White, the new black – column

There are similarities between jeans and motorcycle helmets. One brand may fit you like a glove, while a comparable other brand may feel like unwanted intimacy. Another similarity is that you can become so fused with your perfect helmet or pair of jeans that you don't even notice when such a useful item has come to the end of its days. Your jeans then hang from your butt like some baggy threads. And then your helmet floats above 130 like a miniature hovercraft above your skull while the chin strap jerkily tries to suffocate you.

I found my first perfect helmet after a fitting session of a second or so because I had registered with the company that advertises itself as 'the only specialist you can go to without an appointment'. My perfectly fitting helmet happened to be red. So it became a red one. A few years later I was ready for a fresh copy. At the same address I received information that I would never have thought of myself. The dealer had already had to order black and matte black helmets twice. But with the helmets in nice ones Alfa Romeo lacquer shades remained in place. And while 'Bleu Zaffiro Trussardi Metallico' is still a chic color.

I didn't expect helmets to be fashion sensitive. But I am also a man 1.0 who looks at his Lief in surprise when she reports happily and proudly: “Look, I bought you a nice sweater!”. I appreciate such a gesture. But what should I do with it? After all, I already have a sweater. “But if I buy such a helmet in a color that you don't sell, will I get a discount?" I very kindly received a discount and enjoyed a wonderfully fitting helmet for a few years, the color of which I could not see when I had it on.

Recently I made a forced return from Rostock on the rain-soaked Autobahn home behind a flapping windshield. Drops hit my eyes because my visor was so worn that I had to open it while I followed the guardrail with my left hand to determine my course. My helmet attempted to take to the air. The wind roared past my temples. My neck became cold and wet. It was all very uncomfortable. Two days later I had an annoying whistling sound in my left ear. Luckily it disappeared. Or maybe I just didn't hear him anymore.

So it was time for another new crash cap. In the world of sixth- to eighth-hand car salesmen, the saying goes: “You're stuck with a white one…” Bearing that idea in mind, I enthusiastically pointed to a white helmet and dreamed about mega discounts. The dealer spoke appreciatively: “You are becoming modern, white is all the rage this season! White is the new black.” That hurt for a moment. Just the idea that one color could easily become another. Fortunately, I remembered the slogan I once saw on a ratbike: “Rest is the new black”. So it had to be something like that. It became a red helmet again. With discount. Another advantage of a new, tight-fitting helmet: I no longer hear my valves. So these do not need to be stated.