The Aesthetics of Credibility

The Warden

Among the current social media trends, my top favourite is @BCredibility – a running Twitter stream on the ‘wallpaper’ chosen by television pundits to convey a clear image of learned authority. The strapline for the account is quite simply that ‘what you say is not as important as the bookcase behind you’. As if it were not enough to gauge the calibre of the speaker by the impressive tomes that sit behind, additional points can be scored by the well-placed objet d’art or the most prized possession of any interviewee, the library ladder. The images and accompanying text provide a wry commentary on the aesthetics of credibility, so accidentally but artfully crafted.

Even for those of us outside the public eye, a hitherto neglected or underused domestic space has suddenly been transformed into office-cum-broadcasting studio overnight, and as Lockdown continues, I am starting to be ‘conflicted’ by my own filming location. Like many transmitting live from home, I choose to work in that space earmarked for my labours and, when doing so, I have found myself too often admiring the backdrop of those with whom I meet on-line and feel the pressure to upscale my own environment accordingly.

Furthermore, in an attempt to rid the rest of the house of the more esoteric and allegedly dull tomes, my man cave plays host to what might be seen as a well-chosen and erudite backdrop, but is really a repository of that which has been collected and is a reading list of my life. As a consequence, I am now stricken with fear that this might look a little too considered to the chance e-visitor, and I fear spotting my profile on the aforementioned Twitter feed.

I felt a similar dread when I discovered a similarly hostile on-line attack on the wearing of red trousers.

My only snag is that my study is something of a dual conflict zone that witnesses a running battle between my own attempts at order, occasional lapses in efficiency, and regular invasions by my wife’s belongings or things which struggle to find an appropriate home elsewhere. Equally, my study does reveal some of my own guilty pleasures, entirely innocent artefacts which provide enjoyment but which do not necessarily need to be seen on a daily basis by people whom I am supposed to impress. Fundamentally, I do not see my own cabinet of curiosities as problematic but rather indicative of my range of interests, delight in the arcane, and refusal to dispose of items which might fruitfully be kept until needed or sold.

So, I must now engage in a post-structuralist creation of a socially acceptable workspace – a level of tidiness that does not suggest obsessive behaviour, the right selection of suitably-thumbed but not too lofty literature, and the introduction of revealing but yet charming indications of character. What was once my own private sphere has gone public, and my substance must become accidents.

It may simply be easier to pay the money and buy a backdrop.

The Dog

Well, his Wardenship is seemingly getting active again and does not appear to be paying too much regard to my basic canine right to lolling.

He is clearly aware that following every and any moment of exertion, I am entitled to at least three hours of gentle dozing with some deep legs-in-the-air type sleep throw in.

This is necessary if I am to avoid irritation. As the matter stands, I am being dragged around the new gaff constantly – one minute, it’s the golf course, then a field, then across the neat grass, and if I behave myself, I can then get a swim [which I obviously don’t mind]. Admittedly, the place is vast and there are some interesting characters about but we are coming into siesta season, and He will need to get this sorted. Pronto.