to do more than keep ourselves to ourselves, and the smokescreen our shades can provide are pretty handy on occasion. Isn’t it easier, sometimes, to keep the shutters down in the morning, and not to be exposed.

Not a sign of sunshine

I had a sudden need for my shades last Monday on the way home from the NCT; I had brought them, despite there being not a sign of sunshine. My car had edged its way towards becoming a teenager in the past year, and yet had somehow managed to remain roadworthy. (Given the number of altercations that poor car has had in its lifetime, in dog years it must be about 90.)

Anyway, I was en route home when my emotions got the better of me. As in, full on waterworks, pretty much out of nowhere. My mother had left the car to me, and her eighth anniversary had been the day before. Hence the gross overreaction to the valid NCT cert on my dash. (The day I get told I have to put the Polo down will be a tense one for everyone around me. As long as her engine’s still running, there’s still a little piece of my mother on the road.

I grabbed the shades immediately, and shunted them on to my nose. This served two purposes. One, it meant that anyone beside me at the red light who wasn't too busy checking their phone or picking their nose wouldn't be assailed by an impromptu episode of EastEnders in the car beside them. And two, it meant that the three-year-old sitting behind me didn't ask awkward questions.

Yes, it’s amazing what we can hide behind our sunglasses when we want to. Because when you need a shield from the outside world, when you have to come out of your shell when you would really rather not, they are absolutely the ticket. Maybe, just maybe, the outside world illuminates a little too much for all of us on occasion, even when the sun isn’t shining. Between the shades, the earphones, and the permanent engagement with our mobile phones, are we all just effectively cocooned, insulated and detached from the outside world?