Oddly, given what I do for a living, I’m most uncomfortable drawing attention to myself, especially if it’s something to do with what I’m wearing. And still more if it concerns my glasses. I trace this back to my shame and embarrassment when I first had to wear specs 43 years ago. For most of that time I’ve got on fine wearing contact lenses but once long-sightedness joined short-sightedness on the lengthening list of my physical shortcomings, bifocal spectacles became more practical.
I bought a pair last summer which looked, to my underperforming eyes, like perfectly normal specs. My only reservation was that from some angles they bore similarities to the kind of stout-rimmed eyewear favoured by many men in my line of work. Let’s call it the “media wanker” style. But it was more serious than that. Upon arriving home, the initial, visceral reaction of my loved ones was along the lines of: “WTF are those specs about?”
