I see the widespread wearing of hoodies as protection from goin crazy. Aside from being inexpensive go-anywhere wear with a kangaroo pouch, they deliver a modicum of anonymity that fits social media’s shift to impersonal relationships. Having never owned a hoodie, I decided to purchase one on-sale for the heck of it…and wow, I loved it! It’s like being snug under a comforter, it’s like a kid’s blankie, it’s a tent, a mobile shelter, a cocoon, a habitat… err habit once reserved for meditative monks and those braving very foul weather. I felt secure with my head, face and throat protected, sounds muffled, peripheral vision cut-off… all warm and comfy like being swaddled, like being a turtle or armadillo. I could be wrong, but doesn’t that little socially-popular edge of personal confidence help keep neurotic demons at bay? Maybe hoodies are indicative of a “leave me alone attitude?” And so my observations revealed what appears to be an outward symptom of our malaise.

I do see people being driven batty, feeling confused and outta control…that’s anxiety… that’s stress which unabated progresses to depression, addictions and even suicide. Stress cripples genetic expression and executive function! Why are 40million Americans on antidepressant drugs? Why do they willingly ingest fentanyl? Maybe hoodies are a subconscious psychological crutch that helps one function out on the crazy streets? The actual state of the state is obviously corrupt and riddled with inane contradictions. Once affable acquaintances now seem stingy, grabby, defensive and worried over their survival. Must I adopt woke-correct speech and look in my shorts to see if I’m a boy or a girl? In my hoodie I’ve become the proverbial Three Monkeys; See-No-Evil, Hear-No-Evil, Speak-No-Evil.