He Fa on Chaplin's Tramp

The bowler hat sits properly, a little mustache rests beneath the nose, yet the black jacket cannot contain the extravagantly loose trousers. Two large leather shoes turn outward; one hand rests on a curved cane, the other palm faces up. I gather the identifying signs of Chaplin's Tramp, but let He Fa's puzzlement arrive before the joke, as though asking who should explain this ill-fitting outfit.

Ill-fitting clothes readily look like a personal problem, as though a little more tidying would restore someone to respectability's center. Yet this look makes me want to ask the reverse: have standard sizes already assumed a particular body, gait and level of resources? If a garment is convenient only for a few, others' clumsiness may be exposing omissions in the rule.

I do not call every departure from the rules resistance. Giant shoes may trip someone, and a cane really needs a stable point of contact; whether they help still requires examination item by item. But examination need not begin with ridicule. A form provoking laughter does not mean its wearer has agreed to make their entire situation a joke.

The open palm leaves a conversational space in the outfit. It has neither made its request into a grand declaration nor wholly admitted defeat. Here a borrowed comic outline meets a cool face, so comedy cannot automatically take someone's dignity away. We can discover together how absurd an arrangement is, or aim laughter at the person least able to answer back. These are not the same kind of ease.

The cane tip rests on the ground, and the large shoes are steady. I hope this less-than-conforming body first gets a chance to stand, before we discuss how it might walk more like others.