The President’s new clothes…

Look, guys, I know this is a little hard to take in all at once… but that thing that’s going on in the background as I write? The one that’s got all Malta on shutdown, with helicopters and sirens going off every five minutes?

It isn’t the Oscars, you know. Yes, yes, there’s a red carpet, and a bunch of VIPs stop to have their picture taken on it every once in a while. But they’re not film stars. They are merely the heads of government in Commonwealth countries. No one else in the rest of the world is paying the remotest attention to anything they do or say… still less to what they wear. 

In fact, for all the difference this occasion was ever going to make, Marie Louise-Coleiro Preca could just as easily have gone dressed up as a Christmas bauble made of pistachio-flavoured Turkish delight. Nobody would have noticed the difference (which is just as well, because there isn’t much to notice)… for the simple reason that no one is actually watching the show.

Oh, but wait. You already know that, don’t you? That’s why nobody in this country is actually discussing what this meeting is supposed to be all about. That’s why everyone seems to have suddenly developed this morbid fixation with the contents of the President of the Republic’s wardrobe: debating what this may contain, that would have been more suitable for the occasion than a bright green sugar-plum fairy costume, left over from last year’s Christmas panto…

Ah yes. The great unanswered question of the millennium…

But hey, let’s be practical here for a second. There is a reason why President Marie-Louise Coleiro Preca’s dress sense has suddenly become important, when it never was before… and even then, only for these next few days. It’s because the alternative to discussing what the President wore for CHOGM, is to actually discuss CHOGM itself.

And… well, there you go. Half of you are asleep already…

So what the heck: scratch what I said earlier about CHOGM not being the night of the stars. We may as well pretend it really is the Oscars, and therefore discuss the only thing that is ever worth discussing about the Oscars anyway. 

What they were all wearing…

Suddenly, the topic seems infinitely more relevant than CHOGM itself. It’s a little bit like Hans Christian Andersen’s ‘The Emperor’s New Clothes’… only in reverse. 

In that fable, the illusory nature of power is exposed through the Emperor’s nakedness… which everyone can see (though they all pretend not to). In this one, it is the equally illusory power of CHOGM, as a global event, that has been exposed as ‘naked’ by the President’s choice of attire. We all knew it was naked all along, naturally. But somehow, its nakedness became that much more visible, when thrown into contrast by a sudden splash of vibrant, Kermit-green. 

So by all means, let’s unpick this fabricated topic, thread by thread, and see where it takes us. (note: don’t come crying to me afterwards, you have been warned, etc).

For what it’s worth, I happen to rather like what she was wearing myself. Not the sort of thing I’d choose for my own personal wardrobe, perhaps… but who knows? If you throw in a bandana, an eye-patch, a couple of flintlock muskets thrust into a sash around the waist, and maybe a cutlass or two… heck, I’d wear it to meet the Queen any day. Or even to a Star Trek convention, for that matter…

But then again, that is precisely the difference between myself and Marie-Louise Coleiro Preca. I’m not the President of the (Divided) Republic of Malta. I can wear whatever shivers my timbers… and tongues may wag, but it won’t be automatically interpreted as a ‘scandal’ by roughly half the country.

Presidents are less fortunate. They have a Constitutional prerogative to act as ‘figureheads’ for the entire nation. What they choose from their wardrobe will (for better or worse) be somehow interpreted, by any or all means imaginable, as a collective reflection of some aspect of Malta’s national identity.

Let’s face it: that surely puts all our collective tribulations in front of the dressing room mirror to shame. My own criteria for ‘what to wear’ are rarely more complicated than ‘what smells the least from that pile on the chair’. Others might extend theirs to issues of ironing, pressing, colour-coding and so on. Others still may require manicure, pedicure and full body immersion into a cauldron of bubbling wax.

But how many of us ever have to consider what our choice of outfit for the day might reveal about the state of the entire flipping country? How many of us would ever wear clothes again, if that dilemma were ours? I for one would surely spend the rest of my life naked as the day I was born…

But onto the great unanswerable question of the millennium. If a President’s appearance is indeed somehow a reflection of the state of the Republic under her care… what the heck should she wear to an international summit of country leaders, anyway?

Let’s go over the options first, we can decide later. Without further ado, here they are: all the dresses her Excellency the President of the Republic could have worn to the opening ceremony of this year’s CHOGM, to make a statement to the Commonwealth on behalf of the entire country… modelled on a catwalk in aid of this year’s edition of ‘Libbisni Ghall-Istrina’.

Outfit number one: ‘Sackcloth and self-flagellation’ 

The next time the President wishes to make a fashion statement about our characteristics as a former colony – while also exploiting her role as custodian of moral values, etc. – she might look further than this modest little medieval ‘cilise’, from the latest collection by Yves Santo Subito. 

Made entirely from traditional Maltese sackcloth, with knee caps deliberately holed and frayed to complement the bare feet, this simple, Joan of Arc-style evening dress tastefully combines exaggerated piety with all the outward appearance of destitution, for a gut-wrenching impression of faith, hope and charity 

Thus attired, the figurehead of our nation would indeed be a visual manifestation of our standard position at all such international political events… “we’re small, we’re poor, we’re overburdened by immigration… but we’re also really holy. But really, really holy. Much holier than all thou lot put together, in fact (all 51 of you…)”

And just to hammer this humble point home, the outfit comes complete with a wide range of accessories: like this multi-pronged leather whip with which to regularly self-flagellate; or this brass hand-bell, to mournfully toll while shouting ‘Bring Out Yer Dead!’… and, for an additional cost, we’ll even throw in a halo and an authentic set of stigmata. 

Just the impression a pious country like Malta never loses an opportunity to impart to the rest of the world; and also a timely reminder that maybe it’s time we tucked into some more international aid. 

There are, after all, 51 other governments present. You never know, one of them might take the hint…

Outfit 2: The Baywatch bikini

As we all know, the President of the Republic also has the Constitutional prerogative to ‘safeguard Malta’s national and cultural heritage’ (or something like that, anyway). How better to publicly embody that Constitutional duty, than to turn up for the meeting wearing nothing but this skimpy little red bikini… last worn by Pamela Andersen, on the popular TV show ‘Baywatch’?

Just picture the tasteful elegance, as our President gracefully undulates out of a stretch limo in a bright red, D-cup bikini, with equally microscopic tanga to match. Not even the late Charles Abela Mizzi’s tremulous voice could possibly capture this tender evocation of maternal care and protection… the undying image of the ever-vigilant Head of State, ready at a pinch to dive into troubled waters to rescue her drowning country (in this weather, too!)….

Then there’s the subliminal advertising for our national tourism product. The island of sun, sea, and endlessly multiplying gentlemen’s clubs. ‘Come to sunny Malta, and discuss all your Commonwealth problems as you enjoy a courtesy massage on the beach from our latest, fully licensed Chinese masseuse… ‘

So many different interpretations, all encapsulated in that one, unforgettable choice of Presidential bathing costume. Such a shame the Office of the President never considered my offer to provide free fashion consultancy over the CHOGM weekend…

And yes, I know that some of the unkinder ones among you might be thinking that Pamela Andersen’s bikini was not exactly designed with someone of our President’s physique in mind. But that’s just sexism, plain and simple. The President could after all just as easily have been Eddie Fenech Adami… and be honest: not one of you would so much as bat an eyelid at the sight of Eddie Fenech Adami in a size 3.2 bikini.

There, you see? It’s just because she’s a woman, that’s all…

And lastly: outfit number three: ‘Butt Nekkid…’

OK, you may have watched Robert Altman’s ‘Pret-a-Porter’, so you’ll already know where all this was doomed to end up all along. The ‘denouement’ wasn’t exactly hard to predict anyway: I gave it away with ‘the Emperor’s New Clothes’. 

But I was thinking… if someone like the President of the Republic has this opportunity to make a single, earth-shattering statement, merely by means of what she chooses to wear… then what louder statement could she possibly make, than to wear nothing at all?

Yes, indeed! That’ll leave her critics too gobsmacked to criticise for a change. No colour to comment disparagingly upon; no imaginative fruit displays or ancient artefacts with which to unconsciously invite comparison. Just the thing itself; owing the sheep no wool, the cow no hide, the worm no silk, and the Thailand sweatshop labourer no synthetic fabric. Just the President of the Republic of Malta: stark bollock naked.

What a statement of equality that would make, aye? The highest authority of the land, wilfully dispensing with a commodity even the lowliest amongst us takes for granted. A stark reminder that, for all the exterior differences that separate us politically, we are ultimately all the same flesh beneath. 

Think about the political message, folks. It’s every single speech Bono ever made, only without a single word being uttered… (still less a whole world tour).

And the perks of the other costumes apply, too. If we want to demonstrate our religious values… then what better outfit to wear, than one that was designed by no less than the Creator of the Universe himself? Let the heads of lesser states wear their Prada, their Versace and their Coco Chanel! Our President gets her wardrobe designed for her directly by God in person…. 

That’ll show the Queen of England a thing or two about how a real Head of State handles her responsibilities.  And what did the Queen wear, anyway? Blue. Pah! Blue… so passe, so… yesterday…

Meanwhile, if you think the nudity statement would be too risqué, even for the Head of a State where there are more strip-clubs per square mile (at least, in one square mile) than churches… well, maybe it would. But for a change, it would also be honest. 

That, as I recall, was the whole point of the ‘Emperor’s New Clothes’ anyway…