Handkerchiefs are not stylish anymore

FORGET about the shame of Phala Phala, the changing fortunes at the World Cup and the kaput air fryer you thought was the jackpot on Black Friday.

It has hit me that we face a worldwide dilemma – the loss of a cherished accoutrement that completed the daily dressing ritual of men and women.

Many among today’s younger generation might not know that long before Spotify or Apple Music, we had to rewind tapes on a cassette player if we wanted to hear our favourite songs again. They might also not know about transistor radios, Yellow Pages, telegrams, paper road maps and, wait for it … handkerchiefs. Yes, handkerchiefs, or hankies for short. They have become near extinct.

Does anybody carry a handkerchief anymore? I ask this not as a challenge but because I believe there appears to be a genuine generation gap for the hemmed square of thin fabric that can be carried in the pocket or handbag.

Measuring about 30cm x 30cm for men and 20cm x 20cm for the fairer sex, handkerchiefs are intended for personal hygiene purposes such as wiping one’s hands or face, or blowing one’s nose. But it would appear people hardly use them.

For as long as I can remember, I have carried a handkerchief. During my boyhood, my mother would give me “ladies hankies” – pretty, embroidered, colourful ones that were small enough for a growing child. I often used them to surreptitiously wipe away the wetness of kisses I received on the cheek from betel nut-chewing aunts.

My mother insisted that I took a clean handkerchief to school every day. I am thankful for that because I was not pulled out of line for not having a clean handkerchief when, without warning, hygiene spot checks would be conducted by teachers who also looked into the ears and scrutinised for nits and lice, using a wooden ruler.

Later, I graduated to serious men’s handkerchiefs that were mostly plain white cotton or checked in pale colours. I would use them to blow my nose, dab the sweat on my brow, clean my glasses and wipe the blood from the bruised knees of my children when they fell.

Only twice did I have a silk display handkerchief folded neatly into the lapel pocket – when I was a best man at an aunt’s wedding, and then when I got married.

Sometime during the past two decades, there has been a swift and distinct change in functional handkerchief protocol. The square pieces of cloth have gone out of style, although sneezing hasn’t.

While amassing information for this column, I asked my daughter why she did not carry a handkerchief. She expressed surprise, as if I should have known better than ask about something that was archaic.

“Pa, I last carried pretty hankies that Ma would give me when I was in primary school. Who carries those things anymore?” she countered.

This clearly demonstrated generational transformation: to a mother, the use of a handkerchief marked good manners. To a daughter, it’s an old-fashioned habit.

What has sent handkerchiefs the way of movie rental stores, bills in the mail, memorising of phone numbers, making of photo albums and setting of bedside alarm clocks?

The answer is technology. The daily clean handkerchief has been replaced by tissues which are more absorbent than the artificial fibres that handkerchiefs are made of nowadays. The downside of tissues is that some people react to them and get a rash around the nose when they have a common cold. Also, how many times have you blown your nose into a tissue and accidentally got gunk on your fingers?

Hygiene is often cited as the reason for hankies going out of fashion. People say they do not like handkerchiefs because when you are sick and blow your nose, you thereafter carry your cold around in your pocket. But this happens, regardless of whether you’re using paper or fabric.

The decisive part is what happens afterwards. The virus is also on your hands and can be transmitted from a doorknob, handshake or towel, to the next person.

If you blow your nose into a tissue and open the bin to throw it away, the next person opening the bin can contract the virus. If you use a handkerchief and wash your hands straight after using it, no one can contract the virus because water and soap kill the common cold virus.

Another plus for handkerchiefs is that they are cheaper than tissues. Although there is an upfront cost, hankies will outlast any box of paper tissues.

Carrying a small, multipurpose cloth on your person goes back many centuries. As early as the first century BC, the Roman writer, Catullus, mentions people carrying handkerchiefs to wipe their noses or foreheads.

In Shakespeare’s time, a handkerchief was an important plot point in plays like Othello where it was initially a gift given to Desdemona from her husband, Othello, as a love token. It is subsequently symbolically transformed into Desdemona’s bedsheets, which she uses to reveal her true innocence and fidelity to Othello; and finally, Desdemona requests that the bedsheets be used to cover her as a death shroud.

Handkerchiefs have many unconventional uses. They have come in handy (pun unintended) for my Muslim schoolmates when they forgot to carry the taqiyah or prayer cap to mosque for Friday jummah prayer. By tying knots at each corner, the handkerchief served as a skullcap.

They can be used as a snack bag to take away the sev and nuts, and other savouries at weddings and other social events. A handkerchief can serve as a tourniquet to support a broken forearm or dislocated elbow. When out in the sun without sunglasses or a hat, a hanky over your eyes will provide enough relief while you enjoy a siesta.

You can get someone’s attention from far away with a wave of your bright ‘kerchief. If you want to remember something you know you are going to forget, tie a knot in the corner of your handkerchief.

When you pull it out later, you will see the knot and remember you had to do something – now you just have to remember what it was.

Like I said earlier, I always carry a handkerchief. On my frequent visits to India, I spray perfume on my hanky and hold it against my nose to keep out the puke-evoking smell of the highly-polluted Cooum River in Chennai. However, in recent years I have also been keeping a wad of tissues between the folds of my clean hanky. One for blow, one for show.