When people drone on about monocultures and the inherent problems arising from their subsequent cultivation, the commentary is, generally speaking, way off base. These critics are too far in the weeds, or in the case of soil deprivation, in the dirt, to offer up cogent thoughts on the subject. Lost in the aggressively irrigated spaces of vast farmland are other opinions worth listening to.
On the rare instances that I hear “monoculture” discussed within impolite society, I don’t think about singular crops, repetitive art, an aversion to stereo, or cargo cults committed to the slobbering transmission of mononucleosis. I think about monocles and their honored place in society. What gives us the right to prefer glasses to the single lens of a chained monocle? It’s a wondrous implement of power, class, and luxury. A way to see things clearly without seeing things too clearly.
Depth perception is just that – perception. An awkward gait marked by bumping into furniture and curbs, gives others the impression that you possess a certain undefinable eccentricity. Glasses would take away that uniqueness, making you just another straight walker. The monocle is like a pocket watch, impractical yet indispensable all the same.
Like many people growing up in America, I was raised to appear smart. College bound and with a bookshelf to prove it, I soon discovered that no diploma or grade point average is a match for a British accent a pair of glasses. Spectacles are a spectacle, monocles are spectacular.
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