Raúl Peschiera on fashion faux pas
As the mornings grow colder and more unforgiving than an Icelandic mortgage adviser, it's natural to be increasingly convinced in the half-dark of first light that the end of days is finally upon us. Granted, our somnambulant imagination has grown fertile on the dawning realisation that bailiffs around the globe have kicked in the door of the debt markets and that the mind-boggling financial hole we're in is truly of Biblical proportions.
That sort of thing is bound to put a twitter in your early-morning REM. But, if the chance to pick up blue-chip securities for a song does not rouse you from under the duvet, the prospects of the impending company Christmas party certainly should.
Sure, some may think of this as the last hurrah for the year, a chance to let what hair remains down and show what pals you and the managing director could become.
After a year like this one, don't go expecting the trimming to stop at the turkey. Among the inevitable parade of petty vanities and small hopes, you've got to look sharp and indispensable. So why on earth do you think it's de rigueur to fix a coloured strip of crenellated tissue on to your head? In fact, why don any sort of party hat?
Even if you made the second mistake of polishing off a bottle and a half to loosen the creaky wheels of your inhibition, self-preservation must prevail. Putting on a silly hat is not funny. It's as cringingly witless as watching your father make thinly veiled innuendos to pretty shop assistants.
As you do it, a part of your soul dies, never to return. Put on a party hat and the impression you wanted to make with someone is either confirmed or destroyed—and neither will be to your advantage.
And if someone starts on about team spirit and the fraternity of your workplace (although anyone axed is forgotten by the weekend), wear it for no more than the first toast before you quietly and quickly slip it off. It's no coincidence that the head with a paper crown rolls the fastest. Let this be your wake-up call.