An ode to the face mask

The humble face mask has emerged as the unsung hero of the coronavirus pandemic in more ways than one | Pool photo by Alessandra Tarantino/AFP via Getty Images

LETTER FROM ROME

An ode to the face mask

Beyond helping to curb infections, face masks offer a reprieve from small talk and social niceties.

By HANNAH ROBERTS 7/28/20, 1:30 AM CET Updated 7/28/20, 4:35 AM CET

Hannah Roberts is a freelance journalist based in Rome.

https://www.politico.eu/article/an-ode-to-the-face-mask-coronavirus-covid-19-safety-measures/

ROME — The face mask, something that seemed entirely foreign to most of us until a few months ago, has become an unavoidable part of our daily lives; so much so that our social media feeds are filling with “maskies,” those same sultry sun-lounger selfies as every summer, this time with face-coverings.

I’ll admit I wasn’t an early adopter. When I saw air travelers in masks in early January, I assumed they were overreacting. When wearing a mask became compulsory in shops in Italy in April, I huffed and whined.

But these days I’m a convert and an evangelist — not just because I could potentially prevent someone from getting sick and dying of COVID-19, but because it avoids the need for numerous social niceties.

Social distancing has already killed the kiss on each cheek and the handshake. The logical next casualty, thanks to the mask, is the fake smile. Throw on some sunglasses with your face mask, and you can legitimately pretend not to recognize acquaintances you’d rather avoid.

It’s not all good news, of course. As a foreigner in Italy, I’m already at risk of being misunderstood.

As we inch back to office life, the mask has given us license to drop courtesy greetings and chit-chat with coworkers too. My natural resting face is moody-to-serial killer, but it no longer matters. I’m spared from water-cooler chat and small talk, as no one can really understand each other — or bear the discomfort of trying to chat through a mask for very long. Behind the façade, I freely frown, scowl or chuckle to myself, without fear of appearing impolite.

Having discovered my inner introvert during lockdown, it’s a welcome respite. And I’m not the only one to see the silver lining. Masks cover double chins and wrinkles “for us oldies,” says my aunt. (Real oldies can ditch uncomfortable dentures.) Friends enthuse about the time and money saved on make-up and waxing, as the mask magically covers up cold sores, blemishes and lady-taches.

Other girlfriends tell me they feel liberated by new-found anonymity in public places. Face hidden, you’re less likely to find yourself on the receiving end of unwelcome advances on public transport, in the street or at the park — not to mention being told to smile and “cheer up love” every time you walk by a construction site.

It’s not all good news, of course. As a foreigner in Italy, I’m already at risk of being misunderstood. It takes more effort to communicate through a mask — you only have your voice, or your hand gestures — and without clear facial expressions, it can be harder to read a speaker’s intentions and emotions. Being anonymous has also made some people less considerate; they push past without saying excuse me or thank you.

But two months since the lockdown began to lift in Italy, those difficulties have been a small price to pay for getting back to some semblance of normality — back to the office and air conditioning, out to dinner, and even away on holiday.

In many ways, these physical face masks have replaced the masks we wear every day. And it’s considerably less effort to wear a pretty face mask than arrange your face into a neutral or pleasing expression at every passing stranger or intrusive colleague. Not to mention the bonus opportunity to make a mask-based fashion statement.

With no idea of how long we’ll be wearing these, I have stocked up. It’s an easy way to help businesses I want to see stay afloat through the crisis, like the cabaret club down the road that sells pink floral designs. I have a whole range of masks in African prints made by a sewing collective that employs refugees and has matching beach sarongs. And then, of course, there are those I covet but am too stingy to buy: hand-wash only and made of silk.

Some entrepreneurial sociopath has even made masks printed with your face on. There’s no chance I’ll get myself one of those — unless, of course, it meant I could keep my mask on during Zoom meetings.