White, the new black. Or so – column

There are similarities between jeans and motorcycle helmets. One brand can fit you perfectly, while a comparable other brand feels like an unwanted intimacy. Another similarity is that with your perfect helmet or jeans you can become so entwined that you don't even notice when such a handy item has come to the end of its days. Your jeans then hang from your butt like slouchy threads and your helmet hovers above 130 like a miniature hovercraft above your skull, while the chinstrap tries jangly to suffocate you.

I found my first perfect helmet after a fitting session of a second or so because I had reported to the company that advertises itself as 'the only specialist where you can go without an appointment'. My perfectly fitting helmet happened to be red. So it was 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 come up with myself.

The dealer should have already ordered black and matte black copies of the helmets purchased for that season twice. But with the helmets in beautiful Alfa Romeo lacquer shades he stayed put. And that while 'Bleu Zaffiro Trussardi Metallico' is a top-chic color. I didn't expect helmets to be fashionable. But then I am also a man 1.0 who looks at his Lief in surprise when she happily and proudly announces: “Look, I bought you a nice sweater!” I appreciate such a gesture. But what should I do with it? I already have a sweater.

“But if I now buy such a helmet in a color that you can't get sold, will I get a discount?” I received a very friendly discount and enjoyed a wonderfully fitting helmet for a few years, the color of which I did not see when I had it on. Recently I made a forced return home from Rostock on the rain-soaked Autobahn. Behind a flapping windshield. Drops hit my eyes because my visor was so worn that I had to pop it up while following the guardrail with my left hand to set my course. My helmet made attempts to take to the skies. The wind roared past my temples. My neck got 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 bots cap. In the world of sixth to eighth-hand car salesmen, the saying goes: “With a white one, you're stuck ...”

With that idea in mind, I enthusiastically pointed to a white helmet and dreamed about mega discounts. The dealer spoke appreciatively: “You're going to be modern, it's all white this season! White is the new black.” That hurt for a while. Just the idea that one color could just turn into another. Luckily I remembered the cry I once saw on a rat bike: “Rust 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 visors. So they don't have to be stated.

Also read:
- Lake columns
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