So, the first priority for the Emperor is to get himself some new clothes. His suit is no longer a la mode; folk point to him in the street and whisper. Some even openly guffaw. The old clothes have to go, but what to replace it with?
Fortunately, the Emperor has employed a tailor of some renown and expertise. Though there are many who doubt his talents, and in fact question whether he has any at all, the tailor is perceived in most quarters, as being one of the best there is. What he appears particularly to be good at is invisible mending, a skill which is indubitably going to be required in looking after the Emperor’s attire.
The tailor shows the Emperor some fine cloth options but the Emperor is not happy. To cut, shape, fit and sew an outfit from scratch? That would take too long and there’s a big event in May for which the Emperor needs to be properly booted and suited.
Instead, he spies some items hanging at the back of the tailor’s shop, waiting for collection. “What about those”, he asks. “Ah”, says the tailor, “they’re orders for other people. I can see why you like them. They’ve been skilfully made, beautifully cut, expertly sewn. Because these people took time to choose, to research the right clothes before deciding on what to wear. Also, they picked styles that suit their personality. Perhaps, Emperor, you should do the same?”
But the Emperor had no idea what might suit him. He had a few suits hanging in the wardrobe but wasn’t sure they fitted anymore. They just didn’t seem the right thing to be wearing.
Then the Emperor spotted something vibrant hanging on its own. “Bring me that”, he instructed the tailor. The tailor began to protest: “But that is for quite a different customer, one with a real sense of their own style, who knows what they like and what they should be wearing. I really don’t think…”
No matter. The Emperor insisted the clothes be brought to him. He tried them on and posed in front of the mirror. So it was a bit tight across the chest and a bit baggy on the bum. Nor was he sure that purple suited him – even if he was the Emperor – but he liked it and liked how it looked. He felt good in it.
The tailor rolled his eyes. “Really, Emperor? I really do think you should at least think about wearing a colour that suits you, that you can call your own.” “Nonsense,” replied the Emperor, “Let out the seams here, tighten the fit here and I’ll take it.”
And so, the Emperor stepped out onto the stage for his first public engagement and the crowd gasped. The women in particular were astonished. “That’s our clothes he’s wearing,” they muttered. “What made him think he could just take our clothes and not tell anyone where they come from?” asked one. “That’s the new Emperor for you,” added another, “Doesn’t care whose clothes he’s in, he only cares that he’s wearing something, anything to dazzle the crowds.”
“Ah well,” the women agreed, “He’ll get found out soon enough.”
And guess what? He did.
– JIM MURPHY, IF YOU WANT TO WEAR WOMEN FOR INDEPENDENCE’S CLOTHES, AT LEAST HAVE THE GRACE TO TELL EVERYONE WHERE YOU GOT THEM FROM.
IF WE THOUGHT WE NEEDED OR WANTED YOUR HELP WITH OUR WOMEN’S PRISON CAMPAIGN, WE’D ASK YOU. THANK YOU .
A Burdz Eye View 