Hoodies on.
Grubby comfort
Clothes with a hood. They are commonly called "hoodies."
Except for the peak of summer, I wear them almost every day. When I have to step outside without washing my hair, I always pull the hood up. I'd rather not subject others to an unintended assault of an "unpleasant hair odor encounter". When the wind bites, it's a windbreaker; when the sun is too bright, it serves as sunglasses; and when I’ve skipped sunscreen, it becomes a forced shade provider.
In the Middle Ages, commoners and monks had their robes. It was a sun protection, rain shelter, identity concealment, and a dust shield on long journeys—even a makeshift pillow. Colors also indicated social status: monks wore black or brown, while nobles wore vibrant colors and rich fabrics, making their rank readable at a glance. Only the nobility could afford to live without a hood.
For commoners, it was nothing out of the ordinary to spend nights outdoors while traveling long distances for days. To avoid making themselves targets for bandits, they had no choice but to endure the cold huddled under their robes—bonfires were an extravagance . For women hauling water, serfs tilling the lord's land, and men-at-arms under their armor, it was survival gear. For monks, it was a symbol of humbleness and devotion; for fugitives, an inevitable disguise.
The image of a hooded figure committing a crime is a common trope in movies. Yet, Robin Hood concealed himself beneath his hood to deliver justice. His very name holds the garment within it: Robe in hood. Rob in hood.
Hoodies on, no other choices. Someone in the neighborhood probably sees me as "the woman in the hoodie."
At the library, as I read New Philosopher, I quietly remind myself: a shower can wait.
Intention, that matters.
본문은 제가 쓴 [후드]를 영어로 옮기고 다듬은 글입니다.