I feel compelled to comment on the ever-expanding size of umbrellas wielded by Boston commuters. The diameter of these umbrellas seems to grow in direct proportion to the width of modern-day SUVs. In both cases, the mantra is clear: bigger is better… if you’re the one holding it.
Sure, standing beneath a table-sized disc of nylon ensures you’ll stay dry, impervious to even the most slanting sheets of rain. But in a downtown crammed with hundreds of commuters during a storm, wielding a beach umbrella is the epitome of selfishness. You block the flow of two-way foot traffic, bash into the sides of other people’s umbrellas, and commandeer an unreasonable amount of space, disrupting the delicate ecosystem of wet pedestrians just trying to get to work with their dignity intact.
If you’re out on a picnic or a leisurely country walk, by all means, carry your five-foot canopy and revel in its coverage. But if you’re in the Financial District, weaving through throngs of people, don’t try to assert dominance with the sheer circumference of your rain gear. Your umbrella’s size is not a proxy for power or status, no matter how impressive it looks when unfurled.
I once saw a man in a business suit with an umbrella so large it hung on his back in a sling. I imagined it starting to rain, and him whipping it out like a samurai drawing his sword—ready to shield his Hugo Boss suit at all costs. The Yuppie Samurai, prepared for battle against the elements.
