The Safety Dance
The Fly was out buzzing around recently, and was horrified to hear someone at a supposedly upmarket bar (for its type) politely ask a gentleman to remove his hat. Why might this be? he asked. Apparently it was a "security issue".
Are the watering holes of Wellington desparately afraid of tommy guns in trilbys? Semtex in sombreros? Flick-knives in fedoras? Apparently not, because the gentleman in question was later approached by the apologetic bar manager and provided with a glass of wine on the house, because the rule was devised to deter chavs rather than chaps: a rash of baseball caps at apeish rather than rakish angles had prompted a revision of the dress code.
Fair enough, one might say, but numerous punters were happily served while wearing the aforementioned ersatz sporting headgear, and one rum cove was even spotted wearing something more appropriate for a llama herder than a man-about-town. While one can sympathise with the management looking askance at our companion’s attire (and really, a Gatsby cap and club collar is so nouveau riche), surely if they mean to enforce sartorial standards it would be better not to hide behind "security" concerns and just be open about it.